England distorting my view of the world

Tom Humphries LockerRoomSo, with much drum-roll and a little Heidi Klum the soccer panjandrums got the World Cup rolling on Friday evening.

I'm a big fan of the foreplay that is the World Cup draw. The more bells and whistles before the real thing the better, I always say. I like the draw for its democratic share-out of the available excitement, for the way it gives the Mark Lawrenson of Togo the same chance to analyse and parse as it offers to the Mark Lawrenson of Trinidad and Tobago.

Of course like Ivor Callely (doesn't Ivor look like that deranged Francis Fulford fellow, the cursing toff beloved of tabloid TV?) standing fully in front of the window through which we were viewing the Budget, so it is that England stand between us and a clear view of the tournament as it was mapped by means of Friday's draw.

Have to be frank here, set out the stall, early doors. I was born in England, I have emigrated to England, I have learned their language and drunk their beer, some of my best friends, etc, etc . . . But listen, I honestly can't enjoy a World Cup when there is a clear and present danger of England winning it. Sorry.

Friday's draw has first to be viewed through the prism of England's chances.

I know. I know. I know. Grow up, you say. As evidence of our national maturity we should look forward to events like the Queen and Phil the Greek visiting Funderland. To convince our new best mates that we are "over it" we should be getting Charles and Camilla out to the Poc Fada up in the Cooley Mountains. We should forget about the argy- bargy and look over the fence and give a neighbourly thumbs up in World Cup year.

No can do. It's got nothing to do with the 800 years of argy-bargy and cos ar bolg. I fully accept that whole kerfuffle was our fault. No, it's just a rivalry/begrudgery thing. I read once that in Lithuania they say that it's better for your neighbour's horse to die than for you to have two horses. I almost moved to Lithuania straight away so moved was I by this philosophical legitimisation of begrudgery.

In soccer terms, we Irish will never have two horses. Every four years or so, however, our neighbour's horse will keel over before it gets near a rosette. It's enough to sustain us.

A previous generation grew up in the war years and their entire world-view was coloured by deprivations and sufferings they had seen. Well I grew up in the post-England World Cup-win era. I'm still not right. I'm not saying that when Ireland win the World Cup we'll play the whole thing down with a quiet, self-effacing dignity. I'm just contending that as Cork people found those Home of Hurling signs on the Tipp border a little tough to take, so I would find the Home of Soccer stuff difficult to digest.

England winning the World Cup would mean everything I know is wrong. I believe, for instance, that Sven is a chancer. I devoutly believe Becks is ordinary and I suspect Rooney is the Gazza of tomorrow. I do not think Rio will ever be Grande. I am staunch in my contention that the Premiership (especially without Leeds United in it) is overhyped and overrated. I believe the football culture in many other European countries is more evolved, more cerebral and more sophisticated.

I believe it's no coincidence that so few of the top Premiership clubs are managed by Englishmen and that so few of the top teams carry more than a handful of native artisans. I am convinced many of the people who run top English clubs would have trouble fending off foreclosure if they were left in charge of a peanut stall.

I believe therefore that for England to be crowned world champions would be the equivalent of decking the scrawniest rooster in the yard out in the finest pantaloons. It wouldn't be right.

Cheering against England is not a sign of national immaturity. If anything it is just a mild form of cultural Tourette's syndrome.

We are to be understood, not mocked. I have had the privilege of being present at England's last couple of World Cup exits. I have tried to behave myself, not least because these occasions are attended also by large numbers of English people. Some of these English people are journalists and some of these journalists are friends of mine. They are genuinely pleased to see Ireland doing well in international competition. Many of the others attending these events are football hooligans. All of which makes mine the condition which dare not speak its name.

I remember St Etienne in 1998 and being seated among English colleagues in the beautifully old-fashioned Stade Geoffrey Guichard and finding myself almost unable to remain seated during that crazy first half, which culminated with Zanetti's goal to make it 2-2. Early in the second half when Beckham got sent off I lost all reason and did the Lambeth walk all over a row of laptops. I passed out during the penalty shoot-out and there were questions asked the next day as to why there was no mention of it in my match report.

Four years later it was joy itself to be at the post-match inquest in Shizuoka as the debate as to whether's Ronaldinho's goal had been a fluke or a matter of genius broke over David Seaman's ponytailed head. It's funny but I remember all of England's exits quite well going back to the extra-time catastrophe in Leon against West Germany in 1970, picking up the thread in 1982 with those two scoreless draws in the second-round group games after they'd flown through the first round.

Of course 1986 was special thanks to Diego, whereas the 1990 exit on penalties at the semi-final stage was disappointing because not only was it a close call but the English were so bloody gracious about it.

On Saturday morning I heard Motty, comfy on the Football Focus couch along with Lawro and Lee Dixon (c'mon, aren't your ears always pricked to see if Lawro ever says we when referring to England?) point out that Friday night's draw was a good one and a bad one for England. It offers an excellent chance of progress from the group but then some formidable roadblocks.

To my mind, there aren't enough roadblocks to make the competition enjoyable. This, of course, could be said of any of the top-seeded teams (bone to pick with Fifa here - how can a team like England who so recently lost to Northern Ireland be so highly seeded?) most of whom are guaranteed to progress.

If England finish top of the modest heap that is Group B they face the runners-up in Group A, who, in all probability, will be Poland. Bah! Since the 1974 qualifiers the Poles have promised more than they have delivered (like Paraguay they were criminally disappointing as roadblocks back in 1986). After that though it looks like a trip to Berlin for a quarter-final against Argentina (or perhaps Holland).

Those of us who were in St Etienne and Sapporo will be looking forward to a reunion with the Argentinians (as a World Cup veteran I hold the controversial, nay heretical, belief that Argentinian fans are better looking even than Brazilian fans) and trusting that the South Americans can slough off all the cliches about temperament and brittleness. If not it's semi-final time and by then you're in the land of "it's a funny old game and anything could happen". Nobody wants that.

Myself, I find that for the first World Cup ever I'm against the idea of Brazil winning it. Enough is enough. I'm taking a good chunk of my fortune and splitting it three ways. One third on Italy (hard group, hard draw , long odds but no fatal complacency) to win. One third on Argentina to place. The rest to hire Croke Park , there to show the Poland versus England game on the big screen to ourselves and our Polish community. Free admission. Just buy the drink. The 90-minute way to full cultural integration.