Flawed, fatalistic and fiercely competent England successfully drag Brazil down to their level in anticlimactic draw

Late on Jake Livermore scythed Neymar down and, in a vaguely Orwellian way, the little vignette encapsulated the game: Livermore’s boot, stamping on a human foot that was not his own, forever

England held Brazil to a goalless draw at Wembley - just about (Getty)

It was just like watching England. And Brazil, of course, a little bit. But mostly England. Mostly the thud of tackles and the slow-clap of sideways passes. Gareth Southgate’s eager young team successfully dragged the five-time world champions down to their level, claiming a second successive goalless draw with a performance as ruthless at the back as it was toothless further forward.

With so many players missing, it was a reasonably creditable result. But if there was just the merest sense of anticlimax at the end, it was because an occasion that promised a great deal ultimately delivered so little.

Yes: it was England v Brazil in a friendly at Wembley, just like you play on Fifa, albeit with a lot fewer goals, and a lot more substitutions. And if there was one upside to the dreariness, it was that the inevitable deluge of second-half changes did not ruin the momentum of the game, for it had precious little to begin with.

A certain disappointment for Brazil, then, and for their thousands of expatriate fans who filled Wembley Way with songs and screamed whenever Neymar received the ball. In a way, this felt just as much their occasion as England’s, with the adverts in Portuguese at the side of the pitch and the frequent samba drumming, and yes, it is hard trying to avoid all the usual Brazilian cliches when they insist so thoroughly on living up to them.

On the pitch, too, Brazil set about the English with an agreeable vivacity that, even in an age when elite football is less heterogeneous than ever - identikit players coming out of identikit academies passing and pressing in identikit fashion - was still just about recognisable as Brazilian.

The little flicks and feints and stepovers were a product not simply of an active imagination, but surely also the jollity of the occasion. When the stakes are at their highest, back the Germans. When the stakes are low, you’d take Brazil every day of the week.

Brazil played with a sense of freedom even if they failed to break England down (Getty)

This, perhaps, was the main difference between the sides. Brazil’s players seem to relish having the ball - I mean really relish it, like there’s a spotlight on them, and this was The X-Factor, and this is their one chance to impress Nicole Scherzinger and change the course of their life forever.

England’s relationship with the ball, while improving, is still very much in the counselling stage. Like there’s a spotlight on them, but this one’s coming from a police helicopter, and they’re being given until the count of three to drop the weapon before a trained marksman turns them into a stain on a Somerset field.

Of course, certain England players are capable of giving it some flash when they want to. Marcus Rashford, for instance, was a bundle of effervescence up front, delighting the crowd by almost tricking his way through the entire Brazil defence early in the second half. Southgate must surely know by now, if he didn’t already, that Rashford is the sort of player England must unshackle, unfetter, unleash, and quickly too, before Jose Mourinho turns him into a left-wing-back or something.

Livermore wasn't afraid to get stuck in (Getty)

But by and large, England left their mark on Brazil in a more literal sense. Dani Alves, having already been caught painfully on the knee by Jamie Vardy in the opening minutes, reacted angrily to a Jake Livermore challenge, and was even more unimpressed when the West Brom midfielder grabbed him lovingly around the neck as Alves tried to regain his balance: a charming cultural misunderstanding, given that in a Tony Pulis dressing room the neck-grab is probably the ultimate symbol of affection.

Livermore, on his 28th birthday, was probably England’s most influential player, which is not quite as complimentary as it sounds. Casemiro cut out a crucial attempted through-ball; Neymar sent him for a £7 Wembley hot dog and then later taunted him by doing about 11 stepovers in a row. On the 12th attempt, Livermore simply scythed him down, earning a booking. And somehow, in a vaguely Orwellian way, that little vignette encapsulated the game: Jake Livermore’s boot, stamping on a human foot that was not his own, forever.

Above all, what you craved from England’s midfield was just a little more verve: a little more pressure on the ball, a little more composure in possession, a little more invention with the pass. But then you looked at the bench - Jack Cork, Jesse Lingard, Lewis Cook - and realised that for now at least, this is what we have. And this is the England we have: flawed, fatalistic and fiercely competent. You can understand it. But that doesn’t mean you have to love it.