Peacemaker7

So Long Steve

Humiliation for Steve's Shower

The Wally with the Brolly, Gets the Boot

I'll Get Me Croat

We Stink!

Becks won't quit!

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The pain. The tragedy. The humiliation. The mighty English, knocked from the sanctimonious perch. Euro 2008 had not just become a distant dream for a nation who arrogantly believed - in the face of blatant reality - that they were still the best in the world, but it was dead and buried six feet under the patio.

'The sad thing is' Alan Hansen rabbited on in the BBC studio, 'We would have won if we had qualified.'

'Very true' Gary Linekar agreed, 'but it was always going be tough for Scotland.'

A bemused Hansen merely smiled as he wittered on about the lack of 'defending'. And he should know.

Heads would roll, the wailing and nashing of teeth assailed the country. People died, starved, murdered, women and children were raped , earthquakes devastated the world but the main new on the English media outlets was about the farcical decision of the Croats to turn up at Wembley and try.

Not that Croatia had tried. Not really. But it was all irrelevant now. Head has to role, and Steve McLaren's did. No-one shed a tear. It was his fault entirely, the English Berti Vogts. The fans, the media cried out for a saviour and two men pushed to the forefront to be that man.

Jose Mourinho was Portuguese, hated by 90% of Englishmen after his time in charge at Chelsea - but now they begged for his forgiveness and pleaded him to restore their pride and glory.

'All we need is a decent manager!' the fans cried, 'Our players are still the best in the world!'

David Beckham was English. Totally inexperienced, totally without a braincell. Yet he was the darling of the media, the man with the golden touch and he would surely have what it takes to lift his nation back to the top of the pile.

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Football fans - especially English ones - have short memories. Apart from 1966 and all that, but considering it's shown on TV every ****ing minute of the day, it would be hard for them to forget the day they cheated their way to world glory.

And it was the World Cup that was on the agenda once more, the draw for the European Qualifying for the 2010 World Cup in South Africa and once more English hopes rose. Placed in a group with Belgium, Sweden, Azerbaijan, Lithuania and Wales this was going to be such a walk over and pride would be restored. Who needed the Euro's anyway.

Step forward the man to lead Engerlund to glory, the man with the Midas touch, the missing link, the Messiah the.....

Step forward Bert Morton......

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Bert Morton had not been roundly quoted in the press as someone in line for the most important international job in the world, nay the Universe. That was hardly surprising, because Bert Morton had been managing Little Twickenhamshire in the 1021st level of the English pyramid system. Bert Morton was a nobody, a loser, a man of no talent - in many ways similar to Ted Locke, but much much worse.

Was this the man to lead England to glory, to their rightful place at the Finals of the greatest footballing show on earth? The man to bring together all the pieces of the puzzle, to unite an England side who were surely the best in the world, if only they could actually remember that. Was this the man to bring home that coveted World Cup?

The media were stunned, the fans befuddled, the players simply couldn't give a ****. So there was nothing new there then.

The FA announcement was quite simple, 'We need someone to restore the grassroots of the game, to remind us of where we come from, where we are going. Someone with a real passion for the game. That man is Bert Morton.'

It was lunacy.

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Bert Morton was not just a talentless never has been who was lucky to have gotten a job in the basement of English football. He was also an upper class twit, 1327th in line to the English throne - only three places behind David Beckham. Morton was not at all surprised at his sudden elevation to the very top of the game.

'Oh I expected it' He stated in his upper-class, oh so English way, 'Mummy always told me I would go far. I am royalty don't you know, so it is only fitting. I am quite sure this will be an immense experience for everyone.'

With an opening match against Belgium at Wembley, the pressure was on the stuck up toffee nosed git to produce the goods and his line up certainly pulled a few people upright into their seats - whilst the rest fell of with derisive laughter.

