England: 2010: The FA Disunited, But 'Me' Invited

[JonWo]

It is the Summer of 2009 and I am sat in my no frills chalet at Butlins, gearing up for a big night out, when out of the blue I get a phone call that would not only prove to be a life changing moment, but also a rather unexpected surprise.

It’s only bloody David Triesman, “Alright my old mucka, it’s Davo here. These c**ts at the FA have decided to force me out of my job, but I ain’t going down without scuppering a few of their best laid plans first”.

“Are you pi**ed again Dave?” I replied.

“No boss, it’s not even twelve bells yet, just shut up and listen. I’ve been sacked by the FA, something about bribes and the Ruskies, I can’t really remember. To cut a long story short, I’ve sacked off Capello and seeing as it’s my last day in the job, I thought I might do you a favour”.

“Makes a change I replied”. The tight fisted old coot was only ever in touch if he wanted something from me.

“So much attitude for a man with nothing…” Dave tutted down the phone. “Look, I’m just on my way out of the office, there’s a bit of a media sh*t-storm brewing, so I’ll be abrupt - how do you fancy leading our country at the World Cup? I can’t think of anyone less deserving, but it should be good for a laugh. What do you say?”.

“You are pi**ed, aren’t you?” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“It’s a simple question Jonathan; yay or nay? I’m on my way out of FA Headquarters for the last time, so what do you say… I’m not going to beg”.

“I still don’t believe you and I think you should probably lay off the sauce for a few days Dave, but what the hell, I’ll play your little game - yay!” I said half-heartedly, as the phone line went dead.

[JonWo]

And what a prophetic ‘yay’ that proved to be. Waking up at the ungodly hour of 5am the next day, I made a beeline for the bathroom, gasping for water as my hangover began to take effect.

Having quenched my thirst, I made my way back to my room but my plans for a lazy Sunday afternoon were quickly derailed by the sound of my phone ringing.

I won’t bore you with the details, but what a frantic Sunday afternoon it proved to be. I had managed to borrow a suit from my brother James and by noon, I was sat in the press office at Wembley giving my first speech to the world’s media as the new England boss! I thought Dave was joking, but as the post p*ss up beer shakes took hold and I uneasily tried to respond to the media grilling, the former FA leader was nowhere to be seen.

“Sh*t” I thought, what have I got myself into here.

Holland - England, Amsterdam Arena -Friendly

I had been looking forward to my messy weekend in Amsterdam ever since me and a few mates had booked it in January of 2009. However, this particular ‘messy’ weekend wasn’t quit what I had planned.

It was my first game in charge of the England team and despite having a month to get used to the idea, as I stood on the edge of my technical area in the Amsterdam Arena, it still felt like I was lost in a particularly deep dream.

But this particular dream was going to prove to be particularly delightful. I had always liked Fabio Capello, he knew what it took to create a great team, so I had stuck with the one he had chosen before his sacking and boy, did this prove to be a good decision.

Lampard nodded in Gerrard’s corner in just the fourth minute to give us the lead and only two minutes later, Defoe added a second. I really was in dreamland now, with ‘my’ England team putting one of the most fearsome teams in world football to the sword.

Things got even better before the half hour, as Terry capitalised on some scrappy defending from Heitinga to swoop home a third goal. Some of the Holland fans had already begun heading for the exits and you couldn’t really blame them.

In the wake of Capello’s abrupt sacking I had opted to go all guns blazing with a 4-3-3 formation and this was beginning to bare fruits, even at this early stage of my managerial tenure.

We dominated this once great Dutch side from start to finish and with a sizzling late strike from Rooney, ran out emphatic winners.

Holland 0 - 4 England

[JonWo]

The media; still in a state of uproar following Capello’s dismissal were begrudging in their praise for my sides momentous victory, but I knew that our upcoming match against a Croatia side who had denied us a place at Euro 2008 would be the perfect opportunity for me to enamour myself with them and take a major step towards qualification.

England vs Croatia, Wembley Stadium - World Cup, Group 6

“Wem-ber-lay, Wem-ber-lay…” I sang on the team coach as we made our way to the spiritual home of English football. I should have been nervous, but three bottles of wine before 9am in the morning tends to lessen your inhibitions a bit.

I stared through half-squinted eyes at my adversary, Slaven Bilic on the touchline, but my sides performance was anything but half cut.

The boys touch great pleasure in systematically dismantling a Croatian team who had been a thorn in our side for too long. Joe Cole’s persistence in driving back Darijo Srna was rewarded mid-day through the first half, as his angled through ball was diverted into his own net by the Croatian.

The Croatians seemed to be there own worst enemies and as we continued to apply the pressure, Jerko Leko was forced into a mistake by Rooney. The centre half buried his face into the hallowed Wembley turf as his miss-hit back pass eluded Pletiklosa and trickled into the goal to make the score 2-0.

For the next thirty minutes we were rampant and any memories of those desolate nights in Zagreb and our infuriatingly disappointing last showing against the Croats at Wembley were soon forgotten. Lampard crashed in a spectacular half-volley from twenty yards out and the incomparable Wayne Rooney deathly dinked in a fourth with just ten minutes to go.

As the Croats became desperate and their play erratic, Rooney again split their defence, but was felled by Srna. Penalty taking responsibilities fell at the feet of Frank Lampard and the Chelsea talisman made no mistake in clinically dispatching his penalty to earn us a famous victory and put us in pole position in the group.

England 5 - 0 Croatia

[JonWo]

“Lions Roar to South Africa” was the headline on The Sun on the following morning. I couldn’t really argue with the newspapers sentiments, but there was still the little matter of a tough looking away fixture against Ukraine to follow, as well as a less than straight forward fixture against a Belarus side who were still in with a shout of qualification.

Ukraine vs England, NSC Olympiyskyi, World Cup Group 6

Coming off the back of two emphatic victories against sides ranked in the top 10 of the FIFA world rankings, this was a bit of a wake up call. The Ukrainians were desperate for a victory to aid their own qualification and after a dire first half, it looked to all the world that their wish would be granted as they took a 60th minute lead through Kalinichenko.

