They can come from wherever they bloody well like to beat England by passing the ball on the ground, but the simple fact is this: as long as the Earth’s land area is only 57,506,055 m² and the sky reaches to infinity, we’re doing it right. The big man upfront was good enough in 1966, it was good enough in 1066, and it’ll still be good enough in, erm, 2866.

But don’t listen to me. I haven’t followed England since I gave up playing with Lego, enjoying Star Wars, and wanking over the bra section in Kays catalogue. But I know a positive when I see one, and the real upside of the nation’s European hopes going down the drain last week is that they were quickly followed by Steve McLaren’s chances of having a number one hit this Christmas.

According to Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty’s book, The Manual (How to Have a Number One the Easy Way), to take the first step on the road to chart success, “you must be skint and on the dole”. In his unerring pursuit of the latter, McLaren foolishly overlooked the former.

Believe it or not, Euro 2008 will go ahead without England. Until then, the answer to the question that’s been on everyone’s lips since McLaren bit the dust becomes clearer by the day. It’s obvious who should record UEFA’s theme song for next summer’s tournament: Edelweiss.

Not only does their excremental 1989 hit ‘Bring Me Edelweiss’ fulfill each of UEFA’s bullshit brand criteria for the tournament by consolidating references to Austria and Switzerland’s indigenous mountain flora and all sorts of other lazy Alpine half-arsery into one big pulsating mess, but it owes its existence to the ex-KLF frontmen’s aforementioned blueprint for pop stardom.

Come to think of it, what could possibly be better than an opening ceremony in which Drummond and Cauty, having sacrificed effigies of mascots Trix and Flix high in the Swiss Alps, travel to Vienna to machine-gun the real things with blanks just to see the looks on their foam faces? There’s only 191 days until the big kick off, UEFA. Make it happen.

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It’s twenty five years since the Austrian national side made any sort of impression on a major tournament. In the 1982 World Cup, their meeting with West Germany was in the knowledge that a 1-0 victory for their neighbours would secure passage for both sides into the second round.

The mutually-beneficial game of keep-ball that followed the West Germans’ early opener prompted widespread cat-calls from a cross-section of the Gijón crowd. As the odd flag burned, pockets of Algerians, angered at the cynical manner in which their nation was being eliminated, were kept from a field of play ringed by police officers with dogs.

West German coach Jupp Derwall, who coincidentally died this week at the age of 80, justified the anschluss with the words: “we wanted to progress, not play football.”

Which brings us to this evening. Also distracted by results elsewhere and keen to progress without playing much football, Steve McLaren’s England face an Austrian outfit neutered by a two-year absence of competitive fixtures.

In a date no-doubt intended at its fixing to be an ice-breaker for next summer’s competition, Steve McLaren will step into the Ernst Happel Stadion, the venue for its final, dreaming of a Viennese waltz but knowing he may soon wake up in a whirl.

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It’s official, folks: Red Bull kills. Just one sip and that’s it, your sorry arse is going straight to hell. Actually, that’s not true: you’ll need a bit more than that. Anyway, for the sake of New Yorkers, the Detriot medics who this week warned that quaffing two cans of a ‘popular energy drink’ a day may mortally increase blood pressure really ought to pack their stethoscopes and head for the Big Apple.

You see, some months before the self-crowned ‘King of Beers’ tickled European sensibilities with their funny-the-first-time fantasy of ‘Soccertainment!’, Red Bull landed in the States clutching a blueprint for its reality.

At its heart lay Red Bull Park, the ‘Soccer and Entertainment Center’ and sometime home of New York’s MLS franchise. Thrilled by the proposed facility, a few thousand locals bought into Red Bull’s vision and dared to envisage the luminaries which would, one day, mostly keep its home bench warm.

Luis Figo’s and Ronaldo’s names went tantalisingly undenied by the club’s PR machine which recently blew a gasket when Thierry Henry spoke to the local rag. “I always say that one day I can play over there,” he said. “For me, New York is the best city in the world.”

Wow. So, how’s work on Red Bull Park coming along? Thanks to the intercontinental mass of pipes and valves they call the interweb, football and shopping’s latest cathedral reaches for the heavens right before our very eyes. Hmm. Better get a move on, boys! Henry’s only got so much va-va-voom left in the tank.

The failure of Red Bull and David Beckham to secure success for their playthings this season resulted, naturally, in the chop for their coaches. In a move contrary to the ‘laid-back sincerity’ of company head Dieter Mateschitz’s ‘brand philosophy’ – whatever that is – jumped-up middle-management decided ex-US national boss Bruce Arena’s objectives – whatever they were – haven’t been achieved.

While LA Galaxy sought to swiftly replace Frank Yallop with somebody Beckham’s heard of (namely, Ruud Gullit) the fall-out from Arena’s exit featured tales of a New York dressing room mutiny led by that pair of renowned shit-kickers, John Harkes and Claudio Reyna.

There’s no such disquiet by a Salzburg airfield; discounting the nearby roar of jet engines and the screech of rubber on tarmac, that is. As Red Bull’s other bastard offspring staggers dazed and confused around Bundesliga no-man’s land, the real Austria Salzburg ended their sixth-division term against HSV Wals just as impressively as they started it, with five unanswered goals.

Herbstmeisters once again, beating second-placed Obertrum to the four-month hibernation period by six points, the club posed for a family snap in a supreme show of just how far they’ve progressed in the space of these pages.

Who needs Detroit quacks? It’s quite simple. Lay off the taurine, live long and prosper.

See also: Austria Salzburg, MLS, Red Bull by TBG | Comments Off