The side which would go out to restore English pride would be:

Lee Camp; Nedum Onuoga, Curtis Davies (C), Gary Cahill; Fabrice Muamba; Darren Ambrose; Ashley Young; Giles Barnes; Theo Walcott, Billy Sharp, Dexter Blackstock

subs: Scott Flinders (GK), Michael Dawson, Tom Huddlestone, Anton Ferdinand. Luke Moore, James Milner, Dave Nugent

sherm

Interesting start there PM

HD

Decent lineup! :thup:

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There was much consternation in the English media. On the one hand, the inevitable hand, the bleating began - when were Owen, Gerrard, Cole, Rooney, Beckham et al? How could any manager in his right mind leave out the finest players in the world and expect to succeed?

On the other hand there was those, a very small minority it has to be said, who praised the new managers vision and courage. The 'Old Guard' had let their country down badly during the last qualifying campaign, they had no team spirit, no guts and too much ego. At the very least, it was argued, this bunch of players would be hungry for success, determined to show their worth.

After forty five minutes at Wembley against a very ordinary Belgium side, Bert Morton's enchanting, thrilling, refreshing brand of attacking football saw his name ring out around the stadium and busy media pundits were already writing the same words for tomorrow's columns.

'Morton Must Go!'

As the match stood at 0-0, and Belgium had looked the better team there were fears for the second half but those fears were soon squashed as Sheffield Wednesday's Billy Sharp turned the hero of the day with two fine second half goals and England came away with all three points.

The World Cup dream was alive and kicking.....

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The English footballing press are never really happy, but as the side travelled to take on lowly Wales, smiles were starting to appear on English faces again. The Euro 2008 campaign was fading into the background, a mere blip that had taught the greatest footballing nation on earth that they perhaps shouldn't take everything for granted.

ok, not really.

Anton Ferdinand replaced the injured Gary Cahill at the back, whilst James Milner came in for Ashely Young on the left wing. There was still no room in Morton's squad for the so-called 'big stars' of the English game, but the murmering about that had for now at least, partially faded.

Eleven minutes gone in Cardiff, Craig Bellamy ghosted past the English defence and Wales were sensationally ahead. As the knives were being drawn, England lumbering, Billy Sharp once more came to the rescue eight minutes from the break and the sides went in level at half time. England expected, no demanded, a win but three minutes after the restart, Wales were back in front - Bellamy once more leaving Lee Camp stranded.

It was bold attacking football from England, a complete contrast to the dull, boring rubbish the previous, now forgotten, incumbant had been slated for but as England surged forward so they were exposed at the back and Freddy Eastwood hammered home a third Wales goal eleven minutes from time. Once more, England stood on the brink of total humiliation, and although Billy Sharp grabbed a second in the final minute it was not enough to save Englishes blushes.

The press were clear in their condemnation, slamming the naivity of playing such attractive attacking football. Morton had better shape up pretty damn smart, or he too, royalty or not, would be hounded out of the greatest job in the world.

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The defeat to Wales hurt. England were not supposed to lose to the other 'home' nations, they were inferior, useless, cannon fodder. But that defeat at least reminded anyone who thought otherwise - which by now was virtually no-one - that England were not yet back at the top of the footballing perch.

Four days later, a trip to Sweden and a match England simply had to win if the World Cup dream wasn't to be over before it had even begun. Morton, despite the Welsh defeat - which he put down to 'jolly bad luck, what?' - stuck with the same group of players, the same formation. By half time it seemed this was in fact a totally different England side, goals from Ashley Young, and a brace from debut boy Jonathan Franks saw England head in 3-1 up at the interval.

This was much more like it, and Billy Sharp, the new Rooney, the greatest player in the world to be, made it 4-1 shortly after the restart England were cruising. This was much more like it, this was amazing - 4-2 - fantastic - 4-3 - stuttering - 4-4 - utterly shambolic -4-5 - a complete annihilation - 4-6.

What on earth happened in that last hour? And the knives, already out and sharp were being prepared to be plunged into Morton. Clearly naive, stupid and lacking in judgement. It was one thing to lose - it was quite another to throw away a four one lead. Morton had to go, and he had to go now.

But he didn't.