The Faintest Show on Turf?

Well, after all the hype and the hope, the might- or should that be plight- of England was finally joined with the tiny nation of Trinidad and Tobago in Nurenberg, Germany, this evening as the Battle of Rooney's Foot finally saw the star striker hit the ground running, and leaving it with his metatarsals intact in England's second match of the FIFA World Cup group stages.

Ironically though for a game supposedly called football, it was the header of lanky Liverpool player Peter Crouch which finally gave England just cause to chant and puff The Great Escape.

Truly it was such a redemption from ignominious defeat, with a final burst of footpower from that star of the FA Cup final, Steven Gerrard. His goal in the closing minutes finished the match off and at the same time rescued it from being a lackadaisical kickabout to deliver something which gives at least a passable hope of success in the second round, which the England side now passes on to regardless of the outcome of next Tuesday's match against Sweden.
It was a pity there wasn't a bit more effective passing on the pitch, mind, but hey we got there, even if by a somewhat circuitous route.

What a contrast tonight's game of soccer was to the astounding precision, team work and sheer entertainment value of the ceremony of Beating Retreat. No, not the hasty exit to the nearest airport which England might have faced if they failed tonight, but the spectacle which was taking place on Horse Guards Parade, London at exactly the same time- and drawing to its conclusion around the same time as the match.

Tonight's ceremony was in honour of HRH Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh's 85th birthday, which occurred last Saturday. However, while the salute to their Captain General by the massed bands of the Royal Marines will undoubtedly have pleased His Royal Highness, he is rather as always basking in the shadow of his wife this rather strange flaming June week, where the mood of the nation has been as mixed as the extremes of the weather: London reached 32 degrees Celsius (over 90 degrees Fahrenheit) on Monday on the hottest June day since 1898.

Nurenberg too has been hot and sultry, and I'm bound to ask why on earth the World Cup has to be held in Midsummer rather than the more comfortable conditions of autumn or spring. But life for a football team as much as an army regiment, marine band or even the sovereign herself -and for all of us- can never be a stream of warm, sunny, relaxed days and there will always be the moments of drama and excitement, tension and worry when the heat is on- as well as days of sheer tedium like those demonstrated for much of the ninety minutes of today's socca warriors against the three lions of England.

The "official" celebrations of Queen Elizabeth II's eightieth birthday have gone into their second half now. Saturday sees this celebrated with the annual Trooping the Colour ceremony on the same London "pitch" as tonight's performance by the Marines, which my brother and I witnessed in all its astounding pageantry and precision movements at it's first performance, a dress rehearsal almost, last night. If only that kind of skill and commitment was carried on to the field of play!

When all's said and done though, soccer's only a game, despite what Liverpool's almost monarchical manager Bill Shankly famously once said about it being far more important than life and death. Whatever happens to our side between now and 9th July, they'll live to fight another day, and many more millions will have been poured into the bank balances of teams and sponsors when the plaudits and praise for Gerrard and Crouch, Rooney et al have died away to a faint echo.

Whereas the praises of the saviour of all mankind ring from heavenly terraces even as I type. The part of the church's year celebrating the events of Jesus's life and the birth of the church have now passed. Easter, Pentecost and Trinity Sunday have come and gone for another year, but today- the feast of Corpus Christi- we are reminded that Jesus gave far more than a healed torn muscle to contribute to the victory that matters over all others. He gave up his whole body and his very life blood, remembered in the elements of Holy Communion, only to find God keeping his promises and raising him from death on a cross (not, it has to be said, a netted crossbar. That's far more exciting than rescue from the jaws of defeat by eleven "Trinibagian" warriors. It's the defeat of everyman's greatest enemy, Sin

Fly the red cross of St George, by all means, but it's the holy cross of Calvary which really brings victory. I'll sing Jesus's praises for evermore, for I know that only he can really save us, just as God's mercy has saved our gracious queen to enjoy eight decades of life and service. Enjoy the footie- not forgetting the cricket and tennis, of course- this summer, but above all, remember the one who offers us all not just a moment of glory after ninety minutes, but life eternal through his hands after the most important substitution ever made.
and his feet-