Kieran Trippier of England and Brennan Johnson of Wales compete for the ball during the FIFA World Cup in Qatar, Nov. 29.Justin Setterfield/Getty Images
Few things are more divisive in soccer than post-game player ratings.
The tradition of giving each player in a big match a rating out of 10 was introduced by the Italians, perfected by the French, and used like a hammer by the English.
These systems aren’t movie reviews. Guardians of the Galaxy II is not getting four stars, from anyone.
L’Équipe has famously given out only a dozen perfect 10s in its history. Those performances are celebrated in France like Da Vincis.
Eight out of 10 means you shone so brightly that they ought to send a recording of your performance to the Library of Congress. A human achievement this remarkable must survive the coming apocalypse.
Six out of 10 means you were fine.
Four out of 10 means you should be immediately flown home and put in the soccer stocks, so that your neighbours may jeer you as they pass on the way to the World Cup weeping wall.
How they come up with these ratings is what they like to call a mystery. So, three guys in the stands going “Six,” two more going, “Seven,” while one guy who was online shopping during the second half comes in last with, “Six and a half?”
Last Friday, England drew against the United States in a game so unwatchable it ought to be used to interrogate high-value targets. It may be the closest we’ll get to real athletes re-enacting the Monty Python skit with great philosophers playing soccer – the one where they all stand around thinking.
The Guardian’s player ratings for England in that one: fives and sixes. Oft-maligned defender Harry Maguire got a seven. That may be to make up for the fact that some aggrieved fan called in a bomb threat at Maguire’s house last spring.
On Tuesday, England played Wales and was rampant. A completely different team. Maybe someone reopened the cappuccino station at the team practice ground. The English didn’t just end Wales’s World Cup. They also robbed it of any pride it might take from it.
The Guardian’s player ratings: sevens across the board. A couple of eights sticking out of the pile.
It’s a helpful, metric way of thinking about the way the English team is observed, especially in its own country. When England comes out on top, it wasn’t that great. When it loses, it was terrible. Until it really really wins, there is no winning for these guys. It’s a roller coaster that only ever goes down.
The convulsions of the English media here in Qatar would be enough to put most national medias in traction.
After beating the hell out of Iran in the opener: Geniuses!
After tying the United States: Frauds!
After driving the Welsh back underground: Geniuses!
This is the usual way of softening England up. Until the knockout rounds, every English team is either the best ever assembled or a squad so awful that it’s possible one of the team’s bus drivers is wearing a David Beckham wig.
After the Iran game, the England fans on hand cheered the team to the rafters. After the U.S. game, the players were booed. And this crowd is sober.
The sure knowledge that nothing is ever really good enough has an effect. Some of the players competing here enjoy this. You can see them smiling occasionally.
Not an England player. Most of them look like Michael Caine in that movie where he, Sylvester Stallone (??) and Pele play soccer against Nazis at a prison camp. This is their soccer jail. The only way over the wall is to win it. Because that’s probably not going to happen, the players spend the first two weeks tunnelling.
They have the haunted look of men who know what’s coming. Even after victories, they settle into protective crouches in news conferences. No good comes of winning for an England player. It only creates an expectation.
Whenever someone does crack a smile, it seems momentous.
On the way into the Wales game, someone asked England manager Gareth Southgate to explain the rivalry, because both countries are part of the United Kingdom.
“Well, basically they’re here …” Southgate said, holding up his left hand and beginning to extend his right. “… and we’re right there.”
The room erupted. Sitting alongside Southgate, midfielder Jordan Henderson stifled a giggle. Not a good look if England had ended up losing the game. You could see the headlines: “Henderson laughs all the way to the bottom.”
Now that England has won its group, the hard part starts. It plays Senegal in the first knockout round.
That isn’t a must win. That’s a will-have-to-move-hemispheres-if-you-lose win. England has no choice in that one.
Next up (probably) – France. Again, no choice. England hasn’t lost to France since … well, it has lost to France an awful lot, actually. Five out of the past eight times they’ve played. But that’s no excuse.
In trying to motivate his players, Southgate has been known to resort to the poets. He likes to quote a particular passage from Kipling.
“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you. Except the will which says to them, ‘Hold on’ ... "
This week, someone threw that line back up at Henderson and asked if the fans need to understand “that this is a tournament, rather than a match-by-match process.”
“That’s just part and parcel of football,” Henderson said.
Fantastic answer. It says nothing and can’t be used against you later. In fact, it’s the sort of thing that can be turned around and used after you lose. Ten-out-of-10.