We’ve all been there.

The nightclub’s bar staff have stopped serving and the till is switched off. The DJ is spinning the theme from Flashdance, or Footloose, or some 80s film or other.

Your head is spinning, too. You’re looking around at all the happy couples. Most of them hadn’t met an hour ago. You are standing on your own and you can feel the desperation and the loneliness rising. You can’t go home alone.

It’s five to three in the morning, you scan the horizon for hope. Most of the people have got their backs to you. And why wouldn’t they? Look at yourself. You’re not exactly a catch. Yes, sure, you used to be something special. You had a full head of hair, wore fancy clothes and had a wallet bursting at the seams. You turned heads. Everyone was interested.

But not anymore. Take a look in the mirror. The gloss has come off. You’re a parody of what you used to be. You might still have a trendy haircut and clothes but it doesn’t look quite the same on a greying, thinning, paunchy, older man, well past his prime.

The wallet, too, is not as full as it used to be. It’s no surprise when you’ve frittered your money on a succession of bad choices.

So here you are. The crowd is thinning out. What are your options? There’s that stout northern lass you spoke to earlier, what was her name, Sam? She’s not exactly easy on the eye but she seemed to be popular with some of the other players. At least everyone seemed to seriously consider her, before eventually moving on to something better.

Then there was that other one... the one from Hull who used to be a stunner in her 20s but has gradually gone to seed ever since. Everyone thought she should have been nominated for Miss England in the 1990s but she never got the call. She’s gone downhill since then but she’s got a knack of punching above her (considerable) weight.

Has it really come to this? You’re the FA, for goodness sake. Surely, surely, you don’t need to do this?

Why rush? Why settle for second-rate? Why not go home and order one of those foreign partners off the web – isn’t that what men in your situation end up doing?

There’s even a perfect choice, right there on the home page – European-born, used to live in England, speaks the language fluently and was popular here for a while, been in the USA for a while, has the looks, and the experience and is a respectable choice for someone in your current position.

So go home with your head held high, grab a kebab, and order a Jurgen Klinsmann, otherwise you’ll just get laughed at, at all the parties, reunions and events you attend over the next four years.

0o0

We should have known this was going to happen in 1985.

When Ivan Drago was training for his fight with Rocky in that hi-tech gym with all his scientists and needles full of lord knows what we should have realised it was not so much Hollywood fiction as a glimpse beneath the iron veil.

It was confirmation that Russia would do anything to win at all costs to try and show the world that they are the greatest, even though they’re not.

So, I’m sorry Vladimir if you’re reading this, but let's get rid of Russia. They can’t be trusted. On the field, off the field, around the field. No Olympics, no World Cup, no hooliganism, no teams in international competition in any sport.

Full-on international sporting exile. It’s the only way.