5 days ago
8
There was an oddly heartbreaking moment with 87 minutes gone at Wembley, as Harry Kane was put through on goal with a chance to score his second of the night, made all the more tender by the fact he seemed so desperately keen to do exactly that with England already 5-0 up.
Mainly it was heartbreaking because of the way Kane reached down to pump the accelerator, and just found nothing, a man suddenly running backwards through time, wind chimes tinkling. The finish was rushed and too close to the goalkeeper. Kane ended up flat on his face. He didn’t stop, passing and pointing and leading this team of tyros to the final whistle. Maybe he can wear his Bobby Charlton top next time and still take all the penalties.
Or perhaps not. Time calls for everyone in the end, and here there was something present below the hum of the crowd every time Kane took the ball and seemed to be visibly rearranging his legs, like a pantomime horse setting off on a trot, the creak of the clapper, the clanging of that distant bell.
This game will be remembered as the Carsley farewell. The interim manager is clearly a good thing, a company man but also bold in his choices and encouragingly ruthless. England have gained some sparky young players. Most significantly they have also shed the idea of themselves as doomed to carry Kane as an immovable weight, ever-present from game to game like a decaying battle standard.
On this evidence, plus the painful spectacle of the summer, it is time for a refresh. England have set themselves the goal of winning a World Cup in two years’ time. They aren’t going to do this with a centre-forward who basically can’t move any more. This thing has surely run its couse.
How is it going to play out? The past week has brought a feistier Kane, out there dropping truth bombs in font of the radio mics. Although interestingly before this game there were different takes on what happens next. Kane made it clear he’s very good pals with the new manager who is, in case there were any doubt, a close personal friend, conjuring a vague yeah-she’s-from-a-different-school-you-wouldn’t-know-her vibe.
Carsley, by contrast, talked phlegmatically about “giving Thomas options”, with an element of cold war messaging. Kane’s dropping against Greece is a clear gift to his successor.
He had the chance to make his case here from the start, which made tactical sense against opponents England were expected to dominate territorially. It was, though, a really terrible opening. Wembley had been chilly and still at kick-off. The first notes of the pre-match God Save the King drew a huge droning noise from the Irish end, met by an even larger droning noise from all three England sides, which may, on reflection, have just been more God Save the King.
Kane did nothing for 15 minutes. Then he did nothing for a bit more. Unless specifically stated otherwise, it is safe to assume Kane was doing nothing for the entire half. Instead he chugged sedately, carrying with him that air of stately authority, like a ceremonial city mayor with a gold chain round his neck, off to stand near the winning courgette display for the local newspaper.
For a while England noodled about playing the ball carefully between their interlocking segments. It would be tempting to call this classic gentle Sunday night entertainment, Heartbeat with a ball. Except, stuff did actually happen in Heartbeat. Conor Gallagher at least ran with a doomed prison-yard exercise hour sense of purpose.
The score was still 0-0 at the break, at which point Kane’s breakdown read: 11 touches, zero shots, dribbles, crosses, tackles or headers won. He was definitely out there. Like the moon landings, we have footage. But this was Kane as an absence, a ghost in the machine, falling between the numbers.
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Kane did help to break the game open 10 minutes into the second half, dropping deep and producing a fine pass for Jude Bellingham, who made a lovely diagonal run behind the Irish cover, then found himself upended as Liam Scales hung out a leg. A second booking brought a heart breaking trudge off.
Kane took the penalty. It was 2-0 three minutes later thanks to Anthony Gordon’s volley. Three minutes later it was 3-0, a tap-in from Gallagher. And by now the evening had descended into a parlour game exercise in guessing who could score the next goal (answers: Jarrod Bowen and Taylor Harwood-Bellis).
And so England are guaranteed promotion from Nations League Group B, which is a thing. Two questions present themselves. Why was Thomas Tuchel not here? What could he possibly be doing that took precedence? All-day bottomless brunch? Hair transplant recovery period? Day of the Jackal marathon?
Plus of course there is now the Kane conundrum, which really shouldn’t be a conundrum for anyone with a set of eyes. This game is cruel. It will take its bite in the end.
Kane has been the defining player of this successful era. But this team needs new energy, and Tuchel has a very clear opportunity now to make that change. Time, please, time.
