England beat Wales at Wembley 3-0 in a tepid friendly.

 England beat Wales at Wembley 3-0 in a tepid friendly.

There must have come a point in England's 3-0 friendly win against Wales when you just had to blink in case you'd missed anything of significance. It had all seemed very odd and mysterious, an international friendly between two neighbours over the garden fence and not a great deal to shout about. In the end England won because their youthful nippers and spring chickens were infinitely better than the young red dragons of Wales. But once again a football match fell helplessly into a pit of ludicrous anti-climax. 

Throughout the ages Wembley Stadium has been renowned for those big-time, atmospheric, tribal, feverish and dramatic spectacles where 100,000 crowds would always populate those vast rows of seating and terraces that would resound to thousands of cacophonous voices, scarves swaying and fluttering like yacht sails and chants that wouldn't have been out of place in England's opponent's choirs. In a word this was not football at its most natural and normal, football, dare one say, as an authentic product, a marketable commodity around the world and something to be proud of. 

But last night the huge banks of soul-less seats and yawning gaps reminded you of the harsh realities of life, football without its devoted supporters, no sounds, no noises, the sounds of celebration and rejoicing that should accompany these international matches sinking into the depths of a miserable wilderness where once ancient artefacts and medieval ruins once resided. We should have known that we'd feel this way because we had been given prior warning. 

For the first time in Wembley's long and illustrious history, the national stadium was utterly deserted, betrayed and then hurt by a disease that none of us could possibly have foreseen at the beginning of the year. There were moments last night when Wembley reminded you of a nuclear fall-out, the site of a fatal accident, a bombsite no less, a painful void where tragedy has met disaster and the compensation money can barely be imagined. It does make you wonder at times whether football has taken out insurance for football matches without its supporters. How much longer can football cope without its main source of revenue, its emergency and contingency plans? 

In the middle of August Arsenal became the first winners of an FA Cup Final in front of nobody, a vacuum, a footballing desert where only the result seemed to count and nothing else. You found yourself grasping at straws, pretending you were interested and engaged but then denying that you'd ever been a witness to it all. Arsenal did comfortably outclass Chelsea but Wembley must have felt a real sense of rejection because the old Highbury season ticket holders would have felt outraged at what could only be considered as a major snub. No football fans and no Cup-winning jubilation. 

Roll forward two months and England opened up their Nations League qualifying campaign season and preparation for the provisional European Championship next summer. At the moment though the prospect of any genuine approximation of the normal way of life continues to be nothing more than wishful thinking. This was a friendly against Wales which in a way seemed an apt description because Wales were sadly at much the same experimental stage as England with the only difference being the choice of test tubes and bunsen burners. 

England, of course, for their part gave the overriding impression of junior apprentices wet behind the ears, eager novices but willing to learn with the passage of time. Every single England player looked as if they were being introduced to international football for the very first time, unsure how to react and just a little stage-struck by the magnitude of the occasion. In fact you couldn't help but feel that here was an Under 21 combination masquerading as a team much older than they really looked. 

Here we had an England team sent out by manager Gareth Southgate to dip their feet hesitantly into the waters, young whipper-snappers with years and years in front of them. This had the feel of a pre-season international friendly where the result is a complete irrelevance, nobody really cares who wins and an occasion that wouldn't immediately change the mood of any football supporter. England were rehearsing for far more meaningful contests and just going through the motions. 

Tonight there was one performer whose future at international level could be defined by his private life. Aston Villa's Jack Grealish is an outstanding young midfield player. Of that there can be no doubt. But Grealish could turn out to be one of those rebellious types who just chooses to live life on the edge, a trouble maker, an ill-disciplined maverick who simply prefers the night-life and all of its damaging side effects. Grealish, so we are told, loves a clandestine cocktail or two and the customary brewery of lager. Or maybe not.

Grealish of course is the latest international product to emerge from the Aston Villa academy. During the 1980s Gordon Cowans was the suave and sophisticated midfield player who featured prominently in Villa's triumphant capture of the old First Division League championship title and the following year was an integral part of Villa's European Cup-winning side against Bayern Munich. Cowans was a princely, swaggering and strolling player, a player of craft and subtlety, patience and genuine creativity, cunning and connivance. He played the game at his pace rather than being forced into the hasty, hurried long ball into no man's land. 

