The Shape of Things to Come

'Two plus two equals HARRY FOR ENGLAND'

More bewildering news from the world of autobiographical serialisation as the greatest-manager-England-never-had-but-still-may-have-and-most-likely-still-will-end-up-with-at-some-point decided to follow such luminary commentators as Gary Lineker and, ahem us, in putting the boot into the FA for not being able to run the country properly, or something.

This Be The Curse

"We should have defended deeper!"

“England let you down.” Roy Keane’s blunt assessment of England’s shortcomings against Montenegro last night struck a chord. Because that’s precisely what England do. Always. Even when, aged roughly 18, you have recalibrated your expectations to match the reality that England are no better than a quarter final side in the tournaments they do manage to qualify for. In short, England manager hands on misery to England manager; England fan hands on misery to England fan.

PlantagaBACKOFTHENET

"So wise so young, they say, do never live long."

Plantagenet line-leader Richard the Third of England has confirmed his availability for England duty as the national side prepare to face Brazil at Wembley. Third, last seen disappearing beneath a crowd of defenders at the notoriously feisty Bosworth Field on a wet and windy Tuesday night in 1485, declared himself ‘fit and raring to go’ having been confirmed as the skeleton dug up from a social services car park in Leicester in September.

Going For A Burton

Nice, isn't it? NOW GET RUNNING

An important moment in English football came and went this week. A day when the FA finally attempted to throw off the shackles of their abbreviation connoting ‘Fucking Arseholes’ and pushed forward into a brave new dawn of ‘Fingers out of Arses’. A day when incessant, ceaseless ranting on these fair pages – here, here, here, here and here… you get the picture – finally appears to have come to fruition. A day when the national game’s powers that be finally believe they have an answer to the age-old, 10-word conundrum, comprising in no particular order the words:

‘What, the, Fuck, happened, to, root, and, branch, review, the?’.

YOU’RE WELCOME, ENGLAND.

A (Sort Of) Brave (Sort Of) New Dawn

David Bernstein kicks a ball at a child (presumably), yesterday

As half of the universe was hanging on the future of potentially the most significant export to come out of Belgium since waffles, waffle makers and confusing instances at Magic Spongers HQ when realising the difference between ‘Belgian’ and ‘Birds Eye’, something else was going on in the bowels of England’s national stadium.

The FA announced yesterday that the ‘shareholders’ (the county football associations) had voted to bring in “a new player pathway for football” with an 87% majority. After doubtless asking ‘what?’, the likelihood is that you’ve joined our initial response on these fair pages which was – quite reasonably – to ask the FA what the FUCK took so long?

English Jobs for English Workers

'What competition?'

Handing you over to a man who has obviously read the Magic Spongers blueprint - filing a piece months late - here is the ever-excellent Dan Forman on a still pertinent issue

In October last year (for it has taken me this long to get round to writing this piece) those of you without access to the Times website (or unwilling to pay a pound for the paper) may have had the misfortune to miss this fine, considered piece of sportswriting from Mike Atherton.

The Man Who Would Be King

"This is going to be a piece of piss."

As the sky turned pitch black, the air grew heavy and the heavens opened, a deafening chorus of “Hallelujah” rang out. For a second, it seemed like a genuine second coming as the Shankly Gates rocked and the memory of the hunched, nervous little figure with the unfortunate lisp and penchant for rubbing his face really hard became nothing but a nightmare. “It’s over now,” they said. “The king has returned.” And the king held his hands aloft and the people did flock to him in multitudes and make big banners, reassured at once that they were in the presence of greatness.

Can Hodgson Ride The Merseyslide?

Roy Hodgson leans towards his deputy Sammy Lee, his face creased with tension, brow sticky, stomach uneasy: “Sammy, what the fuck do we do? How do we change it? Who can we bring on?” Lee, a man who has spent his life in the game, is nonplussed. “I don’t know boss. We have nothing. We can’t change it.” Hodgson, growing increasingly worried, darts a look left and then right. He eyes up those sat on the benches next to him. He is trying to get the measure of the situation, while trying frantically to calm his nerves. It wasn’t like this at the Cottage, he thinks. “David, get stripped lad,” he says. Hodgson exchanges glances with Lee. His side are 2-0 down to their local rivals and his only chance at changing the game is by throwing on David Ngog. Hodgson, resigned to his fate, shrinks back into his chair, eyes wide, face creased with tension, brow sticky, stomach uneasy.

Arise, Sir Roy

Since the end of December 2007, the only stock to have risen higher than Roy Hodgson’s is that of Tamiflu. And, given that the majority of us didn’t die or turn into pigs, you can guarantee that will be declining soon. Hodgson’s, by contrast, shows no signs of abating.

Incredibly, Fulham are now in the semi-finals of the UEFA Cup/Europa League/Spawn of Platini having played 16 games in the tournament so far and 55 in all competitions this season. Preposterously they have knocked out last year’s champions Shakhtar Donetsk, Italy’s Old Lady, Juventus, and now German champions Wolfsburg, who began the season in the Champions League. To even get to the knockouts, Fulham survived a group containing Roma, involved at Serie A’s summit this year, Basel and CSKA Sofia. They’re also safe for another year in the Premier League, sitting 12th.

Hodgson is no stranger to fantastically mind-numbing achievement, having made Switzerland the third best team in the world at one point in the mid-90s. His achievements at Fulham potentially surpass even that, though it is hard to say which is his greatest. Saving the club from relegation with 12 points from their final five games in 2008 – including that turnaround from 2-0 down at half time to win 3-2 at Eastlands – takes some beating. Subsequently leading Fulham to their highest ever finish in seventh place and European competition in 2008/09 somehow saw Sir Alex Ferguson awarded the Manager of the Year accolade for the ninth time.

Finding Brede Hangeland was a stroke of genius. Signing Mark Schwarzer was another. And how good a bit of business was Bobby Zamora for £4.8m? And who could get so much out of a seemingly past it Damien Duff? And Clint Dempsey? And flog a barely-proven Chris Smalling to United for £20m? And… you get the picture.

The only thing possibly standing between Hodgson and being named Manager of the Year is that his achievements haven’t taken place in the Premier League. On relative Premier League form alone this year, Hodgson could be pipped to the post by Alex McLeish. David Moyes is a frequent contender. Should Harry Redknapp take Spurs to fourth, he might get the nod. But no one can deny Hodgson deserves recognition for taking Fulham from relegation favourites to Europa League semi-finalists in two years. His reward would be long overdue.

This season has surpassed all expectations. Fulham knocked Juventus out of Europe. JUVENTUS. That alone, for a club that has a ‘neutral end’ at its ground and Mohamed Al Fayed as chairman, should see Hodgson knighted. For now though, the odyssey continues – Fulham meet Hamburg in the semis for the right to contest the final in… er, Hamburg on May 12th. Hodgson’s stock may not have peaked just yet. Rob MacDonald