ENGLAND 2-0 WALES
Well, well, well. Cop that one, boyos. A match that was billed as an old school return to the home nations contests of yore fizzled out in the fourth minute, fanks to the force of Frank Lampard. And, if he is to be believed, Michael Owen's arse. Lampard's goal was superbly taken opportunism if ever I've seen it. England as a unit looked in complete control of proceedings, Robinson barely having to do his job- The Spurs keeper could have gone home at half time.
Elsewhere on the pitch, Sol and Rio picked up where they left off. Like soulmates, everything clicked right from the word go, each perfectly complementing the other. With Ashley Cole on the left, and G.Neville on the right, we have possibly the greatest defence on earth at this moment. Thank God we finally have a goalkeeper to match their talents. Cole in particular is looking more and more like he could soon eclipse his idol Roberto Carlos. When this team reverts back to a standard 4-4-2 formation, Wayne Bridge, international class player in his own right, will have to make do with left midfield, such is Cole's importance.
But at the weekend the formation was inspired, all the more so for Erikkson's reputation for playing it safe. Many griped before the match that the only reason we were fielding three strikers was that Sven couldn't work up the gall to tell Owen he was surplus. But on the grass, the man from Merseyside had his best game for the national squad in a long time, and deserved a goal for all the work he did (Though his attempts to claim his 'arse-strike' from Lampard smacked of desparation). Indeed, Defoe will probably be back on the bench come Wednesday, Owen having done enough to save himself. Which brings us to striker number three....
...The Fountain That's Wayne. Roonaldo. Playing deep behind Owen and Defoe, in an almost-attacking-midfield role, Rooney, future world player of the year (you heard it hear first, folks), set the crowd alight everytime he took possession. At times, the lad looked liked he could slay the dragon all on his own. But for every mazy run past a defender, and attempt to deliver a death blow, there was a moment when Rooney found a striker in space, delivered a beautiful pass. He created plays. Essentially playing out of position, Rooney has never looked anything less than completely at home in the Three Lions. Giggs should have tried slowing him down the same way he had the previous week- twice during his hat-trick against Fenerbahce, Rooney was used for a piggy back by Giggsy Wiggsy. Let's face it, the lad's a bit special, and it's going to require something fairly unorthodox to nullify him.
Maybe his personal life will be his down fall. Look to your right, young Rooney, and you'll see a man haunted by his own profile, a man who's stature in the public world is such that it dwarfs everything that has gone before it in the footballing world, so world-gobblingly huge the man himself appears scared of it, afraid of what it will do to him next. England's number 7 had a fantastic game; Okay, so he's still drifting in too often, leaving the corridor open, and giving his close friend Gary Neville too much work to do, but The Nation's captain played liked he deserved his shirt, played, indeed, liked he deserved the armband. I cannot do his goal justice on paper- cliche though it is, his superbly weighted strike was pure poetry, and pure Beckham. Only a few players on this planet can do that, Ronaldinho, maybe (maybe) Zidane. Beckham again looked tireless, like he had in 2001's qualifiers, like he had in his incredible final season at Old Trafford, and like he had in his first six months at the Bernabeau.
The yellow card he picked up was a deliberate effort to wipe the slate clean before he took five weeks off to heal the cracked rib injury he knew he had sustained. That people can criticise the man's petulant behaviour before thinking through how smart and professional his actions were only serves to underline people's pre-conceived notions of Beckham- And it's in these moments I feel the most sympathy for him. He scored a sublime goal, and played like a bastard- If his name was Rooney, you all would have lost your minds. There's just no pleasing some people. Indeed, like the performances of Al Pacino, He has been so consistently great over the years that people expect Oscar calibre every time, and dismiss it as a 'par performance' when they pull it off.
Well, go home to Madrid son. Rest up, knowing you have done your bit. Your Real brother will captain the squad in Baku on wednesday, and with a bit of luck, you'll be back in the England squad before the friendly against Spain in Madrid next month. Ready to walk the national squad on to the hallowed turf you ply your trade on every week. God speed.
