There is nothing in life more affirming than watching youngsters flourish, an intoxicating blend of nostalgia and hope, mortality and immortality. Generally, though, this comes with downsides such as disobedience and disrespect.
Sport, on the other hand, offers parenting without the tricky bits: the game is our birthright which, in our minds at least, makes its stars our kin and their success our success. Meanwhile, back in reality, they go about their business oblivious to our existence, rivalling us for neither love, nor time, nor money and existing solely to make us happy.
Even in that context, the emergence of Marcus Rashford has been a moving, transformative experience. Football and existing are two devilishly difficult pastimes, and yet Rashford has made a mockery of both without the slightest hint of entitlement, cynicism or conceit. Score with your first shot in both Europa and Premier League? Giggle at the coincidence! Devastate Arsenal? Go to school as usual to mess about with your mates!
In the hyper-real world which Rashford now inhabits, its gamut of emotions running directly from “gutted” to “buzzing”, his story is not only a pleasure but a lesson. In an age of irony and artifice, he is genuinely genuine, the only rash thing about him a name that has become a worldwide synonym for joy.
This is unusual because to significant, glorious extent, football is defined by hatred, a vehicle for the harmless venting of dangerous impulses. But given the hatred that currently defines our planet, the opportunity to enjoy such benign beauty is not only a change but a relief.
Part of the fun of it all is that no one saw it coming. The majority of players who make it big early – Ryan Giggs, Ronaldo, Wayne Rooney – were identified as epochal talents from an early age. Rashford, on the other hand, was ignored through the winter as Manchester United struggled for strikers and goals, and as recently as February was not even first choice in the club’s under-21 side.
Even when things started happening, it was easy to make excuses. His two debut goals were gimmes and came against Midtjylland; his next two, though slightly better, came against an Arsenal team ready to begin their annual implosion; and anyway, anyone know what Federico Macheda’s up to these days?
There followed a quieter period, before explosive finishes at Manchester City and West Ham made clear that he, and this, were something special. He went on to finish the season superbly, the only surprising aspect of his England debut that it took him a full three minutes to score; what, exactly, was he doing during the first two, the useless waster?
Of course, it will not always be like this, but the sheer breadth of his competency will support him when the initial rush slows. His remarkable speed and bizarre composure have been clear from the start, and since then he has revealed not just a football brain but a football soul, intellect and instinct in perfect harmony. He knows what to do and where to be; he makes things happen and twigs before others make them happen without him.
Millenial that he is, he can also do the fancy flicks and tricks that arouse the internet; mensch that he is, they are usually the best way of finding a team-mate; and we have yet to see his ability to shoot from outside the box, nor his capacity for improvement. As an article, he is far from finished; as a player, he is already complete.
So it was no surprise to see Roy Hodgson make room for him in his squad. Lacking a single elite player and with little quality in defence and on the wing, it made sense to back momentum and attacking options. Italy did similarly before the 2006 World Cup when Marcello Lippi went to Germany with six strikers; all six scored, and his team were the most surprising champions in a generation.
The genius, though, wasn’t in the taking but the selecting; Lippi matched the right players to the right opponents, which is what Hodgson must now do. In England’s first game, they needed a free-kick to score, then in an effort to see out their 1-0, replaced Raheem Sterling, their only fast runner, with James Milner. Immediately, this allowed Russia to commit men forward, no longer threatened by the prospect of a breakaway, and eventually the pressure told.
Against Wales, England faced another deep-lying defence, and were unable to service a weary Harry Kane. This time, Hodgson made two enterprising changes, Daniel Sturridge and Jamie Vardy helping facilitate an equaliser, before, after impetus faded, the introduction of Rashford helped shove them towards victory.
Which and how many of the four start against Slovakia is unlikely to matter much; even if England lose, they should still qualify for the knockout stages. But it is there that things will change: better teams mean greater pressure, so Kane’s ability to hold and run with the ball will be handy; better teams also mean higher defensive lines, so the pace of Vardy and Sturridge will be handy.
Or Hodgson could find room in his side for a player who combines these virtues. Last picked needn’t mean last resort.
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