However, with their die-hard supporters exploding into rapturous celebration, it was us who had the last laugh. Two goals inside the last ten minutes from debutant Michael Dawson and Wayne Rooney ensured that when those names are pulled out of the hat on December 4th, we will be amongst the top seeds.

Ukraine 1 - 2 England

[JonWo]

I rang the changes for what was our final qualification game, at home to Belarus. Rodwell, Wilshere, Milner, Lennon and Bent were all given their chances to impress in the starting line-up, but this proved to be a stark reminder to me about the fragility of my sides strength in depth.

Defoe and Bent were amongst the goals but a resolute Belarusian side were by no means lucky to come away with a 2-2 draw. It was quite the opposite and the side, spear-headed by former Arsenal midfielder Alisander Hleb gave us a real scare and were full value for the draw, as well as their unlikely placing in the World Cup play-offs.

Still, I was delighted that I had overcome my first obstacle of qualifying for the World Cup and in doing so, I had began to chip away at the media’s hostile reception to my appointment. Gone were the article and editorials about my lack of managerial experience. They were replaced with stories of optimism, an optimism that this once ‘golden’ generation’ might yet have a few miles left in the tank and that this particular tank might well have enough fuel left to steam-roller it’s way to the World Cup.

However, December 4th - my day of destiny - The World Cup Draw

I knew we were in pot 1, but that didn’t stop me imagining the potential mine-field of top quality teams we might have to go through if we were to win the biggest one of them all.

The draw itself was a very protracted affair, ‘I don’t give a sh*t about African dancers and music, just tell me who were playing in the group stages!’ I thought as proceedings got underway.

My request was soon heeded and as the names were drawn out of the hat and we were named top seeds in Group C, I began to relax in my chair:

Group C, fourth seeds: Saudi Arabia - I couldn’t complain, the Saudi’s, despite there wealth were footballing no-marks and perennial whipping boys at the World Cup.

Group C, third seeds: Chile - ‘Ooooohhhh’ I groaned as the South American dark-horses were drawn. They had very much been under-achievers in previous tournaments but had more than enough quality throughout their team to cause some upsets in this tournament. Not happy at all.

Group C, second seeds: France - I visibly flinched in my seat. We had been drawn in the proverbial ‘group of death’. The French, despite their fortuitous victory over Ireland in the play-offs were a world class side and with the likes of Henry, Benzema, Sissoko and Anelka in their ranks, they had the capability to beat any side, on their day.

I couldn’t help but grimace, this wasn’t the draw I had been hoping for and I knew that we would have to be at our very best if we were to progress. Still, if we were to win the World Cup, we would need to beat the best of the best at some point, might as well get them out of the way during the group stage…

[JonWo]

To say I took my foot of the pedal over the next few months would be a slight understatement. Knowing that we didn’t have another fixture until March of 2010, I took Dave up on his offer of a boozy cruise around the Caribbean.

After four wins out of four games, I felt like I had earned myself a nice little holiday. However, a three month cruise may have been pushing things. Suffice to say, the new £20m a-year FA supremo Sven Goran Eriksson wasn’t best impressed. Just as we were about to set sail to go back home, Dave’s phone rang.

“Alright, my old squire” Dave answered.

“Look mate, I’m sorry you couldn’t come with, but I only had two tickets and I asked Jonathan first. I’ll take you next time, ok? Are we still friends…”

“He want’s to speak to you” Dave said passing me the phone.

As I had expected, it was my new boss and Mr. Eriksson, in stark contrast to his normal persona seemed mightily angry “Wolstenholme, where the hell are you?! We’ve got a game in four weeks against Egypt, get your arse home now!”.

“Whoops” I said, dropping Dave’s phone into the sea as he looked on in disbelief.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he shouted.

“My hand slipped” I said unconvincingly before ushering Dave back towards the bar for one more night of sun, sea and care-free drinking, before returning back to the daily grind.

I arrived back at Soho square in late February and immediately received a bollocking from Sven; he was livid with me for not only failing to declare my pick for the World Player of The Year award, but also for missing the European Championship qualifying draw.

“We’ve got Switzerland, Montenegro, Bulgaria and Wales; which should be straight forward enough. But after your recent indiscretions, namely, galavanting off halfway around the world with the man who has cost this country the chance to host the 2018 World Cup, it has been decided that we will not be renewing your contract after the forthcoming tournament”.

This wasn’t the easy going Sven I had heard so much about in the media, but having taken to the job like a duck to water, I bit back “I’ll show you all! I’ll go to South Africa and I’ll bring the World Cup home… you’ll practically be begging me to stay on in four months time”.

[JonWo]

I sat at home and tucked into a curry whilst watching a few videos of our upcoming opponents Egypt on the Friday night. They didn’t seem like owt special, so after half an hour or so, I got bored and decided to get an early night.

England vs Egypt, Wembley - Friendly

Wembley in the Summer time, there can’t be many better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon than managing your nation in one of their final warm up matches in the build up to a World Cup.

I stood on the touchline wearing a pair of fake Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses I had bought whilst in Jamaica as the game got underway. A lot of well respected observers were speculating that this World Cup - the first one held in Africa - would see one of the native teams really leap out onto the world stage, with some even going as far as to say we could have our first African World Cup winners.

However, these guys must be seeing something that I can’t. Egypt: Current African Cup of Nations holders and arguably the best team in Africa - yes they were well organised, yes there players were great athletes, but they seemed to lack that ‘it’ factor that a side really needs in a World Cup.

Their deficiencies were exposed in brutal fashion by my team in front of a capacity Wembley crowd. After a lively opening fifteen minutes, we settled into our rhythm and Defoe consolidated his position at the forefront of my plans with a well taken goal from Gerrard’s lofted pass.

Crouch added a second, ten minutes later and after this, Egypt’s early resistance seem to wane. They struggled to deal with our free flowing passing - a relative novelty for an England side, but absolutely delightful nonetheless.

