And yet, a couple of weeks into the tournament, the actual football has slowly begun to work its magic, as it always does. There’s always something inspiring about the way certain teams, outside of the elite tier,  emerge to become fan favourites. So far it’s been the thrilling performances of Morocco and Japan, and the never say die spirit of minnows like Cape Verde and Iran that have captured the imagination. Throw into the mix the breathtaking attacking play of Spain and France, and the usual roller coaster of following England and you have a competition that has got off to a great start. 

This is the sixteenth World Cup I have watched, starting back in 1966 when I was nine years old. I didn’t know it at the time, but England’s only triumph in that year created deep scars, as it left me with the misapprehension that England were always the best team in world football and would always be contenders. It didn’t take long to disabuse myself of that notion, but it was a painful awakening. Perversely, looking back, there were some unlooked for benefits arising from England’s many failures to qualify back in the Seventies and Nineties. The first of those was being able to focus on the tournament as a whole instead of being obsessed with England’s games. It has been a real pleasure over the years getting to know other teams over the course of 4 weeks or so, watching them grow and develop. Back in the day it was a treat just to see world class players and teams. These days football fans take that for granted, with live games from the best leagues and cup competitions from around the world televised every day of the week. There are rarely any surprises when it comes to players or teams these days because we’ve all already seen them before. There have been some memorable moments in the last sixty years – here are my own personal highlights.

1 Mexico 1970

Still thinking that England were contenders, this was a fabulous tournament to watch. Exciting, glamorous, sun soaked, exotic – the television footage revealed fabulous stadia, loud, crazy fans that seemed a world away from the bovril drinking,  pipe smoking old cynics who always seemed to surround  thirteen year old me on the terraces of a permanently windswept Ayresome Park. As did the football – outrageous skills displayed to a samba beat, exemplified by the peerless Pele. Funnily enough, it was two slightly more prosaic incidents that live in my memory. The first was Bobby Moore’s tackle on Pele – a masterclass of concentration, calmness and timing.

The second, of course, was Gordon Banks’ astounding save from Pele’s thunderous downward header, involving him scrambling from the near post when the cross came in, to the far post just in time to scoop the ball up from ankle height and over the bar, seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics. We were so close to beating West Germany as well, but for dirty tricks involving Gordon Banks and “food poisoning”.

We were all so impressed by the romance of the Brazilians – Jairzinho, Rivelino et al – so much so that at the beginning of the next season there was a fashion amongst the Boro faithful for renaming our own heroes in the vain hope that some of the exotic magic of Mexico would rub off on them. Transforming Big John Hickton into Hicktino didn’t really do it though. The influence of the Azteca stadium had cast a longer shadow though. When we played kick about football three years later at Newham Grange Park in the Sixth Form, the pitch, in the slightest of depressions in the field, revelled in the name The Azteca. 

2. West Germany 1974

My all time favourite World Cup, mainly because I was 17 at the time and everything that happens to you at seventeen, when you’re on the cusp of being an adult, is forever after bathed in a golden light. This was despite the fact that, for the first time in my lifetime, England did not qualify. Incontrovertible proof that we were being left behind in terms of tactics, players and approach. It was also the Johan Cruyff World Cup, (Or Joe Hann Kruff as Jaack Charlton called him) the glorious Dutch team and their intoxicating brand of “Total Football”. I vividly remember lying at home on the sofa watching Holland versus Sweden with my Dad, famously a professional cynic and all round curmudgeon when it came to football and anything foreign. When Cruyff executed his now famous turn, I literally fell off the sofa. It’s commonplace now, but back then no-one had ever seen anything remotely like that manouevre. My dad looked up idly from the racing pages of the paper to watch the replay. His verdict? “Clever Clogs. Didn’t bloody score though.”

Other highlights were the wonderful Polish team with flying wingers (Lato in particular) and thrilling overlapping full backs and an extraordinary range of goals scored outside of the box from virtually every team. Tikka takka and endlessly recycling the ball were mercifully absent from this brand of football.

3. Argentina 1978

I never saw him tackle, or chase back. He would have choked on his Malbec if someone had explained the concept of pressing to him. But every time he got the ball in the box, he scored. He was absolutely lethal. The overwhelming impression left of this tournament was the ticker tape celebrations seen through grainy and flickering television pictures – the World Cup as an event that was impossibly foreign, far away and exotic.

4. Espana 1982

At last – qualification again! A great world Cup because of a) Bryan Robson and b) I was there! I saw England play Spain and get knocked out after a goalless draw, despite finishing unbeaten. Brooking and Keegan managed not to score a sitter between them. The highlight was going to the Bernabeu to see the final, purchasing tickets at El Corte Ingles a couple of days before the game for pennies (or pesetas). Can’t remember a thing about the game, apart from the Paolo Rossi hattrick and Tardelli’s famous second goal celebration. On the same trip I went to see The Rolling Stones at Atletico Madrid’s stadium, and I can’t remember a thing about that either. Maybe it’s a Madrid thing.

Mexico 1986

This was notable for the emergence of the great Gary Lineker as a world class forward, the first time we had had one of those for years. His hat trick against Poland made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Also notable for the arrival of Maradona on the world stage, a truly great player carrying on the line from Pele and Cruyff. The Hand Of God goal that cheated England out of the tournament hinted at dark undercurrents beneath the surface of genius. His second goal in this game remains one of the greatest goals of all time – outrageous skill, balance and drive.

Italy 1990

My third favourite World Cup after 1974. England had a great team- Lineker, Waddle, Barnes, Walker, Shilton and the young Paul Gascoigne were all world class players – but it appeared to emerge more by luck than judgement after a disappointing start and a bit of player power with the manager Bobby Robson. The semifinal against Germany was a classic world cup game and we were extremely unlucky to go out. Classic BBC coverage cemented this tournament’s place in history, with Nessun Dorma, Des Lynham (“Shouldn’t you be at work?”) and Gazza’s tears. It came at a perfect time when English football was reviving after decades of hooliganism and violence. The seeds were being sown for the gentrification of the sport, and football became a fashionable interest to claim – you can always tell when politicians begin to brag about their love of the game. (remember when the odious David Cameron revealed his essentially phoney persona by confusing Aston Villa and West Ham?)

South Korea and Japan 2002

A personal dimension to this one. I happened to come down with pneumonia right at the beginning of the tournament. It was the perfect illness – I felt absolutely fine as long as I was lying down in bed, but the minute I tried to walk, I felt completely exhausted and ill. Consequently, much to the suspicion of my teaching colleagues at the time, I watched every ball of this world cup – three games a day – and loved all of it. It was a time also notable for the fact that when I wasn’t watching football in bed, I was reading. I read the complete His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman – the greatest love story in literature. Or maybe that was the pneumonia talking.

So what of this year’s tournament? It’s hard to look beyond France or Spain as winners, but there may well be some shocks ahead. You can’t quite rule out Morocco and if England get past the altitude of Mexico city and the Azteca they could make it to the semi-finals. I fear though that some of Tuchel’s selections will come back to bite him on the bum. Djed Spence instead of Trent? No Harry Macguire or an alternative left back? Jordan Henderson instead of Adam Wharton? If they do get to the final, Declan Rice should retire and donate his body to medical science, if he is still alive by then. They shoot horses don’t they?