Rivaldo - may be the assassin against England.

By Neal Collins

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Oh Shizuoka. It's got a strange ring to it.

Is this to be the battleground which finishes England's footballing future?

Already you can hear worried local fans complaining."Why is it," they ask plaintively.

"That we have to play Brazil when South Korea, the United States, Senegal and Turkey are on offer?"

And they're right.

History suggests the winners will not be shock troops from a smaller footballing nation.

It would be a disaster for football if the round-ball's global crown went to the one nation on earth which doesn't consider the World Cup much of an honour.

So let's pray Bruce Arena's Americans stumble, or the Yanks finally begin to pay homage to the universal game.

Obviously Turkey, the nation which likes to welcome visiting football clubs 'to hell', can't be allowed a place in the world's top four and neither the Koreans nor Senegal are likely to win it either.

It's just not done. Africa and Asia, like Austalasia and Antarctica, simply don't win World Cups.

That great privilege belongs only to Europe and Latin America.

Traditionally, Spain are at home sunning themselves by now.

Though home to the world's greatest clubs, the national side are supposed to fold up under pressure and go home with their tails between their legs.

They did just that against the Irish in the world's worst penalty shoot-out, but Mick McCarthy's men proved to be even more stressed than Jose Antonio Camacho's.

Using history as a guide,where we have a tiny pool of seven winners out of the 250 available nations on earth, the logical conclusion is that Friday morning Brazil v England clash will provide the 2002 World Cup winner.

The other previous conquerors have all fallen. Holders France didn't even score a goal, Argentina collapsed like their economy, Uruguay were only ever here to make up the numbers.

Then the co-hosts Korea stunned Italy and we were left with three pedigree World Cup winners.

Damn, in all this waffle, I appear to have ignored the Teutonically efficient, titanically sneaky Germans.

Saudi Arabians will tell you they're brilliant, Irishmen will tell you they're susceptible in the dying moments, Paraguayans will sneer and say they were beatable before the late winner in their opening last 16 showdown on Saturday morning.

The masters of playing badly and scoring a late goal, will Rudi Voller's men be the ones?

The same Rudi who saw England win 5-1 in Munich less than a year ago? Surely not?

I cannot tell you with any certainty because this has been a ridiculous World Cup.

World champions don't fail to score when they can call upon the top goal-getters of France, Italy and England.

Yanks don't have better footballers than Portugal or, more shocking, Mexico.

Senegal should be just a bunch of French-based journeymen, not unlike Welshmen in the Premiership.

Yet here we are, with perhaps the most bizarre last eight imaginable.

Ronaldo has scored five goals in five games after four years of injury and rumour? How can it be?

The other Golden Boot leader, Miroslav Klose, was born in Poland and was a roof tiler 18 months ago. Who could have predicted this?

I can only guess, with a crystal ball clouded by visions of dancing Koreans and Japanese, that Germany will overcome the USA and, obviously, Spain will finally end Korea's party.

In the semi-final, Germany will finally end the Spanish reign, their best effort since 1950 at this level.

I also foresee that Turkey will gobble up super Senegal. Which leaves Brazil, flamboyant as always but surprisingly resolute against Belgium in defence, to end the England run which has seen some four million Chinese-manafactured Cross of St George flags sold in an unexpectedly successful month.

Yes, football has reclaimed the England flag from the yobs, the English disease of hooliganism has failed to reach Asia.

But the other perennial Premiership problem of exhaustion has finally hamstrung Sven Goran Eriksson, the luckiest England manager of recent times.

Michael Owen's groin, Paul Scholes' huge heart and David Beckham's metatarsals are all straining as we go into this one, an eerie echo of Guadalajara 22 years ago.

There, Gordon Banks pulled off the world' greatest save, Bobby Moore made the greatest tackle and England (fielding a side even better than our 1966 winners) lost 1-0.

Similarly, this time the heroic David Seaman will, I believe, bow out of international football, with one last shake of the pony-tail, Rio Ferdinand will confirm his status as the new Bobby Moore and a single Rivaldo goal will shatter the nation early on Friday morning.

Oh Shizuoka.

Brazil will then glide past Turkey to meet the Germans in the final.

The winners?

Blimey, how am I supposed to know when a side worth perhaps £25m like Ireland can outplay Spain's £250m stars without Roy Keane, when Patrick Vieira leaves the World Cup smiling about having a longer holiday and somebody Brad Friedel, a man who looks for all the world like a middle-aged businessman, is being labelled the world's best goalkeeper?

Nothing can be believed any more. Football has been turned on its head.

What did I say the rallying cry was a few weeks ago? After Paris it might just be Dakar.

If it can't be England, let's hope Senegal do the business.

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