In the half-time break at a rain‑fogged New York New Jersey Stadium, with England still living out the same painful never‑ending 0‑0 draw, a lone saxophonist could be heard playing a series of noodling riffs on the deserted concourse outside.
So it’s come to this. Even the New York dinner jazz scene is having a pop now. And sometimes it really does feel as if the world is trying to tell you something. England had been footballing toothache to that point, awkward, rigid, unable to think or move freely, to find combinations to fit the patterns in front of them.
