The midfielder doesn't seem to do much but run around a lot, yet his tactical intelligence makes him an integral cog in Roy Hodgson's machine
There was a minor but still quietly fevered selection debate before England's last Group D match against Ukraine. The only subject up for discussion seemed to be: would Theo Walcott play? And if he did, how would this affect Theo Walcott? Would Theo Walcott, for example, be only half the player without the fabled "tired legs" of Sweden? Tellingly, an almost negligible mount of energy was devoted to considering the simultaneous effects of James Milner not playing. Instead Milner was present only as a shade of beige, a makeweight in England's projected tactical expansion, expected simply to disappear quietly into necessary obsolescence like an abandoned roadside sofa bed.
And yet Milner did play on Tuesday and he will probably play on Sunday against Italy in what is both England's biggest game for six years and the most high-profile occasion in the career of Roy Hodgson. There is no surprise here because Milner has already established himself as, if not the outstanding player of early-Hodgson England, then a familiar trope: the fall-back player, the comfortable chair, a shoulder to grasp in those tottering moments. Most England managers have one and for Hodgson it appears to be Milner, who remains a perversely fascinating footballer, if only for his total lack of fascination, not so much an unsung hero as semi-sung not-quite hero, the mystery workaholic.
Poor old Milner. On the face of it his contribution simply slips through the cracks. Have a look at his personal stats from the Ukraine game. Milner completed nine passes (yes: nine) in 69 minutes of furiously involved midfield play. To put this into context, Steven Gerrard ended up with 53. Milner committed three fouls. He (apparently) had one shot at goal. And that's pretty much it. On Uefa's numerical record of events he almost fails to register, a ghost player draped in his own invisibility cloak of continual peripheral motion.
Despite all of this, Milner has still managed to remain a largely uncontested selection. The reason generally given is a grudging one, a tessellation of right-sided inadequacies with poor old Glen Johnson, who is being talked about during this tournament as though he is simply an ingenious deception on England's part, a papier-mache mock-up of an international right-back with a balloon for a head and broom handles for legs, somehow passing muster under the stares of the camp guards, and held upright only by the selflessly ventriloquising Milner.
Of course there is more to it than this. Mainly, the big thing about Milner is that he runs a lot. Not only this, he runs in well-grooved patterns, like a faithful Ukrainian trolley bus set on its virtuously unswerving course. The numbers are well known: in England's first match he ran 1.4km more than anyone else, and was heading towards doing the same before being substituted in the last two. Uefa's analysis graphics depict him as a static blob, but really Milner's blob should be blurred with motion lines, reflecting an approach that basically involves embarking on a series of unrelenting sprints from box to box, like a man very stubbornly doing lengths of a swimming pool while a water polo match goes on all around him.
This is a quality the English often take for granted, whereas in Italy, for example, Milner might already have been granted a reverential nickname like "the Woodlouse" or "the Marching Gnome" or "Tiny Soldier-Legs".
Happily though, he does have at least one staunch supporter. For Hodgson, seven weeks in the job, Milner has been his rock, his Jeeves, his faithful hatstand. Understandably so: Milner's intelligence means he can take on board a hastily imposed game plan and his dedication means he sticks to it. He is perhaps not Mr Right in the confusing scheme of greater, grander domination, but he is an excellent Mr Right Now.
It would be wrong, though, to paint Milner as a bloodless figure, some clanking iron man emerging from the sea with a tractor in each fist. In fact he has two qualities often missing in English footballers, tactical intelligence and physical robustness. This is a man who has played more than 500 professional matches at the age of 26 and claims to have never allowed a drop of alcohol to pass his lips. What imperious puritan resolve!
His role with England is also deceptively vital. There is a filibustering quality to his guided hustle, granting a sense of control that is essential for a manager who appears to have decided that if this cautious England are to win games here they must above all avoid conceding the first goal. Milner is key to maintaining parity in those fraught opening minutes, which in three matches so far have been notable for the oddly captivating spectacle of his ever-scurrying legs.
The role of the dependable serf, the royal butler, is a familiar one in the history of England managerdom. Alf Ramsey united his dressing room by defending Nobby Stiles after his dreadful tackle on the France midfielder Jacques Simon at the 1966 World Cup. Sven-Goran Eriksson had his Heskey-curious side, but perhaps Sven's Milner was instead Nick Barmby, another shrewd Mr Fix-it midfielder with an air of pachyderm obedience, and an emblem of the good times before the stasis of late-Sven midfield celebrity-gorge. Graham Taylor is remembered for his improbables, the revolving door of one-night stands and pressed men during a period when England's whole world seemed to turn a shade of Andy Sinton. This was Taylor's problem. He never found his Milner.
Happily Hodgson already has: Milner is his Milner. And who knows, against Italy The Trolleybus might even impose himself a little more. Maybe he will run 2km more than anyone else this time. Maybe he will make 10 passes or even – steady now – finally score his first England goal. Either way, for all the grudging praise it is still hard to imagine England progressing if Milner doesn't contribute by playing to the very limit of his invisibilities. Read More
انسخ الكود التالى و ضعه فى موقعك او مدونتك.
