It no longer hurts....

Hello again! It is I, your lord and saviour Michael Owen, I apologise for not writing sooner but I’ve been digesting last Sundays result and letting the cold hard reality sink in. It’s all over loyal fans. It appears we’ll all have to wait patiently for another four years before I, Michael Phillip Owen, can once again attempt to hold the Jules Rimet trophy in my clammy tinny hands. By the 2014 World Cup I’ll be 34 years young, meaning that thereafter the probability of me being a World Cup winner slips from the realms of ‘inevitable’ to ’slightly unlikely.’

Even with a weeks distance from that capitulation it is difficult to comprehend how we crumpled so badly against the Germans, they’re not that good. Last time I played them I netted a hat-trick. And I got a hat-trick against Wolfsburg  if you’re interested. Which you are.

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Suited and booted and ready to rock bitches.

Well loyal readers the  World Cup is going great isn’t it? The first game against the US of A highlighted exactly why I’m here and why Emile Heskey should be put out to seed. Preferably in a mine field.

On a personal level it was hard to watch the game knowing that Capello was probably saving me for a more important clash, I sat on the big bench behind the little bench the players were on, either watching through my fingers or yelling for him to bring me on. I kept pleading, “Fabio! Fabio! Now is the hour! LOVE ME!” But the distance was too great and my brittle voice was drowned out by the cacophony of fans around me, the vuvuzelas and a brass band.

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A rare photo of Ledley in action. Frame it.

Morning readers! How are you today in grey, blustery and comforting England? I can tell you that, minus the locals and poor people, that South Africa is AMAZING. It’s great to be here on the eve of the World Cup knowing that you’re one of the few. One of the elite. One of the chosen. When you face a fellow England international in the Premier League you instinctively recognise one another as equals and share a rapport that cannot be broken. NEVER BROKEN. It is good to be back amongst my brothers.

Yesterday I had my first team talk with the manager in the hotel car park. It was very exciting! Capello looked me dead in the eye and said to me, mano to mano, “Owen. Keep your distance.”

“Keep my distance,” I replied. Nodding and hanging on every word, listening intently to his words of wisdom. It was great he was talking to me again! “Like I’m playing….. in the hole?”

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I wasn't washed up at 21! In your face underling!

Hello loyal readers! It’s me again. Your good friend, your chum, your confidant, Michael Phillip Owen. I thought I’d drop you all a note to let you know that I’m still alive (and yes, uninjured) and back in the UK after my two weeks training in Austria. Phew!

I won’t lie to you all. It’s been an arduous few weeks but I’ve done everything I could to impress upon the coaches that I am still as sharp as a knife and ready to lead England to glory. Which seemed to have worked a treat as Capello insisted, via my lawyer, that I should stay in Austria “impressing” whilst the rest of the squad take part in two friendlies in an attempt to prove their worth ….. suckers!

And so I returned to England to wait and see if I am one of the seven poor saps who are surplus to requirements and will not be making the final 24…

The tension in the house was palpable.

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"Dedication to the cause ..... I'm not the only one who will bleed"

I believe that obstacles are sent to test us. Injuries are endured so that we return stronger, restraining orders teaches us control our urges, and, as I told myself on Thursday morning, as I stood outside the England teams training pitches, security personnel is sent to us to test our determination. I understand why you’ve done this Fabio. I do. I understand why you’ve posted two monobrowed guerrillas barring my path.

How bad do you want it Michael?

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