Right. Enough. The World Cup has begun with a magnificent flourish. Goals galore, the big players showing up early doors, the right things happening and England just happened to lose their first game against a very decent team. Which is a bugger, yes, but hardly worth getting all snide about.
First things first. The opening ceremony wouldn't have entertained a two-year-old Teletubbies fan. Garbage. Even J-Lo's arse had lost its lustre by the time it reared up out of that bollocksy chocolate orange jobbie at the centre of the stadium. If there were some undecideds amongst the Brazilian populace about whether this whole shebang was money well-spent, I'm sure that opening salvo of third-rate circus skills left 'em in no doubt.
Whether the desperate need for the hosts to get off to a good start permeated through to the Japanese referee's subconscious can only be guessed at. But Fred's ludicrous flop should not have been rewarded and we were left wondering whether the refs might ruin it.
But you know, it's settled down well now. It's a joy to watch. Lots of positive intent, and the utter dismemberment of Spain by Robin Van Persie - there's always a tinge of Sherwood Forest about his name - and the annoying bald sprite that is Arjen Robben was thrilling to behold.
Spain have problems but are not too stupid to sort them out. Iker Casillas - grand servant and all that - looks increasingly like a disorientated assistant gardener whose been given some big gloves to wear but can't remember why. De Gea or Reina need to come in. Bringing Torres on to help was like trying to stop a house fire with some damp toilet tissue. Why is he there?
There have already been some little moments to treasure
Otherwise there haven't been any major shocks save for Costa Rica's tonking of Uruguay. The Uruguayans looked amenably feeble and if England can keep up their attacking menace we should turn 'em over.
Which bring us on to Saturday night and, well, I'm not saying this in a Scottish way, but I thoroughly enjoyed watching England lose. Sterling was a delight, neat and nimble, gliding between players in an almost dare I say it Messi like way. But without the finish as yet. Welbeck had his best hour for England too, and Sturridge looked lively.
As for Rooney, well... give the lad a fecking break, okay. Yes, he's overpaid, and maybe he's overplayed, but the bloke put in a shift wide left to accommodate some Johnnie-come-lately in his favoured position. He also put over a sublime ball for Sturridge's finish and if Lionel Bleedin' Messi or Andres Ini-blinking-esta had knocked that ball across we'd all be cooing like grandmothers at a christening.
I don't actually think it's a big deal whether he plays or not. But he didn't have a bad game. The reason this has become an issue is cos the media feckers need summat to bang on about for five days and this is the best they can do. Leave it.
Let's see how he gets on against Suarez and co and maybe we can stop him pulling his hair out for a week or so. (He is looking a bit thin on top again. I thought them top-weaves were made to last.) Any road, Gerrard hardly had his best ninety minutes in an England shirt and no one's carping about him not starting the next game.
But as the skipper himself said, the last time this lot turned up at a tournament we had all the cutting edge of a space-hopper. This time we look like we might score. These are times to be optimistic not downright hacked off. Gone are the days when Owen Hargreaves and Darius Vassell represent progressive substitutions. Chin up, everyone.
The only genuine downside appears to be expert summariser Phil Neville who was dour enough to make Paul Scholes sound like Graham Norton. I mean I'm sure we all tire of that master of hindsight Andy 'he should've done a bit better there' Townsend. And no one can possibly treasure ninety minutes in the company of football's resident wag Mark Lawrenson, who lost any comedy value he might have had when that 'tache was removed. But PNev was just dull. He was Shaun Ryder on a particularly grim downer.
But what's really twisting my melon on this particular happy Monday is li'l ole Juninho, who, Teesside's sweetheart though he is, doesn't seem to be contributing much at all, bless 'im. It could be a language thing, it could be that he's not the brightest bulb in Brazil, but poor Gary seems to spend much of his time picking up the ends of Juninho's contributions like a tramp scouring ashtrays for fag-ends.
But apart from a bit too much writhing around from players as if someone's set fire to their sleeping bags, it's been a great start.
The beautiful game might just be getting its looks back.