The knives are out. England expects that every man shall do his duty. Once more unto the breach dear friends. Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious by the summer sun of 1966.
England v Germany.
Not simply defeated. Humiliated. Made to look silly.
Once again, England failed to deliver. What should be simple sports reportage becomes elevated to a national catastrophe.
So much talent, all lost. Sacrificed at the altar of vanity and stubbornness. Where were our team? A valid question. They'd be sure to concentrate when roasting some hairdresser from Basildon, or texting some Page 3 girl, or knocking off some French lingerie model.
But never mind. The English will do what we always do. We'll go back to work and get on with it. Our team, upon whom we pinned so many hopes and aspirations will go away to a nice beach holiday, in their Bentleys, and their private jets.
England have had a woeful World Cup. Simply terrible.
Out with a whimper, and a petulant sneer.
Final verdict: SHAME ON EVERY ONE OF THEM!
Right. Crack on.
More in four years.