My decision to bring on Agbonlahor for a tiring Crouch at the break proved to be something of a masterstroke, even if I do say so myself. With the pacey Aston Villa front man bagging a brace to complete a resounding and very assured victory.

England 4 - 0 Egypt

A rye grin ran across my face as I looked towards the FA delegation at the final whistle. I knew they didn’t like me, they didn’t think I was the right kind of manager to be in charge of the national team.

But my results speak for themselves so far and although I know that the axe is looming, there will be no greater pleasure for me, than in four months time, watching these no-nothing suits squirm as they attempt to justify sacking only the second man in history to lift the World Cup with England.

Oh… that and actually winning the World Cup itself.

[JonWo]

We have now reached the business end of the domestic season, ‘squeaky bum time’ as one famous Scot had once called it. But whilst the club teams battled for supremacy at home and in Europe, I had dismissed Dave’s advances for one last jolly prior to the tournament and began to take my job a little bit more seriously.

We had one final warm up game against Mexico to go and whilst I had a pretty good idea about most of the players I wanted to take with me to South Africa, there were still two or three places up for grabs.

England vs Mexico, Wembley - Friendly

Ahhh, the Mexicans. There always there or thereabouts when it comes to the World Cup and should provide us with a stern test here at Wembley. I’ve got a week before I name my final 23 for the tournament, so Joe Hart, Dawson, Baines, Wilshere, Agbonlahor and Bent will all be getting a starting role in this game.

I asked the players to put on a show for the fans in our send-off game. Although I had seen a great deal of what each of them had to offer in training during the past few weeks, I was placing a heavy emphasis on their performance today as a way of gauging how they would fair in what is sure to be a white hot atmosphere in South Africa.

The early signs weren’t great, as Baines hobbled off after just two minutes. Despite their arguably superior technical ability, we were overpowering the Mexican’s in all departments. My words had clearly resonated with the players and we talk the early ascendancy, with Wilshere blazing a shot narrowly over the bar.

As the half progressed, Mexico’s backline fell deeper and deeper and this played right into our hands. Defoe pretty much booked his place on the plane with another composed finish from just outside the area.

At 1-0 up we were looking comfortable, however, we seemed to rest on our laurels somewhat and were made to pay, as Giovanni Dos Santos acrobatically turned in Carlos Vela’s cross on the stroke of half time to draw the Mexicans level.

I resisted the temptation to make any changes at the break; the result was of secondary importance in this fixture and whilst I would dearly love to gain the victory, I was more concerned with determining which of the fringe players were worthy of inclusion in the final squad.

As the second half began, I saw some of the players reverting to our old long-ball style of play. Dismayed, I barracked them from the touchline as Mexico began to gain the upper hand. However, against the run of play, Darren Bent managed to worm his way free of his marker and calmly deposited the ball in the back of the net as we regained the lead .

It was a composed finish, but the Mexicans were still looking dangerous. As the half wore on, our defending was amateurish at times and but for Vela’s inability to convert the chances presented to him, the result could have been a lot less favourable.

Our good luck seemed to linger right up until the end, with Agbonlahor grabbing a third to give us a slightly fortuitous win.

England 3 -1 Mexico

Not the best performance, but a win none the less and from what I had seen today, I now had a very good idea about the players I would be taking to South Africa with me.

[JonWo]

With the domestic season now over; Chelsea crowned Premier League champions and narrowly missing out on a famous double, having succumbed to the mighty Barcelona in the Champions League final… it was full steam ahead to South Africa!

My squad selection had raised a few eyebrows in certain areas of the media, but I was unrepentant. I was convinced that the squad I had picked had all the necessary ability to bring the trophy home once again.

The nation waited with baited breath as the squad was announced:

Goalkeepers: Scott Carson, Joe Hart, Paul Robinson

Defenders: Wes Brown, Michael Dawson, Rio Ferdinand, John Terry, Glen Johnson, Joleon Lescott, Micah Richards

Midfielders: Gareth Barry, Joe Cole, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard, Jack Wilshere, Jack Rodwell, Shaun Wright-Phillips

Forwards: Gabriel Agbonlahor, Darren Bent, Wayne Rooney, Jermain Defoe, Peter Crouch

Everything that had gone on before was now consigned to the history books. Although making those phone calls to the likes of Heskey, Bridge, Walcott, Lennon, Carrick and Hargreaves was tough, it was a necessary evil.

I stood proudly in the centre as my players huddled around and smiled as we boarded the plane for South Africa and said a silent prayer that the next time we touched down on English soil, our smiles would still be as broad.

[Bobbybarks]

Liking this one - keep it up...I want the French to be waving those famous white flags after we've annihilated them.

[JonWo]

South Africa; what a vibrant country. To a man, each and every person in this once war-torn environment was joyous as the opening ceremony took place amongst tight security and a sea of colour and noise.

Unfortunately for the hard done by Bafana Bafana followers, there was to be no dream start to their World Cup, as they went down 2-0 against the Mexicans in the opening game.

With our warm up act out of the way, it was time for the main event - Saudi Arabia. Our first game in the World Cup had seen us considered huge favourites by most neutral observers. However, I am far too long in the tooth to take anything as a given as both a fan and now manager of the England national team, so would be taking nothing for granted.

I didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so announced my starting eleven on the eve of the game:

Hart, A. Cole, Ferdinand ©, Terry, Richards, Rodwell, Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney, Defoe, Agbonlahor

Saudi Arabia vs England, Ellis Park - World Cup Group C

Either way you look at it, this fixture is a must win. A great way for us to feel ourselves into the mix of tournament football again after four years out, but I warned the players that anything but an emphatic victory would be seen as a failure.

The barmy army were, as usual, out in full force and making their voices heard inside Ellis Park and it wasn’t long before they had something to really cheer about, as former captain John Terry nodded in Lampard’s corner after just five minutes.

Clearly with a point to prove, the Terry-Lampard combo was in effect only five minutes later, with our influential centre back already staking an unlikely claim for the golden boot by heading in a thunderous second.