But Grealish does have something of the Alan Hudson and Tony Currie about him, in as much that there is something of the exhibitionist about him that can be more of a hindrance than a help. Grealish can dictate the pace of the game, controlling and composing rather than being caught up in a cul-de-sac. The close control and neat footwork can only be admired but then you fear that over-elaboration could prove his downfall at times. Still, while there is life there is hope. 

In this tepid 3-0 England victory against Wales, Grealish was joined by a sprinkling of excellent young players who you felt, should have been in bed long before the kick-off. Gareth Southgate's commendable emphasis on extreme youth clearly worked although the formation against Wales would not have been advisable in a fiercely competitive contest against the likes of France or Germany. 

This was the first time out for Wolves promising centre-half Conor Coady, Arsenal's bright and blossoming Ainsley Maitland Niles, his colleague at the Emirates Stadium Bukayo Saka, a rare appearance in goal for Nick Pope and another cap for the man whose first goal and glorious free-kick temporarily lulled England into a false sense of security. Croatia would go on to lose emphatically in the World Cup Final to a brilliantly irrepressible France side. 

However while Maitland Niles, Coady, Saka and Trippier were gently feeling their way into the starry world of international celebrity, the rest of the England were struggling to find a permanent foothold in this pretty ordinary friendly. All three players looked safe and dependable but were somewhat heavy-footed and ponderous when moving into attack. It felt as if England's stick or twist attacking philosophy was ill -conceived rather than well thought out. And yet England won so why fix it when it isn't broke. 

For much of the match England's well constructed midfield seemed to be stuck in a pot of treacle, edging their way around Wales with measured passing movements but then flummoxed on the edge of the Welsh 18 yard area, a case of over egging the pudding. England were all pretty embellishments but little in the way of bite or penetration. Tottenham's Harry Winks once again demonstrated his potential with a display of poise and impeccable assurance in a deep-lying attacking role. Winks looks as if he could be England's new Glen Hoddle. There is certainly an air of smoothness and composure about his game. 

When Winks linked up with Leeds very perceptive Kalvin Phillips there was a presence and vibrancy about England that maybe we hadn't noticed before. Then Grealish slowed the game right down and began to trick his way through surrounding red Wales shirts, a player with all the requisite footballing gifts. Before we could blink England would now take the lead. Grealish, teasing and taunting his full back, cut the ball back onto his crossing feet, floating a perfect ball onto the head for Everton's new wonder kid Dominic Calvert Lewin whose cleverly guided header flew past Wales keeper Wayne Hennessy. 

From this point onwards Wales looked shell shocked and never really looked like recovering, precise in their passing and occasionally threatening before England's opening goal. But there was something indefinable missing and it certainly wasn't Land of Our Fathers which could be heard all over North London before the game. England were now running the show, bossing the game, dominating possession and rarely looked like throwing everything away.

A free kick from the impressive Kieran Tripper landed conveniently at the feet of the onrushing Conor Coady who intelligently side-footed his half volley past Hennessy for England's second goal. Wales were now fading into obscurity and the sight of their manager Ryan Giggs on the touchline led you to believe that perhaps a forty plus winger might have been able to open up England's defensive fortress. 

Alas not. England proceeded to carve open the Welsh at will, intelligent short passes stretching the Welsh and frequently leaving the opposition chasing their own shadows. Now Southampton's equally as talented James Ward Prowse had been added to the winning party. The Welsh were visibly tiring and England's knock out blow came in the form of their third and now logical goal. 

From another high and inswinging England corner substitute Reece James headed the ball powerfully back to Southampton's hungry striker Danny Ings whose brilliant bicycle kick sailed past Welsh goalkeeper Hennessy. Game up and over for the Welsh, spirited opponents on the night but the English nursery of coltish talent had by far the more definitive and cutting edge. 

And so it was that England had comfortably negotiated a Wales side who, on the evidence of the opening quarter and hour or so of this game did little wrong but then disappeared in the latter half of the game. England had won with something to spare but, you suspected both teams more high profile days may lie ahead. 

Meanwhile back in the managerial dug-out Gareth Southgate was flaunting the very latest line in fashion. The dapper waistcoat has now been dispensed with and the grey cardigan has taken its place. For a moment he reminded you of a friendly uncle on Christmas Day conveying goodwill to all mankind. Football, of course, is still looking for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Last night football felt like a lonely passenger waiting for the last train to leave Paddington railway station. Wembley was dark and crudely lit and it was time to switch off the floodlights. Wembley without its fans, is rather like a book without its pages, absorbing perhaps when the story grips you but never remotely the same without.