England edge past Malta in penultimate Euro qualifier.

 England edge past Malta in penultimate Euro qualifier

It almost felt as if time had been frozen, a real sense that not a great deal of any significance had happened which was indeed the case. This was a phoney war with the sound turned off and vision totally obscured by some imaginary obstacle. England did beat Malta in an anti climatic Euro 2024 qualifier that was so flat and lifeless that if somebody had revived this match you'd have probably wondered why they'd gone to all that bother in the first place.

In fact this was the most dreadful international footballing horror show you're ever likely to encounter. England have qualified for Euro 2024 in Germany next summer but you would never have known it. There was a moment last night when you felt ever so slightly sorry for the ball boys and girls, such was the appalling tedium on offer last night. Even Gareth Southgate, England's always respectable manager, would have been forgiven for a 90 minute sleep and some of the 80,000 crowd who were unfortunate to witness this ghastly shambles must have been longing for the final whistle.

It is hard to know why England find it so hard to summon up enough enthusiasm for these pointless exercises in futility. Their Euro qualifier group had been done and dusted while Malta looked like whipping boys ready to be punished for just turning up at Wembley. But the hardened cynics will insist that even though England had already established their destiny there was nothing to suggest last night that when they do get to Germany everything will be plain sailing and tickety boo. Sadly, England were in almost cruise control, snooze control, going through the motions and quite clearly anxious to get back to their cars before racing off at speed.

You remembered the story your late and wonderful dad once told you. After the Second World War, the legendary American comedian Jack Benny appeared at the London Palladium in London's lively West End. Benny, who had already made his name in the biggest comedy theatres, would stroll onto the Palladium stage before just staring at his enraptured audience with a blank and bewildered look on his face. What the public didn't know was that a stunned silence would last for the best part of 10 minutes or until Benny was ready to speak. 

That's pretty much how it must have felt for the assembled hordes at Wembley yesterday evening. They knew England were playing because the white shirts were about to perform. Benny used to simply roll his eyes and just wait for the right moment to launch his memorably funny act. England, for the best part of an hour, would just wallow in self indulgence, unsmiling, just content to move the ball around amongst themselves effortlessly in tight clusters and generally look totally disinterested. 

At no time during this stultifying apology for an international football match did England ever feel inclined to participate because everything that had gone before had rendered this occasion almost surplus to requirements. England did what they had to do and did it competently. Nothing though seemed to galvanise the national side into any kind of action. This was toothless, worthless, irrelevant particularly after England had scored their second and inconsequential. By the end of the game England were reminiscent of a crowd of sea side day trippers traipsing along the prom, whistling a merry tune and devouring candy floss with a portion of chips. 

By the time England had opened the scoring- which they hadn't since the opposition scored for them- most of us sensed that it wouldn't be long before hordes of patriotic England supporters would just converge on the Wembley bars and drink themselves into a drunken stupor. This would never be a case of drowning their sorrows but there had to be an alternative distraction to this messy dross masquerading as an international football match.

For most of the 90 minutes both Kieran Trippier, Marc Guehi, the superb Trent Alexander Arnold and Harry Maguire seemed to be metaphorically twiddling their thumbs at the back, defenders of class and assurance but you often felt that their idea of a Friday night would not have been the one they experienced against Malta. Once again Trent Alexander Arnold excelled, drifting perceptively into midfield every so often if only out of idle curiosity. Alexander Arnold is turning quite rapidly into a beacon of all round versatility and his display last night merited effusive praise.

But generally England spent most of their time against Malta, just gathering their thoughts, once again recycling the ball in ever confusing and increasing circles. There was a private fear that, given their vast majority of possession of the ball, England might have found themselves growing ever so giddy and dizzy with every single pass but the passing monopoly seemed to be getting them nowhere.

So we turned to England's stale looking midfield of the ageless Jordan Henderson, Phil Foden and the ever willing Conor Gallagher only discovering something they probably knew anyway. In front of them there was a formidable brick wall and they weren't shifting for anybody. They were missing Jude Bellingham who would probably have made a noticeable difference in England's waning attack. Bellingham is the new sensation, a 20 year old with the maturity and footballing intellect of a player ten years older than him.

True England had opened the scoring very early on but not from one of their celebrated ranks. Phil Foden, who once again looked commendably dynamic and influential in every area of the pitch, cut a low ball back across the Malta penalty area and Enrico Pepe, the hapless defender, turned the ball accidentally into his own net. 

It was at this point that the England fans must have expected the floodgates to open. Malta were clueless, out of petrol and ideas, completely lacking in any kind of imagination while all around them white England shirts were just keeping the ball like excitable teenagers about to paint the town red. They passed the ball with delightful accuracy and some intensity but then paused for breath almost indefinitely as if somebody had told them a lavish party was just about to get underway. There was a disturbing complacency about England which suggested that the job had been done and there was nothing left to prove.

Admittedly, England did increase their lead with a goal of exquisite execution but then perhaps they had presumed this to be their right. A lightning quick movement of  one- two passes between Foden and Kyle Walker culminated with a lovely and straightforward pass into the net from Harry Kane. It was a goal of honeycombed sweetness, a classic demonstration of impulsive artistry that was totally out of the character with the rest of the game last night.

And so North Macedonia await England in their final Euro 2024 qualifier and its business as usual. Germany awaits next year. England will continue to make giant strides towards something like the finished article that made France sweat in their intriguing World Cup quarter final in Qatar at the end of last year. But any more performances like the one Wembley was subjected to against little Malta and sooner rather than later the critics will be sneering disdainfully once again. Some of us will be hoping that England's stage fright at major tournaments will not get the better of them again. We can but hope.