Eriksson's men just might do it

The England manager has seen a decent side fall into place despite himself, argues Tom Humphries.

It's hard to locate just what it is that is lacking in the Japanese national character which prevents such a wise people from getting the joke when it comes to David Beckham. The man who brings the bacon home to Posh doesn't even take himself half as seriously as the Japanese take him. Here he is an icon, a ball-playing Buddha, a master of the universe, an overblown, over-hyped symbol of individuality and success. Young people in Japan don't want the latter without the former, and Beckham speaks to them.

His slightly vacant face peers out from billboards and T-shirts. He is swamped under the three- or four-thousand fans who wait outside the England team hotel for his every appearance. He is on television all the time: documentaries about his inspirational life, highlights from his exemplary career, discussions on how he has risen above the sniping of his low-rent critics.

For young Japanese, there is only one name to have on the back of the replica England shirts which they have purchased in their tens of thousands. Beckham. Only one haircut to copy in homage. Beckham's. Yessir. It's an individuality thing and the country is agog with the news that Beckham has summoned his personal hairdresser to the Orient and may be about to appear with a new "do" tomorrow.

For his part, Beckham is keen to get in touch with Japan's people. Or at least, Beckham's people are keen to get in touch with Japan's people. The battle between Nike and Adidas rages like the long war as a backdrop to this World Cup and Beckham is the key weapon in the Adidas armory. He has announced he would like to finish his career here (note to Brazilian midfield - not just yet), and that he will be setting up a series of soccer schools here when he gets the time.

Beckham's incredible profile, eclipsing that of everyone else here (apart from Mick Byrne, perhaps), has been one of the surprises of this English expedition through this surprising World Cup. The world is now faced with the apocalyptic truth, however, that achievement may follow exposure, that before the last boasts about 1966 have even stopped echoing, England may yet win this thing.

It may be just the spur which many Irish people need to get rid of their televisions and the clutter of this media-driven world and go somewhere quiet and lead more contemplative lives, but it is worth asking (howling?), why? How are we on the brink of this? Why did those of us who have brought children into this world get the future so badly wrong?

Despite the marketing and the symbolically redemptive penalty against the flaky Argentinians, it is not really Beckham's fault. One suspects he is just playing his way back to full fitness, but so far he has been a peripheral figure dabbling in matches rather than painting them in the colours of his imagination.

Thus far England have been good, nay very good, in a solid, English way, against Argentina, appalling for a half against Sweden, and poor for most of the game against Nigeria. Their second-round game against Denmark saw them three up at half-time, having accepted more gifts than the average IOC member gets on a foreign visit.

Still, something about them is worryingly solid. They half-sleepwalked out of the much-ballyhooed group of death and dealt easily with a Danish side built in their image. They are not a flair team, but they are a side comfortable with themselves.

Under Eriksson they have learnt to stop worrying and start enjoying being English. They don't spend long hours pouring over dossiers on rival players or watching endless videos. They go out and play the English game as they play it every Saturday. Sven has the serenity to accept that which he cannot change.

They talk modestly of being compact and united and at peace. They have yet to have their usual tabloid-frenzy World Cup scandal. There has been no booze, no bonking, no faith-healers, no bust-ups, no walk-outs, no rioting. Eriksson - with the help of five official media fondlers - has charmed the media into subjugation.

England are even in the unusual position of attrac-ting much of the neutral support at matches. The Japanese, it seems, love an overdog. They have been behind England all the way.

This World Cup has been entertaining rather than classic, and in that environment England have the personnel and the temperament. Michael Owen is one of those fantastic, quicksilver schoolyard poachers and, for all the pyrotechnics of Brazil, when Owen plays well (and sometimes he can look ordinary), nobody cashes in the half-chance more quickly. If he doesn't make it tomorrow, Fowler is the next best thing.

Ferdinand has been sublime, too. Whatever sins are visited upon Dave O'Leary's head, paying too much for Rio Ferdinand can't be one of them. His current form and serene implacability reminds one distressingly of the wonderful afternoon Bobby Moore enjoyed against the same opposition as tomorrow's some 32 years ago in Guadalajara.

Apart from the obvious building blocks, Eriksson has seen a decent side fall into place despite himself. He tried to turn Lieutenant Owen Hargreaves into General Owen Hargreaves, without the lad having seen any real combat action. A wound solved that. His defence might have been tainted by Nevilles. Again he got lucky. Sinclair, as unpredictable as a dog at a busy crossroads, has emerged as something like a 90-minute winger.

And, inadvertently, the Manchester United midfield (minus Veron and Keane, both busy polishing the bon mots for the pre-season "I know what you didn't do last summer" joshing at Old Trafford) has become the Eriksson midfield.

Keane's understudy, Nicky Butt, has done more than enough to remind us of Keane's greatness. To be as good as Butt is and still have to play second fiddle is a testimony in itself to the virtuoso he studies under. The familiarity Butt and Paul Scholes have with each other going back to youth days at Old Trafford has made both better than they have looked all season and has compensated for the loss of Steven Gerrard.

They will need to be at their best tomorrow. There are two inside tracks on Brazil for the smart punter to tune into. One whispers that this Brazilian team, which lost six qualifiers, isn't that good and they are plump for the taking. The other suggests they have played well within themselves this far and tomorrow might be the stimulus they need for a big blow-out to start their run to the finish line.

Here in Japan, where the home team have (literally) bowed out, this game has become the key moment of the World Cup, a glamourous, star-spangled event.

Eriksson believes the game to be "the best defence in the World Cup against the best attack", which is quite a claim to make about any outfit that has Danny Mills as a key component.

So to the lovely Ecopa Stadium in the foothills of the Ogasayama mountains outside Fukuroi City in the prefecture of Shizuoka. England can expect heat and humidity and intuitive football.

But then, England always expects.