England in the cellar

How strikingly this team differs from the image of English football, which does not want to retreat before the onslaught of everyday life!

The moon, as we know from Nikolai Vasilievich, is usually made in Hamburg, the once American brand laptop is made in China, and you can buy the shape of the English team sewn in Thailand in any sports store. So do it. And now a T -shirt with three lions is tightened with a beer stomach, white hetras adorn the legs that are not used to running, but what a name on the back! Kane! Foden! Bellingem! The owner of Mikey feels like a hero.

It seems that the England team at Euro-24 consists of people who bought a T-shirt with famous surnames. There are surnames, and players? With the players of the problem.

Is that Kane? The same Kane, the thunderstorm of the goalkeepers, the King of the penalty area, the master of the blow? No, this is some kind of false kaine, falling into the game, like in a swamp.

It failed, and it is not visible for about twenty minutes. And Bellingham, beloved Carlo Anchalotti and the star of Real Madrid, where he leads the game, how the conductor leads the orchestra - is that he? No, this is an impostor in his T -shirt, an impostor, deprived of a creative gift and a sharp native pass - bought a Bellingham T -shirt and runs around the field, disgracing a loud name.

So they look, these British, in their free time playing in the Premier League. In the best league of the world! There, in the fields of Manchester and Liverpool, they make a game weekly as a spectacle one hundred percent, there they rush at terrible speeds and beat powerful blows. There they set fire to the grass and ignite the air, there they fly forward with the stratum mane, like lions, and face their foreheads, like rams, there they are the heroes of violent attacks and knights of protection. But here, in the euro, in the national team of their country, they all suddenly faded, all faded, everyone obediently turned into a puzzle, which decided to put the inspecting coach of Souteite ... a faded, boring puzzle.

There, in England, in the Premier League, Kyle Walker and Kiran Trippier-kings of the edges rushing around the eyebrow with the threat of a rumbling motorcycle: step back, sutured. There they are the embodiment of energy and speeds, there they put pressure on the might and main, they injure, tear the enemy into shreds and absorb the space with spoons and bowls. Here, in the national team, they timidly connect forward, but at the same time look back; Here they have neither motorcycle speed, nor rampant courage - so, the edges as the edge, wow ... and nothing special.

In the first two games of England, there was not enough some strong vitamin, a yellow ball in a sweet shell that swallowed-and immediately flared up, and lit up, and flew. How dramatically this team differs from the perfect image of England and English football, which arose many years ago and does not want to retreat before the onslaught of everyday life and practicality! We remember Milner-Drive, the will of Gerard and Lempard's passion, the bull neck and the stubbornness of Rooney and the incredible ability of Lineker to score goals. We remember the noble gentleman of Bobby Moore in the center of defense and alcoholic Jimmy Gryvz in the center of the attack - these are people of the great significance that could win and lose, but never in the game they did not squeeze the tail and were not a seniority trembling over three pence.

And these! They scored a goal of Serbia and went into defense for the whole second half. We hid from the Serbs into the cellar and sat there for 45 minutes, afraid to stick out, protecting the goal, frightened, miserable and boring.

How England can be frightened by Serbia, how people from the best league of the world can be afraid of the Serbs gathered with the world on the thread, cannot be understood. The same story with the Danes: they scored a goal for them - and immediately blown away, hid in the tractomotine, in the development of the scheme, in the protective option for holding the account. The Danes were twisted and created, invented and playing, the British were stinging the whole second half to their gates, and if they tried to get out of the cellar and play from the heart, then the cold sweat was struck by them immediately: oh, what are we? Where are we? Is it possible? Squeeze immediately and back into the cellar!

The thunderstorm of the goalkeepers, the born scored Kane played in defense and turned there into an ordinary nothing, from the super bombardier - into the labor defense system.

The goalkeeper Pickford pronounced the attackers that they were not running back. And forward?

And there was no one who, with his own will and with his movement, would break the shameful defense of the great team, which stood to score the second goal and the third, and not sorry to shake, saving the first.

What - or whom - is missing this team with complexes, a team afraid to lose and therefore afraid to play? Harry Maguire Central Defender, an ever -gloomy giant with a motionless face capable of making a mistake where no one expects her, and thereby get the game out of balance? Grilish with his ability to exacerbate? They are not in the national team, which the coach Gareth Southeit set up for a serious struggle, but not for a creative game - and on a long, unmistakable path to the finale. Unmistakable and joyless.

Three blue lions on the T -shirts of the England team opened their mouths and growl. Look, they stuck out their tongues, their small red tongues are like drops of fire.

But today the three lions have faded and faded. England, are you? Where are your dreadnoughts? Where are the mighty towers with the main caliber guns? Where is your kipling with his cigar, stack and white cork helmet?

Where are the sailors and captains of Joseph Conrad, who directed their ships right in the heart of the storm? Where Richard Oldington, with rage and anger shouting on behalf of the lost generation: “Wonderful old England. Yes, Sifilis, old bitch, you gave us to eat the worms ... ”-but still marvelous, still unforgettable. England, where in your game the living energy of the Beatles and their fearlessness laugh at everything in the world? Where is it all? Where did it go? When will it return? Football is bored if there is no England in it - real, with three formidable lions on his chest and a wide powerful attack.