When Harry Kane nodded-in his injury time winner against Tunisia, I felt a wave of gratification. Not so much because I was desperate for England to win - I need to be wined and dined over at least three group games before I fully commit to this team emotionally - but rather because it felt so right. So... correct. We do not, as a nation, deserve any wondergoals just yet. There would have been something confected and just a little tawdry about a last-minute 40-yard free kick or overhead screamer. A bit porny, almost.
No no no. Two Kane goals, both smashed in from close range, both coming directly from centre-backs trudging-up for corners and getting a head on the ball was ideal, thank you. Life, I have found, is a lot easier when you learn how to celebrate and appreciate a six-yard box bundle. Kane will have much to teach us over the next few weeks.
Still, I was quietly relieved that England got the win. The past few days had seen me slowly but surely succumb to the same dose of World Cup fever I always come down with every four years, despite all the weary aloofness I attempt to project in the run-up to a tournament.
It’s just impossible not to get sucked-in. It’s unavoidable, even in the unlikeliest of places. The day after Mexico beat Germany, I dropped my kids off at nursery to find one of the older nursery workers tricked-out in full Mexico kit. I congratulated her and she thrust her chin out, managing to look proud as anything, even while mixing-up some Ready Brek. I mean, how does stuff like that not get you psyched for the World Cup? I didn’t even know she was Mexican. Now I do. Now I want Mexico to make the quarters at least.
And as the opening games progressed, I remembered what it was that makes the World Cup so compelling. It’s not the quality of the teams and players so much as their idiosyncrasies. The sheer confusion and fear exhibited by Saudi Arabia’s defence against Russia in the opening game, for example, was one of the most relatable things I’ve ever seen on a football pitch. I’ve been there so many times myself - wondering what’s for tea as some keano opposition striker dribbles past me to scores his team’s fifth - that it was, in a weird way, heartening to see. I felt the same way upon learning about Panama defender Roman Torres who is, at 15-and-a-half stone, the heaviest player at the tournament. I mean yes, ok, Spain 3 Portugal 3 was good and everything… but there’s a player who weighs the same as my dad! Isn’t that more exciting? Isn’t that, in the grand scheme of things, more important? As the tournament progresses and the knock-out rounds beckon, I always feel a little wistful at the prospect of saying goodbye to roly-poly Panamanian fullbacks and scaredy-cat Saudi back fives. Appreciate them while they’re around.
Anyway, aside from the sheer no-nonsense utility of Kane’s brace for England - they were goals you could probably buy at Wickes - there was a lot to enjoy in the opening encounter. It was interesting, watching England’s first competitive game with three at the back. For some reason it felt a bit like when your dad would have to drive on the opposite side of the road when you went on holiday, and everyone had to just stop mucking around for a bit so that he could concentrate. Yes, there were times when he’d almost go the wrong way down a motorway/Harry Maguire would pass the ball directly to an opposition striker. But after a few days, he’d be fine. Hopefully, for England, it will play out the same way. And to Maguire’s credit, he more than made amends for any earlier slip-ups by actually bombing it forward and dribbling the ball into Tunisia’s box in a search for an equaliser. Sometimes the line between Total Football and Sunday League can become blurred. I’ve already got a sneaky feeling that, if England can blur it often enough, we might just do ok.
