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Confusion reigns over Eriksson's long-term strategy

Andrew Longmore
Sunday 08 September 2002 00:00 BST
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Sven Goran Eriksson did leave his post in the corner of the England dug-out to reveal his emotions. Before kick-off he ventured on to the verge of the pitch to kiss Fernando Couto and Sergio Conceicão, his former players at Lazio, lightly on both cheeks. That was the extent of Eriksson's response to the criticisms levelled at him after England's pallid departure from the World Cup.

The message which came through softly, but clearly, from England's first postWorld Cup stretch was that, well, nothing much has changed. No tub thumping, no throwing up of arms, just that pale, blank face on the bench betraying not one flicker of elation, frustration or anger, the traditional language of a Saturday on the sidelines. What's the Swedish for "steady as she goes"? Fireworks were never quite the Swede's idea of a celebration anyway, but for long periods of a sunny afternoon in the Midlands, the game lacked the vaguest hint of a spark.

The questionnaire Eriksson has asked the players to fill in as a debrief on the sojourn in the Orient could profitably be turned on himself. The questions about Eriksson's reign remain essentially unanswered, about the shape of the team, the philosophy of the management and the direction of what was once lauded as a vibrant new era for English football.

The week had already provided graphic illustration of how little had changed in the political balance between club and country, a battle still being fought 30 years after the initial salvos; England's perform-ance yesterday, with the notable exception of Alan Smith, only served to confirm that nothing much has changed on the field either.

England's stuttering campaign in the Far East did little to define exactly what sort of football the coach wants to play. Eriksson himself gave no hint of leader-ship on the issue. Asked what positives he took from yesterday's draw, he respon-ded cautiously. "We played good football, but not for 90 minutes," he said. "Alan Smith, he took his chance today to show he is a good player and can be a great player. Bowyer and Woodgate, of course."

Smith was a revelation, a player to warm even Eriksson's heart. It was young players of the calibre of Smith who persuaded the Swede to throw in his lot with his adopted country. But he could not have wished for a more glorious just-ification of his faith. The Leeds forward, playing in the withdrawn role once patented by Teddy Sheringham, showed not one twitch of his volatile temperament and added a real eye for a pass to his prodigious industry. Yet his goal, a flying header, five minutes before half-time, would have graced the memory of Dixie Dean for both courage and execution. It was the goal of a classic England centre-forward, not a diminutive 21-year-old not long out of the Leeds academy. Smith's arrival as an international was only a matter of time. Now, Eriksson must have the courage of his conviction and pair him with Michael Owen for the start of the Euro 2004 campaign. "A beautiful goal," purred Eriksson.

Yet Eriksson's thinking must have been further confused by the time the shadows had engulfed Villa Park. Wholesale changes in the second half – four at half-time, four more later – produced a more lively England than the original selection. Wayne Bridge, David Dunn, Joe Cole and Danny Murphy all brought a freshness to the play strangely lacking in the displays of more established inter-nationals. Steven Gerrard, in particular, looked out of sorts, mistiming passes, short and long, and showing none of the instinctive dynamism which marks his best play. In the absence of David Beckham, England's set pieces, their strong point in the Far East, were woeful.

But for those of us who applauded Eriksson's ability to divest the national team of its absurd reliance on patriotic endeavour have yet to trace the outline of an alternative source of motivation. A continental insistence on keeping the ball was translated for long periods in the World Cup into an approach so cautious that many, including Guus Hiddink, the coach of South Korea, voiced their disgust at the betrayal of a footballing heritage. The Dutchman had a point. Stifling games, as England did against Argentina, can be a successful ploy, but is not a permanent basis for engagement, and certainly not enlightenment.

There was at least some sign of a return to the high-tempo pressing game with which English players are so familiar, and the crowd's response showed that the country was prepared to bequeath the team the benefit of the doubt. But old failings remain: tactical confusion, an inability to establish a consistent tempo or to exploit space on the counter-attack. Owen's pace was rarely seen.

Portugal, anxious to put a game between them and their own dismal performance in Korea, provided more feisty competition than some in recent years. Mexico and Spain come readily to mind. When they broke forward, they did so with a fluency and speed which England have yet to master. Twice, in the space of a minute early in the second half, the Portuguese hit the post and it was no real injustice when they managed to fashion an equaliser out of impressive approach play in the final quarter. And, for once, fatigue could not be cited as an excuse.

To Eriksson's credit, he has managed to transfuse a club atmosphere into a nat-ional team, which will serve him well when a real show of strength is needed against dissonant club managers. Eriksson does not need the sort of unnecessary embarrassment forced on him by Sir Alex Ferguson this past week, though, like Arsène Wenger, you sense that basic dignity will prevail over a playground bully. The Manchester United manager might not have things all his own way in the future, not least with Beckham, who covets his position as Eriksson's chosen son and the commercial bonanza it fosters.

Not for the first time, though, a capacity crowd left an international venue a little confused. Perhaps the coming European campaign will produce a clearer picture of the future. At present there are too many bits of the jigsaw missing, not least in the identity of the coach himself.

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