In Philip Roth's stupendous comic novel, Operation Shylock, the author flies to Israel after he hears that somebody there is disturbing the peace by passing himself off as "Philip Roth". This weekend England will be represented in Israel by 11 imposters, men who in some cases have spent years passing themselves off as high-class international footballers.As they gathered yesterday for training at Wembley, Steve McClaren was busy flashing those pearly white teeth and smothering his players with more kind words, calling them "special", which in a sense they are. They rake in special salaries and enjoy the special perks that come with stardom, whether or not they deserve that status.
One of these days they may justify the bloated claims made on their behalf, most recently by Gary Lineker, who informed his readers during the lamentable World Cup campaign last summer that England could call on eight world-class performers. Yes, eight! I can think of only six: Hugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub.
Let us be quite clear about this, because Lineker clearly doesn't know a hawk from a handsaw. If "world-class" has any meaning, other than a woolly term to identify those players who might be gifted enough to "train on", there isn't a single one in the current team who answers to that description.
When an Englishman brought up after the last war thinks of a special player his thoughts turn immediately to the two Bobbys, Moore and Charlton, to Jimmy Greaves and Gordon Banks. Martin Peters, Alan Ball and Colin Bell had special qualities, and so did Lineker of the golden boots. You could make an argument on behalf of Alan Shearer, too.
Then there were those talents lost for a variety of reasons: Peter Osgood, Tony Currie, Kevin Beattie and, if you like, Paul Gascoigne. Paul Scholes, too, alas. He could have been a great player but was let down by England and, though it is not recognised all that often, by his own club. Don't forget that when Juan Sebastián Verón went to Old Trafford the man who had to amend his game to accommodate the Argentinian was usually the ginger-mopped match-winner.
Put Rio Ferdinand up against Moore and what do you see? Brian Glanville came up with the appropriate phrase two decades back, to describe Alan Hansen: "an elegant giver of second chances". Pampered far more than is good for a sportsman, Ferdinand remains a favourite son of England managers, still promising to become the truly formidable defender people imagined he might become, and never reaching the mark. He's no Moore. He's not even a Colin Todd.
But hey, he's "special", according to McClaren, and so are Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard, who dovetail so effectively. Five years in the side, and so little to show. The sad thing is, these chaps can play but are so reluctant to prove it. Gerrard's international record is unimpressive, and Lampard has been indulged in a way that has become embarrassing. Wayne Rooney, though talented, is a liability, given to excesses. As individuals they often glitter for their clubs; as representatives of a national side they are no nearer achievement than they were two, four or six years ago, and the sands are shifting.
Should England lose on Saturday, and they are not in the habit of winning, the thread will quickly unravel. As well as imposters on the field, there is another on the bench, where McClaren looks ever more like one of life's privates trying on a captain's uniform. Another defeat would be chastening. It could also be cleansing.
--------------------------------------------------We're on a mission from God