Yellows 2 Barnet 1

I’d love to go to a World Cup, but this is looking increasingly unlikely as time goes on. A lack of time and money and growing responsibilities dictate it so.

And because FIFA is corrupt, of course. You don’t need a Panorama programme to tell you that, they admit it themselves. But it was evident on Thursday as England; who could evidently deliver an excellent platform for a great World Cup, were done for by the dark arts of bribery and/or a deluded self-importance that FIFA Council have the ability to change the world. Financially or mentally, FIFA are plainly corrupted.

Of course with global communications, and FIFA’s obsessive branding the location of a World Cup is largely irrelevant. South Africa 2010 looked exactly like Germany 2006 except for a couple of wide eyed smiling black children and some 'ethnic' daubing.

This is the World Cup's central narrative; it relieves the poor of their problems and FIFA have a responsibility to divest its magical powers in places that have previously not had their fairly dust sprinkled on them. Like poor deprived Russia and Qatar, obviously.

It’s evident that a World Cup doesn’t change peoples' lives. Neither USA ’94 nor Japan and Korea 2002 witnessed any significant change in either their footballing or national fortunes as a result of hosting the tournament. It’s too early to say definitively whether South Africa will benefit from its month in the limelight. I suspect that violent townships and AIDS will still be dominant factors of South African life when we watch Qatar being dumped out of their own tournament by a Group Of Death featuring Sweden, Burkino Faso and the newly formed Peoples’ Republic of Newbury.

I actually believe in the restorative powers of football. It is truly remarkable that people, who otherwise want to kill each other, will observe a set of anachronistic rules for the singular objective of playing a game.

The World Cup is a summers’ entertainment not a vehicle of hope and regeneration. As if to illustrate this, on Saturday, the turnstile seemed to have an extra reassuring thunk as I walked through it. The sleet was cold and there was a hazy gloom. People shivered holding cups of hot chocolate with their hats dragged down over their ears. It was a reassuringly British scene that has not fundamentally changed in 30 years or more.

The game was a classic lower league mid-season war of attrition. Whatever uncertainty and change we face in our lives, this offers continuity and a baseline. Whatever turmoil you face, you can still go to a game on Saturday afternoon and, quite regardless of its quality, know pretty much what you're going to get. This shared experience is what counts. With James Constable's heroic return to form, it was football at its life affirming best. Better this than a month with Planet FIFA any day.

Comment: Why it's yellow and blue all the way

Why should I comment on England in a blog about Oxford United?

I struggle with my national identity; I’m half Scottish by blood, but almost entirely English by culture. However, I have always been drawn to the underdog over the dominant empire. Until about 15 years ago, I admired England for its dogged Englishness. Now, I am influenced by Oxford United and the joy of fleeting success and by this token I feel more affinity towards Scotland.

I don’t own any English merchandise, I don’t appreciate the modern English malaise of its right to success. On the other hand, I can’t deny that I enjoy the enhanced sense of national consciousness brought on by a major tournament campaign.

But, with England being ignominiously pulled to bits by Germany the reality of the Premier League’s influence has been fully revealed. The circus has airbrushed English football until it is barely recognisable. It has distanced the players from the fans; we are consumers to be entertained, not participants in some glorious mission. According to Wayne Rooney, we are there to consume without question. This is fine when it is entertaining but when it goes wrong it is difficult to grab hold of anything to care about.

Amidst all the recriminations, nobody seems able to admit that this group of players just isn’t very good. This is no ‘golden generation’, if it ever existed it blossomed but failed in 2006. Capello was handed the remnants of its edifice.

But what has this got to do with Oxford? Well, it’s about identity and affinity. The Premier League and its participants have destroyed England football’s national identity through its voracious appetite for global recognition. The profile of JT, Stevie G, Lamps, Cashley and Wazza have not only failed to meet their self-proclaimed world-class billing, they’ve succeeded in suffocating the development the next wave of talent, because it’s cheaper to buy it in then grow it yourself.

I don’t blame the players per se, but the Premier League has much to answer for. Not that Sky, the BBC or any major media outlet will ever take them to task. England, in the meantime, will just keep firing perfectly good managers with two-dimensional reasons of blame (Sven – promiscuous, Mclaren - dull. Capello - tactically inept).

As its relevance to me disappears over the horizon, I gravitate more towards the homely surrounds of the Kassam Stadium. Our aspirations aren’t global domination; they’re about working together to succeed – and celebrating together when we do.

So, introduce goal line technology, as if that will change anything at all about your relative global standing. Me, I prefer watching Damien Batt overrunning the ball into touch. At least I know he’s trying and that any success – modest as it may be - is well deserved.