Defoe continued his fine goalscoring form with a typical poachers finish just before half time. With the Saudi’s looking well beaten, I withdrew Lampard, Gerrard and Defoe at the break, with Wilshere, Barry and Bent taking their places.

Threatening though we continued to look, our inability to really put another international team to the sword was very much evident in the second half and the game somewhat petered out.

Saudi Arabia 0 - 3 England

Having got through the opening game with a victory and the squad unscathed, I was delighted to later see Chile and France play out a very dour 0-0 stalemate.

Hoping to build on our early success, I knew that victory over a prodigiously talented, yet often erratic Chilean side would confirm our place in the first knockout round.

Chile vs. England, Loftus - World Cup Group C

The Chileans were all together a different proposition from what was a relatively lax opening fixture against the Saudi’s. Make no mistake, after a highly impressive qualification campaign and boasting the likes of Alexis Sanchez, Humberto Suazo and Mark Gonzalez in their squad, the Chileans were a very dangerous side.

The name of the Chilean game was ‘pace’ and lots of it. They would try and overload us down the flanks and hope to subdue our defence with their inspirational playmaker, Alexis Sanchez pulling the strings.

This was not the style of football we were used to and the opening ten minutes was a decidedly tense affair. If I’d have had a notepad, I’d have been reaching for it, as the Chileans showed some real intent in the early going.

Without our set-piece maestro - David Beckham - a lot of people had thought that we wouldn’t be as effective from corners and free kicks during this tournament. However, luckily, we have a more than adequate understudy in a certain Mr. Steven Gerrard and his pin-point corner allowed the incomparable John Terry to again show his prowess in the air by giving us the lead, much against the run of play.

As our fans and substitutes bench arose to salute Terry’s third goal in two games, I was jubilant and willing my team to continue pressing a Chilean defence that clearly had more than a few deficiencies.

We were really beginning to thrive in our unfamiliar terrains, as both Gerard and Lampard went close. As thirty minutes elapsed and we began sucking the life out of the Chilean side, Defoe sprang his marker and expertly rounded the ’keeper before calmly placing the ball into the back of the empty net.

A fixture that had once looked so daunting was now being swept aside with consummate ease by my squad. We were really laying down a marker for the rest of the teams in the competition here.

Ashley Cole, Agbonlahor, Rooney and a further two goals from Terry - completing a staggering hat trick - showed the world that this England team really means business and it’s going to take something really special to stop us from achieving our aim of bringing the World Cup back home!

England 7 - 0 Chile

This way one of those results that really reverberate around the globe. This wasn’t no international also-ran that we so callously destroyed, this was one of the best teams in South America and as if the rest of the World didn’t already no - the English are coming!

England vs France, Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium, World Cup Group C

With our place as group winners already assured and having watched the French limp over the finishing line with an unconvincing 1-0 victory over Saudi Arabia, I saw this fixture as an opportunity to really stamp our authority on the competition.

This French side was a pale shadow of that from former years. Gone was Zidane, Thuram, and Barthez, whilst age seemed to be catching up with Thierry Henry, I knew they still had the ability to cause us problems, if we let them.

This was a dead rubber in our eyes, but still a vital game for the French; a win would see them earn a place in the knockout stages, whilst a draw or loss would see their fate taken out of their hands.

Have I ever told you I’m not a big believer in fate? Probably not, I’ve also never told the French public and that’s a good job because their boys took one hell of a beating.

It was Defoe, Rooney, Lampard, Gerrard, Terry - it was, as near as this country will ever get to ‘total football’.

Off the back of our momentous victory over Chile, I was delighted to see the players unwilling to relent.

We peppered Les Bleus goal with chance after chance in the first half and barely gave them a sniff. It really was a joy to behold, but despite our best efforts, their stoic rear-guard was proving highly effective. That was until, the 65th minute, Rooney latched onto a Lampard through ball, turning instantly, he fired his shot across the face of Lloris, past the ‘keepers despairing grasp and into the back of the net.

It was our talisman’s 30th goal for his country and he milked the acclaim for all it was worth. He looked like adding his 31st with just fifteen minutes to go, as Terry glanced Gerrard’s corner onto the goal frame. However, late substitute Darren Bent was the first to react and stabbed the ball home from ten yards out.

Rooney went within a whisker of his second shortly after, but despite a late goal from Flamini, there was to be no dramatic last ditch French comeback this time around.

England 2 -1 France

It had been a richly deserved victory and one that most of my players wont forget anytime soon. World football seems to go in cycles, whilst ten years ago, it may have been the time for French dominance, this is the dawning of a new era and hopefully, a new era for English dominance.

We head into the knockout stages on the crest of a wave, fearing know-one.

[Elrithral]

Liking this a lot, but I would suggest staggering your posts, five posts per day is quite a lot.

[JonWo]

Glad your liking it, mate :thup: This was initially meant to be just a very brief story, which I'd hoped to write over the course of the night in which I started it.

But I've found it hard to do it justice and the chapters jst seem to keep coming and coming. I think it's a good idea to slow down the flow of chapters as my Fulham story seems to hve bombed. However, I tend to write in bursts - I wont do anything for a few days and then I'll pour out five chapters in a row - need to find a happy medium

[JonWo]

There’s widespread panic across the British Isles, a virus is sweeping the nation, some leaders are declaring a state of national emergency, all I know is that the country is being swept by World Cup fever. The countries work-force are becoming more and more ill, a huge amount of people are calling in sick for work at an alarming rate and I fear I might be the cause.

And so to the knockout stages… there would be no second chances from here on out - not that we’d needed any so far, but this is England after all.

At this stage of the competition there are no easy fixtures, but I was quite content with taking on Group D runners up and former European Champions Greece in the first elimination round.

England vs. Greece, Ellis Park - World Cup 2nd Round

The Greeks were by no means a bad side; still marshalled by their most successful manager ever, Otto Rehhagel, they had stuttered through a relatively easy looking group, finishing second behind Paraguay, with North Korea and Australia exiting the competition.

