Another world cup. Another media frenzy. And somewhere in the middle, a handful of Englishmen who are trying to do their best to satisfy a country overdosed on St George. It is at this point of the competition that I always silently ask our boys to put me out of my misery; either play like champions or go home, because I can’t handle any more lacklustre scrapings-through.
And then there is the inevitable penalty shoot-out. Because there always is. And this time around, we have a pretty solid defence and an inept forward line depending on an unfit prodigy and Mr Bean’s older brother. A draw is going to happen, and penalties will be upon us once again.
