It didn’t exactly feel like a thrilling three-way shootout for the role of England’s top gun No 10. At least, not for the opening hour anyway. Wembley was a sodden place at kick-off, the rain falling in huge slow flakes, the kind of rain that puts a lid on the world. And for long periods this was a strange, bloodless experience, a World Cup qualifier with very little qualification at stake beyond the dwindling hopes of Serbia.
By the end, however, there was at least a sense that something had happened here. You have to hand it to Thomas Tuchel, currently cresting a wave as England’s first master of negging, founding member of the don’t really give a toss school of international management.