By our standards, we made a very pedestrian start to the game. Neither team seemed like they wanted to take any risks and it made for a particularly dour opening half hour. With my players looking sluggish and the Greeks not much better, the England fans began chanting raucously, trying to spur our team into action.

However, it didn’t have the desired effect. Just as I had begun composing my half-time rallying call, disaster struck. Torosidis picked the ball up on the edge of the centre circle and hit a first time pass up to Karagounis, the Greek striker span his marker Rio Ferdinand with an unnerving ease and then rifled an unstoppable shot into the top left hand corner of Paul Robinson’s goal.

The Greek fans began celebrating wildly in the stands but the rest of the stadium was in a stunned silence, as our supporters began preparing themselves for the worst. ‘Same Old England’ I could already imagine the headlines in tomorrows papers if we were to be eliminated here.

The players didn’t so much get the hairdryer treatment in the dressing room, it was more like a flame thrower. I had never been one to shirk making the important decisions, so I made the rarely seen triple substitution at the break.

If I could have, I probably would have taken all eleven players off. The ineffectual Gerrard, Rodwell and Agbonlahor made way for Joe Cole, Barry and Darren Bent and as the players traipsed back onto the field of play, I ordered them to rediscover that form that had seen us breeze through the group stages.

“Come on!” I roared as the game got back underway. The players definitely seemed a lot livelier in the second half, with Greece apparently content to try and defend their lead. Lampard had a thirty yard free-kick which narrowly went wide and Rooney stung Tsorvas’s gloves with a snap shot from the corner of the area.

However, as time progressed and we headed into the final twenty minutes, the situation was becoming more and more desperate. I’d played all my cards; had no substitutes left to use, so I continued to wildly gesture for the players to get the ball forward.

Thankfully, with just seventeen minutes remaining our long ball’s into the box finally paid off, with Rooney rising highest to head John Terry’s looping pass into the feet of Defoe and the Tottenham striker powered the ball home to draw us level.

I let out a huge sigh of relief but with extra time looming, there was still a lot of work to be done.

“Keep it tight, boys and let’s try and get that winner” I shouted as we headed into the final ten minutes.

With the momentum now well and truly having shifted to us, we laid siege to the Greek goal and with their defence struggling to hold us back, Lampard fired a shot that dipped wickedly right at the feet of Tsorvas. The Greek ‘keeper fumbled the ball right into the path of a grateful Wayne Rooney who stroked the ball home, sending the supporters into a state of bedlam.

England 2 -1 Greece

Lucky, lucky boys… if we’d been up against a stronger team today, then I dare say we would be on that plane back to England tomorrow morning.

[JonWo]

Right, now it’s time to finally get that pesky quarter final albatross from around our necks. We’ve suffered enough heartbreak at this stage of major competitions to last us a few lifetimes and I’m determined to be the man that finally breaks the hoodoo.

We would be competing against a familiar foe for a place in the semi-finals - no, don’t worry, it’s not Portugal, they went out in the group stage - today’s opponents are the same Mexican side that we overcame at Wembley just a few short months ago, but also the same Mexico who topped a group featuring European Champions Spain, Serbia and Ghana.

Mexico vs. England, Newlands - World Cup Quarter Final

You could feel the tension in the stadium as both sides entered out onto the pitch for this do or die encounter. We both knew each other well and both had match winners in our respective line-ups. It would simply be a matter of which team wanted it more on the day.

However, with the hopes of a nation resting on our shoulders, I knew that we could not afford to fall at this oh so familiar hurdle once more.

We started this game with a lot more intent than the last one, Gerrard had a header that cannoned off the bar after eight minutes and Rodwell blazed a half-volleyed effort just wide of Ochoa’s post.

It had been an encouraging start but my sense of anxiety still loomed as the game remained goalless. However, just after half hour I felt a waive of relief, I dashed out of my technical area, arms raised in celebration as Wayne Rooney gave us a richly deserved lead.

Chants of ‘Rooney! Rooney! Rooney’ rang down from the stands as the Manchester United man was mobbed by his team-mates. Mexico were already beginning to look like they were out of ideas; unable to break us down, the usually reliable Marquez gave the ball away to Rooney who dashed past the Mexican defence, however, one on one with Ochoa, he skewered his shot badly wide.

Half time came and went, I told the players that if they kept up this same level of performance, we were a shoe-in for the semi’s.

Things got even better straight after the restart, as Agbonlahor latched onto Defoe’s pass and dinked the ball over Ochoa to give us some breathing space.

We were sailing into the last four with ease at this stage and the Mexican’s looked well beaten.

However, as the clock ticked down, I saw John Terry wincing and holding his leg. Not wishing to take any chances, I immediately replaced him with Dawson and ushered him down the tunnel for treatment.

As whistles rang down from the crowd and the three minutes of injury time were all but over. Rooney picked up the ball on the edge of the Mexican penalty area; he passed back to Gerrard, who returned the favour. Just as Rooney was about to let rip, Carlos Salcido came steaming in with a reckless lunge which left our talismanic striker writhing in agony on the floor.

Never one to stay down without due cause, I knew it must have been serious. The final whistle sounded shortly after, signalling a skirmish between both teams. Our players were rightly upset at Salcido’s horrific challenge, but luckily the officials stepped in before the situation could escalate.

Mexico 0 - 2 England

[JonWo]

We all went to bed last night bricking ourselves. Sure one player doesn’t make a team, but we’re a far better team with Wayne than without Wayne.

Luckily, after a sleepless night, my fears were allayed the following morning when it was discovered that Wayne only had a bruised ankle and should be ready and raring to go for our semi-final against the old enemy - Argentina and there manager, our even more hated enemy, Mr. ‘Hand of God’, Diego Maradona.

England vs. Argentina, Soccer City - World Cup Semi Final

Football doesn’t get much more epic than this. These two great historical rivals battling it out on one of the grandest stages of them all. We knew all about the Argentines and the quality they possessed in their squad, not least from current World Footballer of the Year, Lionel Messi, who was currently the tournaments top scorer with five goals.

