1. Better Do Bet..err – There was a time, eons ago now, when international friendlies were viewed as a valued part of the footballing landscape. A fleeting but enthralling chance to see the best of our kinfolk step aside the battle lines of club football and join forces for an exhilarating showpiece, not to mention a momentous, pride swelling feather in the cap (or, technically, tassel) for those lucky few selected.
These days they’re more contentious than military intervention or a Daily Mail editorial on…anything, or the American pronunciation of Craig (it’s Cray-g, not Kreg for goodness sake!) So what better way to while away the hour (and a half) of a game you’re struggling to get your juices flowing for, than a flutter? Betting makes football more fun apparently. Or so my dad, and Ray Winstone, always says. And he spends his Friday nights watching Dagenham and Swindon battle it out to see who can hit low flying aircraft first. My dad that is, not Ray Winstone.
At 9-1 for first goal scorer, Ashley Young looked a diamond. Quid’s in my son. Bangerang. The lad had looked excellent against the Welsh, and with his natural habit of drifting into the box from the wing (like a sort of opposite world anti-Rooney) and his penalty taking prowess for Villa, nines looked a steal. Fives for Andy Carroll? Not worth it, not when there were nines available for Young and a sweet ton to be made from light £12 bet.
There is however, a caveat (Stan Collymore’s favourite word) for football betting in my opinion. Never bet on a game you’ve already got a vested interest in, it tends to distract you. And so it was that I spent the entire first half forgoing any real allegiance to my country of birth (like a sort of opposite world anti-Welbeck) and focused the entirety of my attention on supporting Ashley Young. Any player who didn’t pass it to Young whenever he was in a passably decent position was an absolute bastard, as was Andy Carroll, merely for the heinous crime of being in positions that Ashley Young should’ve been in, and having the audacity to expect players to look for him from crosses. And after half an hour, as the ball crashed off the bar from a mere yard out, the goalkeeper nowhere to be seen and my golden boy prone on the turf in disbelief at his stunning, gaping, awful awful miss, I consoled my inner England fan that I was at least, most probably, more upset about it than anyone else in the stadium. And then we scored, through Andy (bastard) Carroll, and I rose to my feet in dampened polite applause at a cracking first senior goal for an exciting new young prospect in a surprisingly entertaining and atmospheric International at Wembley, with only one thought trawling through my mind. “I hate you Ashley Young.”
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2. Let The Right Ones In – Aside from its ability to make me hate my own National Team’s players (a stance usually only adopted during abject tournament performances, or as they’re more commonly know, tournament performances) this caveat (I’ve now used it almost as much in one article as Collymore attempts to in a sentence) was relevant because last night’s game – contrary to all expectations – was really good. Watching a young, unconventional, inexperienced England side pass the ball along the ground and create chances against a side whose default setting is “run at them really fast” would’ve been a pleasure (relative to almost all other new Wembley Internationals) if I hadn’t been steadfastly supporting one rather disappointing player. And in hindsight (and truth) I did actually enjoy it. I also – to even greater surprise – found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with Stan Collymore’s TalkSport rantings (without any caveats) that these kind of experimental games are vitally important for building up both a new generation of competent performers and a reliable cast of backup players. In his own mangled hyper-active words “you can’t dump someone into a new job and expect them to carry out all the difficult tasks on their first day”, they need bedding in for confidence and players like Wilshere or Baines (who where both excellent) will now be one feathery cap closer to feeling at home in an England shirt.
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3. Ghana Feel The Noise – Another reason for the enjoyment of the evening was the infectious support of the visitors. Having a large ex-pat community in London, Ghana brought one of the largest traveling delegations in recent memory, all of whom had seemingly come in fancy dress and, deprived of their World Cup vuvuzelas, had to resort to making deafening hysterical noise with their actual human mouths. Which by Zeus they did. This didn’t include conventional chanting per say (in fact, it didn’t) and for large periods when England were in control they remained mostly silent, but whenever a Ghanaian player got anywhere remotely near the goal, they let out and almighty ear-splitting roar that seemed to increase in volume and pitch the longer they stayed in possession, like a hoard of baritone schoolgirls at a Justin Bieber mobbing. After their fantastic display in South Africa, the understandable hero worship of their players was heartwarming, matched only by their (largely pantomime) booing of home debutant Danny Welbeck, who’d had the sheer bare faced audacity to turn out for his country of birth’s senior side after appearing at U-17,18,19 and 21 level, rather than accept the last ditch invitation of his ancestral nation, the bastard. He’s no Kevin Prince Boateng. But then who is? (Answer: Kevin Prince Boateng.)
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4. A Change is Ghana Come – Changing things. Changing things is good. Changing things > Stoic unflinching dedication the same old rubbish. After a new shaped side bravely dismissed the daunting and fearsome 116th ranked Wales at the weekend, another daring, attack minded 4-3-3 formatted team held, and competed with a side a full 100 places above. Despite iTV’s best attempts to pretend England were hard done by, a draw was a fair result against a side who performed streets ahead of us at the World Cup and with a team of fledgling understudies who did their manager and fans proud. Chief amongst the highlights was that, like the bigger boys on Saturday, they played football. Actual real football. On Andy Carroll’s last cap against France at Wembley a few months back, hoof ball was the order of the day as we were outplayed and embarrassed by a transformed Les Blues but last night the Geordie giant was rarely utilised for his height or comical 1970’s porn ponytail. Instead, with Jack Wilshere running the midfield, a more Arsenal’ed approach saw England try and work their way through with that half remembered old fashioned nostalgia tactic, accurate passing. After the removal of Wilshere the side lost their potency and Ghana fully deserved their point, but in the first half the open and expansive positive football was a joy to behold for a bitter, twisted young curmudgeon like me. Well it would’ve been, if it wasn’t for bloody Ashley Young.
5. Please Sir, can I have some more? – All in all it was a satisfying and entertaining night out in the baron industrial wastelands of North West London, and it finally looks as if the new Wembley Terminal 5 stadium is slowly becoming a ground capable of actually hosting entertaining football matches. It’s only taken them three and half years. And after games like this, it’s obvious that England should be playing more games like this. Games against teams with large ex-pat communities ready to bring hefty jovial numbers and teams – England included – willing to treat it like a proper game. With the FA’s stubborn refusal to include themselves in the newly formed Nations Cup a proper, competitive minded friendly schedule is what is needed to both bed in new players and invigorate the jaded minds of both the established and their fans. For once I left Wembley with a satisfied smirk and a spring in my step. Well, I would’ve done, if it wasn’t for bloody Ashley Young. The bastard!
You can follow Oscar on Twitter here, Twitter/oscarpyejeary where you can tell him that that was less five things, and more three very long things, and join him in his never-ending quest to get the word Bangerang into popular usage. The movement is growing!
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