down. It won’t make me play any different. I won’t be shouting any more than usual. Part of being a goalkeeper is that you’ve got to organise people. Hopefully, I won’t have to do much shouting at all because everyone will be up the far end.’
Seaman had signed a book of condolence at Harrods and visited Kensington Gardens with his fiancée Debbie. ‘It was strange,’ he said. ‘I went down to Kensington Palace and a lot of people recognised me but not one bothered me for an autograph.’
Moldova (population 4,335,000) were coming to Wembley with a short, unimpressive CV. They had lost each of their five previous qualifying games, conceding thirteen goals in the process. But they had only been playing professional football for five years. What they needed was a bit of confidence, a dollop of self-belief – something you tend to look to your coach to provide. But it was hardly forthcoming. Ion Caras didn’t think they had a prayer and was quite happy to say so. ‘We are well aware that we are not capable of playing on a par with England, and in many ways this is because our players lack confidence,’ he said. ‘Most of the squad is very down. We are sitting ducks.’
The England squad seemed subdued. And for the first time in years, Paul Gascoigne was not the centre of attention. Some saw it as a sign that Gascoigne had been eclipsed by the new intake. Hoddle put it down to his growing maturity. ‘He’s hit thirty and has had opportunities to learn lessons. Possibly he’s learnt them. I have seen a mature Gazza around the hotel and in his training. It looks as if he’s trying – no, that’s not right, not even trying, it seems more natural than that. He is settling down, on the pitch and off it. He is less hyper, much calmer, much more assured within himself, and that’s what everyone needs.’
‘They’re Yugoslavs, aren’t they?’ said a man on the Metropolitan Line on the way to Wembley.
‘Nah,’ said his friend, ‘they’re Czechs.’ They are former Soviets actually, from the bottom end of the once mighty empire, sharing borders with Romania and the Ukraine.
‘They’ve got to be crap,’ said the first man.
On the brilliant-to-crap scale, FIFA ranked San Marino 164th in the world. Moldova were 122nd, tucked just behind Burma and Ethiopia but ahead of the Faroe Islands and St Kitts and Nevis.
There was much tension around the creaking stadium an hour before kick-off. The quality of the football would be crucial but the quality of the minute’s silence was going to be important too. ‘Candle in the Wind’ worked. People stood with dewy eyes and candles held aloft.
The guest of honour was Tony Banks, the new Sports Minister, who, with immaculate timing, was quoted in the morning papers as saying that England were not good enough to win the World Cup. He was booed as he walked – hurried, rather – along the line of players, shaking hands as the crowd shook its fists. Since his appointment, Banks had been in spectacular form. At his swearing of the ministerial oath of allegiance to the Queen he had kept his fingers crossed and then suggested that one team should represent Britain in international competitions instead of the four separate home nations. He argued that foreigners who play for English clubs should be eligible to play for England, and that ballroom dancing should be made an Olympic sport.
It was strong, solid booing. Just what was needed – a reminder that the country had not entirely taken leave of its critical senses. And then 74,102 people stood for a minute’s silence and you could hear a tear drop. It seemed fitting that the official period of grieving should culminate in a football match, and that a referee’s whistle would mark the moment when life would return to normal.
Graeme Le Saux, David Batty, Robert Lee and David Beckham were all one yellow away from missing out on the Italian game in a month’s time. You play your strongest side available because the cliché says there are ‘no easy games at this level’ was the general consensus. Then news came through that little Georgia had held Italy to a draw in Tbilisi. Hoddle rested Le Saux and there was no place for Robert Lee. But Beckham and Batty played. The team was: Seaman, G. Neville, P. Neville, Batty, Campbell, Southgate, Beckham, Gascoigne, Ferdinand, Wright, Scholes.
England began in lively fashion. In the third minute Gazza was tripped but got up and patted the culprit’s head.
‘Gascoigne looks relaxed,’ I said to Brian Glanville, seated next to me.
‘He’s a busted flush,’ said the sage who wrote for the Sunday Times for more than twenty years.
There was no score after twenty minutes, then Gazza cut a swathe through the Moldovan defence and tapped the ball to Ferdinand, who missed from four yards. Eight minutes later, Beckham took a corner which was punched straight back at him. He crossed again towards the head of Paul Scholes, who sent the ball flying into the top right-hand corner. 1–0.
The injured Shearer spent the game in the Sky TV glass box. A minute into the second half, he watched Wright score his first goal for England at Wembley after a clever interchange with the busted flush. Two up and time to take off Beckham. Stuart Ripley came on for eight minutes and pulled a hamstring. Gascoigne wanted to get on with the game. He wanted to score because so many other people had made statements during the week and he needed to make his. Gascoigne must have felt a degree of sympathy with Diana. She was troubled. She was forever being chased around by photographers. And she, like him, courted publicity – and then complained about it. Gazza wanted publicity now and time was running out. Then, in the eightieth minute, he found the ball at his feet just inside the Moldovan half, trundled past two defenders, gave it to Wright, got it back and steered it past the goalkeeper. Glanville hardly stirred.
Sitting ducks now. Wright scored just before the final whistle to make it 4–0, and the Wembley crowd that fell silent at 8 pm in memory of Diana was now on its feet in anticipation of the Battle of Rome on 11 October.
‘Are you watching,
Are you watching,
Are you watching I-T-A-L-EEEEEEE,
Are you watching Italee.’
The England fans were not the only ones who seemed happy with the result. The Moldovan manager was remarkably jolly as he sat in Wembley’s gloomy interview room below the medical centre beside his interpreter. ‘The result was never in doubt,’ said Caras. ‘I always expected an England victory. It was only a question of whether the floodgates would open. England have shown that they are one of the superpowers of world soccer.’ After beating a team ranked 122nd in the world. ‘I hope and pray you qualify,’ he went on. ‘You are a great footballing country.’ After Caras had left the room, his interpreter rose to his feet. ‘Off the record,’ he said, ‘I can tell you that Mr Caras is a great supporter of English football.’
Hoddle was pleased with the evening’s work. ‘Everything went to plan. I was delighted with Paul. On the ball he was as good as he has been for some time. But we know that in Rome we will face a battle.’ What sort of battle? ‘Titanic.’
Chapter 2 Who’s Got the Key to the Changing Room?
It was entirely appropriate that five days before the England-Italy showdown I found myself heading for Wembley Arena to catch a glimpse of the man who only a few months earlier had been Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door following a contretemps with an infected chicken. For me, my teens were Bob Dylan and football.
Big week, even though at the end of it there was no guarantee we would be any clearer about England’s summer plans. The hype began to percolate on Sunday, with papers