I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of such an electric atmosphere in all my life, the flags of St. George over one side of the stadium and the blue and white of Argentina over the other. This really was the biggest game of all the players lives - to the victory would go the spoils, the bragging rights and more importantly, a place in the final.

Prior to the kick-off I showed the boys a few clips of our previous matches with Argentina from 1986 and 1998 to get them revved up for the game. It seem to have the desired effect and they left the dressing room fired up and ready to set the record straight.

The game got underway and the butterflies in my stomach were so intense, I could barely contain myself. As I looked across the touchline, I noticed Diego didn’t look to steady on his feet either, but the could have been an all together different matter.

The crowd got behind us from the very first moment and this seemed to spur the players on, with both Rooney and Gerrard testing Federico Vilar inside the opening few minutes.

It was a fabulously entertaining opening twenty-five minutes for the neutral spectators - with Aguero rattling Robinson’s post at one end and Gerrard again coming close at the other - but it was absolute torture for me and Diego on the touchline.

Just as we looked to be getting on top, the Argentine’s sunk us with a world class counter attack. Cambiasso hooked the ball wide to Messi, Messi played it back infield to Gago, who found Messi again. Messi skipped past Ashley Cole, turned inside and jinked past Ferdinand as if he wasn’t there before pulling the ball back to an unmarked Aguero who struck the ball past a brutally exposed Paul Robinson.

I held my head in my hands as I watched that arsehole Maradona dancing along the touchline, I could barely contain my anger but couldn’t argue that it was a magnificent goal.

“Head’s up, lads” I shouted, having regained my composure, “We can still do this”.

Just five short minutes later, we were indeed back in the game and I don’t think I’ve ever cheered so loud in my life. It was a vintage England goal; John Terry hoofed a high and hopeful ball up field, Rooney rose above Cambiasso to knock the ball into the path of Agbonlahor and the Aston Villa striker showed a coolness that belied his years to pass the ball into the back of the net.

1-1... Game on!

The Argentine’s weren’t happy that the goal had been allowed to stand, as they thought Agbonlahor was in an offside position and with their frustration threatening to boil over, we took advantage. Again it was Agbonlahor, again Rooney was the architect, this time a clever reverse pass which deceived Walter Samuel afforded Agbonlahor the time and space to crash the ball home and give us the lead!!

Half time gave me a chance to finally catch my breath and I urged the players to remain calm and stick to the game plan. “Attack is always going to be the best form of defence against a team like Argentina, do us all proud out there in that second half lads”.

We showed no signs of relenting after the break and continued to take the game to the Argies. With just three minutes gone, Steven Gerrard received possession thirty yards out, took one touch to steady himself and then hit a strike that I’m sure we’ll be watching for some years to come, the ball crashed off the underside of the cross-bar and nestled into the back of the net to give us a 3-1 advantage!!

Diego looked close to tears on the touchline but the England fans - myself included - were jumping up and down, delirious with joy as we sensed we were on our way to our first major final since that glorious Summer in 1966.

Ten minutes later and things got even better, I’m not sure that after so many years of hard drinking that my heart could take much more of this. Agbonlahor enhanced his growing international pedigree with another typical poachers finish as the Argentine could only look on in anguish.

I saw out of the corner of my eye that Maradona was gesturing to his players to revert to a 4-2-4 formation, ‘the last act of a desperate man’ I thought to myself, with a smug grin on my face.

After such a frenetic start to the second half, it was almost inevitable that our tempo would drop a little bit. However, the team defended manfully to fend of the Argentines for the final half an hour and as the final whistle sounded, the players embraced each other and went over to celebrate with the fans, as the Argentine players crumpled to their knees in despair.

England 4 - 1 Argentina

[JonWo]

The result of the other semi final is in and I can now confirm that the team going through to face England in Saturday’s live final are… Brazil!

This isn’t the best Brazilian squad ever but they are still arguably the best team in the world, which is a testament to their enduring quality. They’d come through a gruelling semi-final with France, winning 2-1 after extra time and I was hoping that maybe they wouldn’t be in tip top shape for the showpiece of World football - The World Cup Final.

In the days running up to the match, I received good luck messages from a host of famous faces; including the new Prime Minister, David Cameron and the Queen.

England vs. Brazil, Soccer City - World Cup Final

I paced around the dressing room as the players waited for my instructions. I took a breath and began “History is our there to be made, boys. Each and everyone of you can become footballing legends today, each of you can go out there and realise your childhood dreams and each of you can fulfil the dreams of a nation that has been bereft of sporting joy for too long now. Today is your date with destiny boys… it doesn’t get any bigger than this”.

South Africa had promised to put on a show for this World Cup and they had well and truly delivered on their word. After all the pomp and pageantry of the pre-match show, it was time for the main event and as Defoe and Rooney stood in the centre circle waiting to kick off, I said a silent prayer - if there was a God - please let this be our time!

And away we went. Every pass of the ball was preceded by what seemed like the flash of a thousand camera bulbs. The media presence at this match was bigger and more intense than any I had witness in all of my life. I only hoped that my players wouldn’t wilt under the pressure.

Chants of “Come on England! Come on England! Come on England” thundered down from the stands as both teams felt each other out in the early exchanges. The tension inside the stadium was palpable but after a uneventful opening five minutes, my side sprang to life in emphatic style.

Ferdinand strode out of defence and threaded the ball up field to Lampard, who played an exquisite defence splitting pass between Alex and Juan, straight into the path of Wayne Rooney and you could almost here the roars coming from London, Manchester and Birmingham as Rooney angled his shot across the face of Julio Cesar to give us the early goal that I had been craving, 1-0!

Brazil weren’t prepared to give this one up without a fight though. Having dominated for the next twenty five minutes, there pressure finally paid off, as Pato was put through on goal by Kaka and took the ball around Paul Robinson before neatly placing the ball into the unguarded goal, 1-1.

There were conflicting emotions in the stand; the once ecstatic English support had the mood dampened, as the Brazilian fans exploded into life and practically lifted the roof off of the Soccer City Stadium.

