BLOOD, SWEAT, TEARS & FEARS

This entry was intended as a diatribe: a purge of negative energy ahead of England's successful World Cup campaign. And I wanted to start it with a number.

Preferably a high number.

That number was to represent the players in Uncle Woy's squad who, in my opinion, should not be anywhere near a World Cup. It turns out that number is only 7. Which leaves us with at least 15 capable footballers: surely enough to make a decent fist of things?

The problem is that, of those seven players, Woy may pick three of them.

It's not beyond the realms of possibility that England's starting XI will include a right back who doesn't know where to stand and two utility wide men who "work hard" and "show willing" in the absence of having an actual position.

I like Danny Welbeck. And I like James Milner. In the same way that you like some people you work with because you don't have to go out for a drink with them if you don't want to. You don't have to live with them. They're not really your friends. They're just there and you know they're there: being present. Dependable.

Willing runners.

But this is the World Cup. In Brazil. It should be about blood pumping, chest thumping, drum banging magic. The closest Dan & Jim get to Samba football is that they both live in Manchester and that's where the Hacienda is.

And that joke doesn't even work because, though many things, Bernard Sumner is no Seu Jorge. Though, oddly enough, Bill Murray could definitely play Hodgson in the inevitable Roy biopic.