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So, will the real Italy please stand up? With Gattuso and Zambrotta out, but Totti in one would have expected a bit less catenaccio and a bit more calcio. That was, until the first spine-crusher of a tackle came in from De Rossi and reminded you of just whom, exactly, you were watching here!

The Ghanies (average age, 22 – thank you Motty). Lithe. Glistening. Sexy. Decent footballers as well, in patches – though they depend far too much on Essien. What a great first half, though – end-to-end stuff. Lippi and his boys were looking seriously worried for a while.

John Pantsil, the Ghanies fullback definitely gets into the World Cup Silly Names squad along with the likes of Mike Hanke, Marius Jop, Carlos Bonet, Bakery Kone, Henk Timmer, Satter Zare, Quim(!), Fabio Grosso, Kaka, Fred(!), Takahashi Fukunishi, Kim Dong-Jin, Raphael Wicky and Ruslan Rotan.

The second half wasn’t nearly as tremendous as the first but there were still some great moments: The Totster’s free-kick. The Ghanies breaking with lightning speed. “It’s a pearler from Pirlo!” Some bloke called Pimpong coming on. Camoranesi’s poncy ponytail. Martin O’Neill’s description of Appiah as “everywhere the ball’s just been!” The best foul of the tournament and the bloke didn’t even get booked. Motty banging on about the “freakishly hot weather.” The Italians having the nerve, the sheer bare-faced front, to accuse ANYBODY of diving (Oh, the irony). “It’s all over in Hanover!” That elbow on Del Piero in the last minute!

Pozzo fatto Azzurri. And, I’ll tell you what, you can absolutely guarantee that Gazzetta del Sporto won’t be criticising Lippi and his team tomorrow. Unless it’s for overkill. The first match that hadn’t filled me with so much of a smidgen of anticipation in the build-up. And, for the first 30 minutes, finally, England/The Para-G@y$ had a rival for the worst world cup match in the world. Ever. I’m serious, the highlight of that dreadfully dull 30 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back was the shambles of the “playing the Korean anthem twice” fiasco. And, I guess, the look to total disrespect on a few of the Togies (Toggles?) faces.

It just felt like going through the motions, you know. A match between some ageing Asians managed by a Dutchman and some not-particularly talented Africans managed by an German, all of it refereed by an Englishman (and, good God, it comes to something when you’re happy to comment on Graham Poll being “all right” doesn’t it?)

As for the Southies, well, it was hard not to feel for the poor lad who had to run around all afternoon with “HO” written on his back.

Typically, just at the point where one had almost lost the will to live, Togo scored. And it was a beauty as well, by Kader. Followed by a bizarre but highly amusing kangaroo hop celebration.

At half-time I thought “I’ll just bet the Southies bring on Ahn Jung Hwan in the second half”, working on the principle that he’s just about the only Korean anybody in the West had heard of. And, indeed, he did – to the screams of 10,000 damp-knickered Korean schoolgirls.

Then the game turned on its head in an instant as Bong-Dong-Wong (or somebody) got hauled down by the Big Lumbering Ox of a centre half, Poll got all card-happy (as is his way) and the Silver Fox (Wang-Dang-Diddly … probably) stuck the free-kick in.