After all the drama of Magic Monday, when it was like watching Sunderland circa 2000, surely Tuesday couldn’t come close – or could it? Triffic Tuesday? Teutonic Tuesday? Early morning news was that Spain have sacked goalkeeping coach Lee Camp, and Sunderland were considering a bid for at least one of the refs from the tournament to officiate at our opening game of the season. Also in the news was a transcript of the post-match interview with outgoing (surely) French coach/manager, which revealed that he uttered only one word in response to a barrage of questions...”Pfft”, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders.
As it turned out, Tuesday was canny plus one. Not only did Josh Scowen get a job at Wycombe and SAFC arrange another friendly (Tranmere, Tuesday July 27th), but I managed to find myself in the company of the Sunday Club AND some of my home game marras – all of which made for a grand old atmosphere in the Bay Horse. They even sang the national anthem, for goodness sake, and, for the record, last time England had beaten Germany in a significant game I was nine and listening on a radio in a caravan at Crimdon Dene, convinced that Nobby Stiles was German. Happy days, which was more than could be said for Villa Dave’s attitude when Grealish wasn’t picked to start. “Seven defenders” was the most-used phrase of the evening, and you could sort of see where he was coming from as Phillips and Rice anchored the midfield in front of Walker, Maguire, and Stones, with Trippier and Shaw pushing down the flanks. It night have kept the Germans occupied in wide positions, but the lack of creativity in the middle of the park meant that Kane cut a forlorn figure for most of the game, running as if he were pulling a sledge. Never mind, the defence and that deep midfield meant that the opposition were denied goalscoring opportunities, and when they did get a peep, Pickers was there, racing out to deny Werner. Not only there, but probably our most creative midfielder, such was the accuracy of his clearances. There was much grumbling about the personnel at half time, but, as I kept reminding folks, we (England, not Sunderland) had yet to concede a goal in the tournament, unlike every other side, and the Germans didn’t look like changing that statistic. Would it be sensible to replace either Rice or Phillips in favour of the more creative Foden or Grealish? Or both? My opinion was that Philips should have been pushed forward more to give a bit of central support to Kane, but that would have meant losing a bit of protection for the back three and perhaps meaning a switch to a back four and thus losing the threat down the wings.
With Phillips on a yellow, we sort of suspected that he’d be the one to make way for the almost inevitable Grealish appearance, but it was Saka who went. Not my choice, as he’d been terrific - I’d probably have gone for Sterling, but what do I know? We’d also been calling for Calvert-Lewin to replace Kane, especially when the skipper went down injured, but Southgate stuck to his guns. Within six minutes of that change, Grealish had been fouled a handful of times and generally pestered the life out of the German defence, and when he helped the ball across the field to Shaw via Kane, we finally broke through. The ball across the box was perfect for Sterling to knock in from a few yards out, and his remaining on the pitch was fully justified – that’s fifteen goals in his last twenty games, and you simply can’t argue with stats like that. Needless to say there was beer all awwa the shop in the Hoss, with me doing a sterling job (see what I did there?) in holding our table upright and preventing any of Timmy Taylor’s finest ale making contact with the floor. Backs were slapped, elbows nudges, fists bumped, and whoops hollered. Magic. Is it finally coming home? Really? With Kane at last looking like
There was a proper scare at the other end, when Havertz fired in a rising drive that Pickers tipped over the bar – what a save, one which, added to an earlier and almost as impressive stop, showed just why he’s the man for the job. That and his distribution, of course. We were getting to the nail-biting stage of the final few minutes when we finally put things to bed – but not until our pant shad been scared off. Sterling lost the ball and Muller raced through on goal – Muller, goal, two words that normally mean trouble when you’re playing Germany. Muller Rice, anyone? Thankfully, this time it was Thomas and not Gerd or Hansi, and he somehow dragged his shot wide of the target. Pickers would have got it anyway, I expect. Anyway, soon after that, Grealish jinked into a bit of space in the box and dinked in a cross that had “head me in, please” written all over it, and Kane duly got there first to claim what we all hope is a breakthrough goal for himself and thus his country. Wild celebrations in the Hoss, and a bit more beer in the air. Four minutes to go, and the German heads went down, the English chests puffed out, and bowler hatted bulldogs all over the country straightened their union jack waistcoats and took a puff on their big cigars.
Then it was all over. After fifty-five years and eleven months, we’d got past Germany, and made a date in Rome on Saturday. It wasn’t the flowing, swashbuckling performance that fans naturally want to see, but most importantly, it was a hugely effective one. We still haven’t conceded a goal, we’re in the quarter finals, and all of that with our captain only really performing as we know he can for about fifteen minutes. Add to that the fact that we took off arguably our most impressive outfield player and replaced him with an even better one. Job done, absolutely no complaints from me, and there followed lusty renditions of It’s Coming Home, Vindaloo, and the wholly inappropriate World Cup Willy – well, Euros Willy could have been just plain silly, wouldn’t it?.
Later that same night, Sweden and (the) Ukraine battled out another marathon. I’ll admit to paying only partial attention to this one as we revelled in the glory of England’s victory, finished off the Timmy Taylor’s and had a go at the Double Maxim, and generally felt smug. Zinchenko gave the Ukranian’s the lead at Hampden, and the Seb-inspired Swedes (he’s 36, y’knaa) fought back to level things just before the break. No goals in the second half meant extra time, nine minutes into which Danielson nearly chopped an opponent in half and was booked, with the ref checking the TV and deciding to upgrade it to a red. There’d been twelve substitutions – twelve, that’s putting a third team on the pitch. Madness – and so the shape of the game went to pieces, with penalties virtually certain. The game was already over a minute into added time in extra time when Zinchenko crossed and one of those subs, Dovbyk, headed home. See you in Rome on Saturday. A cracking day’s football, memorable for many reasons, and a fitting follow-up to Magic Monday. Well done Gareth Southgate, and many thanks to Thomas Hauser for his congratulatory Facebook post.
