And just like that, it was over. One of the best World Cup’s we have ever seen came to a close on Sunday night with Germany the entirely deserving winners. Goodbye to Brazil, you hosted a fantastic tournament and did it without hitting us right in the ear with the dull hum of a vuvuzela. We now stand firmly in the midst of the World Cup aftermath. All the things that normally accompany our post tournament depression are unfolding right in front of us once again.
The Post Mortem
Essentially, unless you’re German, there is someone to blame for the absolute travesty that was your country’s World Cup campaign. What went wrong? What should have been done differently? Whose head will roll? With Brazil, it was Scolari. Reports varied as to whether he walked or was pushed but the end result is essentially the same either way. No manager was going to survive that 7-1 mauling against Brazil.
With England it’s never that straight forward. Every opinion is given and every possible rationale is conceived. Was it the fact that there are too many foreign players in our league? Was it the fact that none of our players broaden their horizons by playing abroad? Where along the footballing cycle are our most promising footballers corrupted? Is it as 10 year olds in our flawed grassroots system? Is it as 30 year old millionaires when they lose their affection for the national team? Or is it somewhere in between.
As per usual, we’re no closer to knowing what’s wrong with England than we ever are. And in truth there probably isn’t simply one overwhelming problem that needs fixing. It’s all of the above and then some.
One manager who has come out of the World Cup with his stock just as high as when he went in was Louis van Gaal. Man United fans would have been left licking their lips at the prospect of their new manager based on how well the Dutch performed when they were at their best. I’m sure the smugness of United fans will hit a new high when Anders Lindegaard comes off the bench in the 120th minute to win his team a penalty shoot-out.
The Lull
If you’re anything like me, the word ‘summer’ easily translates as “long arduous wait for football”. The World Cup spoils us in that way. We don’t have to worry about that break. That is of course until the World Cup ends and that break sneaks up on us as per usual. Daily football is replaced with “only 30 (at time of going to press) days until the new Premier League season starts, get in”.
We’ll try our best to get by. We’ll quickly snap up every single piece of transfer gossip we can get our hands on. So desperate must I have been for a football fix last night that I dreamt that Jonás Gutiérrez was signing on a free for Spurs. Even in my dreams my subconscious identified this as a slightly strange piece of business for Tottenham.
But poor transfer dealings won’t be just limited to our slightly obsessive nightmares. There’s just been a World Cup, over-hyped players with inflated price tags will be the norm. It’s the kind of furore that can see Manchester United sign Karel Paborsky or Liverpool shell out £10.5million on El-Hadji Diouf as well as bringing in his Senegalese teammate Salif Diao. In his autobiography Steven Gerrard said of Diao “With Salif, I knew after a week of training that he wasn’t going to be good enough”.
Are West Ham next? They are closing in on the £12million signing of Enner Valencia who enjoyed a decent World Cup with Ecuador. I won’t condemn the poor lad yet, but not many people have come to England for big money from the Mexican league and set the Prem alight. You can go a long way on just a little World Cup momentum.
We’ll read about pre-season friendlies with great interest, watch them on TV or maybe even go to one or two. Did you know for example that Crystal Palace won 13-1 this evening against Austrian part-timers GAK Graz. Stephen Dobbie scored five times. Huge win, fascinating stuff.
God help us, maybe we’ll even take an interest in our partners and their hobbies. Don’t be alarmed, it’s only a short term fix before we can get into some real football.
So, other than that, we wait. We wait with baited breath. We sit online ordering our new shirt with Fàbregas, or Lallana, or Enner Valencia on the back. And we count down the days.
I’ve just checked again, still 30 days to wait. Damn.