Motty in plasma is the way forward

For this third and vital game, I took the decision to go plasma. A friend of a friend invited me to his house to watch England take on Nigeria on a great big screen mounted on the wall. This was a novel experience, as it meant sitting in a room with Gary, Alan, Martin and Wrighty all life-size ... more than a little disconcerting so early in the morning.

Some things never change, though, and the voice of Motty floating over from the Far East was a terrific balm. He was concerned about the temperature, a shocking 94 degrees, feeling this might favour the Nigerians with their recent experience in the African Nations Cup. The fact that Nigerians live in a hot country anyway doesn't concern Motty. As far as he is concerned, if it doesn't happen on a football pitch, it doesn't happen at all.

I was relieved to be finally watching a match after what has seemed like a lifetime's worth of permutations. The ifs and buts had taken over all forms of civilised conversation. In the prognostications at the beginning of the tournament, England would be lucky to survive their group, and even if they did, would perish at the feet of France. So much for permutations.

The real tension in the game was generated by the fact that another match was taking place at the same time, one which had a strong bearing on our World Cup future. Again, Motty was masterful, maintaining his balance faced with a clutch of tongue-tripping Nigerian names, while keeping us informed of the parallel game.

Meanwhile, back in the studio, the experts were making mincemeat of every Nigerian name. Even by half-time, I had not got used to sharing a room with these four men. Up close, it was possible to appreciate virtues only glimpsed on a regular TV screen. All four were significantly tie-less - there are times when formality is singularly inappropriate. But here was a chance to observe the chemistry: the Lineker grin, Hanson's scar, O'Neill's scholarly spectacles, and Wrighty's effortless man-ofthepeople impersonation. Add them all together, and you have the perfect pundit.

There was one question, however, that went glaringly unanswered. The Nigerian kit is undeniably a fetching shade of green, but it seems to offer them a perfect form of camouflage. There can be no other reason why England did not pick them up with conviction. Perhaps FIFA would care to make a judgement.