‘Come on! Come on!’ I implored in an anguished voice, I would be damned if my team were going to be denied at this stage of the competition.

My heart almost skipped a beat as Pato came close to putting the Brazilian’s in front just three minutes later. However, his ferocious drive struck the post and I was relieved to get the boys back in the dressing room at half time, still level-pegging.

There wasn’t much more I could say to the boys that they hadn’t all heard before. They knew they had the weight of a nations dreams on their shoulders, their success or failure would all be down to how the responded to that.

We got back underway as the thud from the England bands drums reverberated around the stadium. Both sets of players seemed to revert back to form and it became a particularly cagey affair, but with so much riding on the outcome, I couldn’t really blame my boys.

As the half wore on and we reached the sixtieth minute, it became apparent that Lampard couldn’t continue. He had picked up a knock in an earlier challenge with Melo and I opted to replace him with Joe Cole. Wanting to liven up our forward three, I also replaced Defoe with Bent.

Something had to give and for the next ten minutes, that thing looked like being our defence. Brazil took the ascendancy with Pato again going close and a few minutes later, Amauri rattled Robinson’s post for a second time.

It looked like England fans would again be crying into their pints as Brazil pressure paid off in the seventieth minute, with Kaka steering a low drive past the despairing grasp of Robinson, 2-1.

‘Where do I go from here?’ I thought to myself as I stood on the touchline, my hopes and dreams beginning to sink away. It really was one of those stick or twist moments and as I watched a tiring Gerrard wearily strike an unlikely 40 yard shot closer to the corner flag than the goal, I made my choice and brought on Jack Wilshere for a real baptism of fire.

With the clock ticking down and down and down, it looked like my gamble had backfired. It seemed that Brazil’s name was about to be etched on the trophy for a sixth time, but with just five minutes remaining, my team summoned the spirit of ‘66 to miraculously get back into the game!!

And wouldn’t you know it, the chief architect; a certain eighteen year old prodigy in the form of Jack Wilshere. The Arsenal youngster dispossessed Kaka, before showing sublime skill,with a Marseille turn, duping both Melo and Anderson. He feigned to shoot before playing in Agbonlahor who sent the English contingent into raptures with yet another brilliant finish.

2-2, five minutes left and maybe those beers won’t be so tear stained tonight after-all.

If this had been a boxing match, it would have been stopped a long time ago, but we were still here; ducking, diving and plugging away until the very death.

This was proving to be one of the best World Cup finals in living memory; the game ebbed and flowed for the next five minutes and then another five minutes of injury time, it really was hearts in mouths time. One minute I had my arms raised convinced we were about to score a late winner, the next, I could barely watch as the Brazilians were about to do the same.

However, both goalkeepers stood firm and I was almost relieved to here the whistle go to signal the end of ninety minutes.

England 2 - 2 Brazil (Extra Time to be Played)...

[JonWo]

I walked onto the pitch and gathered the players in a huddle, I told them to stay strong and to believe. The Brazilians most certainly had some defensive frailties that we could take advantage of, but did the players have enough left in the tank to do so?

Most of the boys were either taking on fluids or receiving a massage from the coaches and physios, from here on out, it was all about survival of the fittest.

Off we went for a third time as the fans attempted to rally our battle weary troops with chants of ‘Rule Britannia’.

It was plain for all to see that both sets of players were running on empty. Although the Brazilians looked the more likely to make something happen, having gone the full 120 minutes with France only four days earlier, even they were struggling to conjure up anything more than a few hopeful long shots.

So, with an almost depressing air of resignation we headed into penalties. Not exactly our forte if you follow the English national side, but if ever there was a time for us to break our dreadful record in shoot-outs, this was it.

Penalty Shoot-Out:

Oh my Jesus wept! I had been a fan, I knew what it was like to sit at home watching the game, heart thumping as a penalty shoot-out unfolded and I didn’t have good memories of them.

I seem to remember beating Spain at Euro 96 being the one exception to the rule of England’s constant failures. But now, it was my turn to stand in those shoes once filled by Bobby Robson, Terry Venables, Glenn Hoddle and t’old Sven and I preyed that for once, things would turnout in our favour.

Some players were hesitant to put there names forward, whilst others were all to eager. I collected five names and then decided to leave the rest up to what is the lottery of the penalty shootout.

Arm in arm, my players watched on from the halfway line as Thiago Silva stepped up first for Brazil.

Brazil: - Thiago Silva: The centre back looks composed and places his penalty to the left of Robinson but Robinson is equal to it!! Thiago Silva misses!!

England: - Gareth Barry: England can take the ascendancy here, Gareth Barry is the first of the penalty takers. The Man City midfielder strides up purposefully and scores!! Sending Cesar the wrong way with a precise strike that goes into the top left hand corner of the net. 1-0 England.

Brazil: - Maxwell: The Internazionale left back places the ball into the bottom left hand corner, giving Robinson no chance.

England: - Darren Bent: A surprise choice, maybe, but Bent shows great composure and despite going the right way, Cesar can only palm at the ball as it flies into the bottom right hand side of his goal. 2-1 England

Brazil: - Anderson: The Manchester United youngster looks slightly hesitant as he stands over the ball. However, he clinically powers the ball past a stationary Robinson.

England: - Wayne Rooney: Come on my son! He’s been the heart and soul of everything that has been good about this England side during the tournament but fate is a fickle mistress and his penalty is expertly saved low down to his left by Cesar, miss!! 2-2

Brazil: - Pato: The AC Milan wonderkid has been a thorn in England’s side all game and he makes no mistake with his penalty, sending Robinson the wrong way.

England: - Jack Wilshere: What a moment for the youngster; this time last year he wasn’t even in the Arsenal side, let alone England and now here he stands taking what could prove to be a decisive penalty in a World Cup final. Can the eighteen year old handle the pressure? YEEEESSSS!!! Yes he can! Cesar stood no chance as Wilshere drives his penalty low and hard into the bottom right hand corner of his net. 3-3

Brazil: - Elano: Former Manchester City and current Galatasaray star Elano steps up to the spot, with the stadium in a hushed silence. His shot evades the grasp of Robinson and nestles in his top left hand corner, match point Brazil. The tension is almost unbearable.

