Two decades on from that which a teenage Wayne Rooney bossed, there were moments when you recognised the paradox of that man’s brilliance, a player of ludicrous football ability, who works like a jobber blessed with none. In a needlessly good, waist-high caressing of a cross-field switch midway through the first-half, the impression that this game is all rather too easy; in the chasing, pressing, arm-waving of the second, as England grew passive and dropped off, the example that nothing less than maximum effort will do.
