My first match at the new Wembley; and a surprisingly reliable knee-joint

On Monday, my girlfriend, my good old-time drinking buddy JK and I went to Wembley to watch England take on Mexico in the first of the World Cup warm-ups - a much more entertaining affair than their tie against Saudi Arabia at the old Wembley stadium in 1998.

That was the last - and indeed, the first - time I saw England play and although I had a fantastic day out (with my Mum, bless her), the game was a bore-draw. Not that I cared, of course. I was about 13 and loved every minute.

Monday's match was far more entertaining, even if the performance was patchy at times. Seeing five Spurs players get an outing was great, and the appearance of one in particular filled me with joy.

Ledley King is the nearly man of the canon of English centre-halves. A superb defender, quick, mobile, with two good feet and great aerial ability, the only thing that has prevented him from challenging Terry and Ferdinand at the heart of England's defence has been a knee which inflames to the size of a beach-ball at the end of each match (drunken pant-wetting episodes in London's West End notwithstanding).

As such, 'Deadley' (as he's definitely not known to his mates) cannot play more than one match a week and has to train on his own. In a swimming pool.

This sorry state of affairs has threatened his career but his inclusion in Capello's squad seems to have spurred his ligaments into some kind of magical self-healing as he completed all 90 minutes on Monday night, capping it all off with a great headed goal to open the scoring after 15 minutes.

Not bad for a player who's not had a cap for three years.

King has since made a pledge that he will be fit and healthy for every match if required during the tournament. Just how well he knows how his knee is going to react during the competition remains to be seen, but as a Spurs fan who loves the guy (but admits to having doubted his staying power at club level let alone internationally) I couldn't be more pleased.

Well done big man. Keep up the good work.

Everyone, breathe!

It was almost inevitable that, as the World Cup in South Africa looms, English football fans shed their veneer of confidence and return to outwardly displaying the jittery, nervous pessimisim about England's chances of returning home with the trophy, regularly recoiling in belly-gurgling fear at every sign that Fabio Capello has lost the plot or some more-than-crucial member of the squad has ruptured something important.

I, on the other hand, have faith that the genial Italian knows exactly what he's doing.

Yes, he made an error of judgement regarding that Capello Index thing, but this was short-lived as both he and the FA acted swiftly to ensure it remains no more than a footnote in the team's build-up to the tournament.

Yes he tried to tempt an old war horse out of retirement in the shape of Paul Scholes, and certainly many have questioned his selection of Jamie Carragher (none more so than myself, having been unfortunate enough to have watched Liverpool play a few times this season).

But look how everyone questioned his faith in Emile Heskey, until the mighty oak emerged as a key part of our attack.

Recall how the team posted one of the best qualifying records in recent times (with the only loss coming in a match which was played after we'd qualified and only shown on the internet, and as such no-one was watching anyway.

Consider how the man can nonchalantly drape a (no doubt, very expensive) sweater casually over his shoulders without looking like a) your Dad on holiday b) a twat.

This is why the man is coining it in to the tune of six big ones every year. Sven Gorn Eriksson, with his possibly homesickness-fuelled ex-weathergirl daliances and extremely dodgy computer game endorsements, he is not.

So, in conclusion, everyone should just calm down. Fab's got it all under control.