England: - Ashley Cole: It all comes down to this, ‘Cashley’ - hardly the nations sweetheart, but all will be forgiven if we can see that net bulge right now. GET IN MY SON! Forget Cheryl, if we go on to win this, I’ll f**k you myself. 4-4

Sudden Death:

Now is the time for those players who didn’t want to take a penalty to do just that. From here on out, this hellacious final is even more of a lottery.

Brazil: - Hernanes: Twenty five year old substitute steps up to the mark with the boo’s and hisses of the England fans ringing in his ear, can he hold his nerve? Yes he can, as he nonchalantly dinks the ball down the middle, as Robinson dives to his left. Bastard

England: - Paul Robinson: It’s ‘keeper versus ‘keeper as Robinson steps up and an entire nation holds it’s breath… IT’S IN! **** me! Talk about composure, Cesar was close, but the power on the shot was too much for him. 5-5

I can feel a cardiac coming on.

Brazil: - Daniel Alves: The Brazilian right back is next up to the plate as the tension reaches fever pitch. He takes a surprisingly short run up but makes no mistake with his spot-kick, a classy finish under immense pressure.

England: John Terry: Oh ****! Moscow, anyone? No mistake this time, this one was JT’s redemption and it was an immaculately taken spot kick. Bottom right hand corner, no chance for Cesar. 6-6

Brazil: - Robinho: Former Manchester City forward, on loan at Santos, someone’s got to miss and I’m sure both the Blue and Red half of Manchester would love it to be him. AND HE DOES!!! Robinho’s tame spot-kick was easily stopped by Robinson, the ‘keeper didn’t even have to move.

England: - Joe Cole: And so it comes down to this. Joe Cole vs. Julio Cesar. Joe, if you can here me now, I want you to know that the entire country is with you.. HE SCORES!!!!!! ENGLAND HAVE DONE IT, ENGLAND HAVE WON THE WORLD CUP!!!!

Penalty Shoot Out: England 7-6

‘YAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSS!!!!’ I screeched as I sprinted onto the pitch, fists pumping as the entire English squad, backroom staff and delegation piled on top of Cole. After 44 years of hurt, we had finally climbed back to the summit of World football.

Today was our day, the day that football finally came home.

[salkster2102]

No pictures in stories in afraid Mr Terk will have a field day. Otherwise a nice little story

[JonWo]

The crowds amassed outside Heathrow airport, they were there in their thousands hoping to catch a glimpse of that famous old trophy and after a brief delay, when Rio Ferdinand eventually emerged finally bringing the World Cup back onto home territory the noise was absolutely deafening.

Our heroes stopped briefly to sign a few autographs, but straight after it was on to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen and then Trafalgar Square, where the victory parade would begin it’s procession towards Wembley stadium.

No expense had been spared; having seen literally millions of England fans congregate on the route to the spiritual home of English football, once the players arrived, to the sounds and sights of a splendid pyrotechnic display, I took the mic.

“Let’s here it for the new World Champions” I roared, to rapturous celebration from the home contingent.

As Baddiel and Skinner emerged from the tunnel and began singing their signature song, I had a few words left for the English nation, “We came, we saw, we conquered. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your England, these players are your world champions, this is the moment we have waited 44 long years for, let’s all give it up for Rio Ferdinand and his world conquering squad. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you the English national team, I give you the World Champions”.

I thought the atmosphere was loud in South Africa, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the reception the players received on their homecoming.

“Milk it boys” I said, “This is a once in a lifetime occurrence for you lot, you deserve it”.

As the players soaked up the applause, I was beckoned into the office of a certain Sven Goran Eriksson. I knew I had nothing to prove, I had won the mother ****ing World Cup for Christ’s sake. Still, I decided to here him out.

“You can go back on your word, Sven. I won’t think anything less of you”. I said nonchalantly.

“Jonathan, you have conquered the world and you are a hugely extremely talented manager”.

“But…” I ushered

“But…” Sven continued, “You have shown yourself to be a flaky individual, can the FA really trust you?”

“Can the FA really trust you, Mr. Shags-owt-with-a-pulse?”

Eriksson laughed half-heartedly before exiting his desk in a huff and throwing a contract in my direction.

Before he left, he said “The Association want you to stay on - as you said, your now untouchable, having won the World Cup… This is a 1-year rolling contract, if you give me so much as an inkling that we’re faltering, your out the door. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your holiness” I replied sarcastically “£20m a year, you say? If your worth that, then surely I’m worth almost triple”.

A bizarrely infuriated Sven spat back “I’m worth every penny of that money…”

“Cause you are” I replied, “I’ve only won the bleeding World Cup, but no, your worth six times my wage…”

The Mr. Burns look-a-like was more animated than he had been during his entire tenure as England manager. He thought he had me in his pocket, but I wasn’t willing to accept the contract put forth.

“No” I uttered…

“What?” he replied in his softly spoken Swedish drawl.

“I’m not signing it” I reiterated “I’ve done the job I was signed for with England, it’s time for me to move on… Good luck hanging onto that £20m a year contract of yours…”

[JonWo]

Blargh! With the lack of comments. I have written far worse stories that have been better received, don't want this one to die prematurely. Euro 2012 quaifying campaign is currently being written

[Elrithral]

Better received elsewhere? Yeah? Basically 10 views per post means it's going well, anything more and it's going very well. You don't get that many comments on FMS.

[HorusFM]

Either write the story or don't. Comments are great to receive, yeah, but you have to also be writing for your own enjoyment or it just won't work. It takes a while for a person to get properly into a story, so perserverance is a key element here. But it is up to you. If you feel comments are the be all and end all here, you might get anywhere. El is right, ten vpp is good, anything more and you're doing excellently. People won't feel compelled to comment if you start to complain about it.