Is Fabio Fabio?

All sights are set on stunning as Fabio Capello, the Italian Maestro and winner of a couple of dud scudettos with Juventus, is first in-line to take the *ahem* ‘coveted’ England job. Having lost all credibility with his measly nine league titles in sixteen years coaching and having been quite reasonably fired after winning La Liga in exciting fashion (tsk tsk!) with that little club Real Madrid, he is reduced to begging footballing mastermind and twatty-mustache aficionado Brian Barwick to be England boss. Pathetic. How could the FA be so blind when they have the likes of former Saints manager Harry ‘Jailbird’ Redknapp or Big ‘Flop’ Sam Allardyce to choose from? Who needs tactical know-how and a sturdy defence when there’s the hard tackle and the long ball? ‘Football, bloody hell!’ indeed.

Ah England. Never has so much bile been poured by so many on so few. Lakes of ink have been spilled on the woes of this international side since the halcyon days of Syd Barrett and Rubber Soul, decent LSD and even more decent mortgage rates. And the reason is simple, like that awesome burrito I had a few months back, wonderful memories can also be a great source of angst and yearning. Who can forget the fake goal, Geoff Hurst’s thwacking the fourth to take it all home, and Sir Bobby waving the Jules Rimet in front of the Queen’s nose? The answer is anyone under forty years old who isn’t youtube-obsessed likely. Most of the kids today don’t have time for the nobly boring tradition of international football, what with their video games and their music and their pogs. Perhaps Fabio and his Italianate football will generate a new-found pride in the English national team. Perhaps instead of noble quarter-final exits, we’ll get a few noble semi-final exits instead. Only time, just under three years, will tell.