Not the Premier League

England 1 Spain 0 (a.e.t)

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't a classic, but Steve McClaren's men showed all the virtues that we have not come to expect from an England side: determination, confidence, teamwork and likeability.

Only the most wildly-blinkered jingoist could argue that England were the better side, and indeed today's Sun front page does claim 'Spics Spanked By Three Lions'.

But in truth, England were often second best against a side with more technical ability, superior tactics and prettier, better-groomed footballers.

Nevertheless, McClaren - wearing his now trademark earpiece and dressed like Bjorn, or possibly Frida, from Abba - got all the major decisions right. Sven-Goran Eriksson, who appeared to be operating some sort of remote control handset throughout the match, looked on with pride at his former assistant's coming of managerial age.

With Spain on the front foot from the start, there were fears that England would defend too deep, as they had tried to do in their disastrous 7-0 mauling against these opponents only two weeks ago. That match descended into farce with John Terry and Ashley Cole lining up alongside Paul Robinson on the goal-line, with Rio Ferdinand operating approximately 15 yards behind the goal, in row C of the stand, digitally mixing choons between two iPhones and whooping excitedly.

Here, England's rearguard were calm and composed under a Spanish onslaught. Urged on by 'Older Brother Player' Gary Neville with shouts of "remember the International Brigade - no surrender to Franco's fascists", they repelled wave after wave of attacks.

When England broke, the midfield operated as a unit, passing the ball to one another and moving into space rather than attempting 95-yard cross-field passes and then applauding each other like developmentally-challenged infants comparing their poos while the ball sailed out of play 30 feet from its intended target.

Jimmy Bullard was tireless and always a threat from set-plays, hitting the bar shortly before half-time. Freddie Sears, making his debut, was not over-awed and constantly probed the Spanish defence.

At no point did an England forward collapse in agony with a fractured bowel and have to be substituted, nor get himself sent off for biting a linesman.

In goal, David James got through the entire game without munching a single pastry-based comestible.

After 90 minutes, England were hanging on, but seemed to gain a second wind in extra time, taking the game to a now frustrated Spain.

Off the pitch there was a bizarre moment when a burly streaker took to the pitch, pursued by stadium security. The super-slo mo TV cameras revealed the naked frolicker to be a worse-for-wear Sam Allardyce, the ex-football manager, struggling with a voluminous pair of underpants. He showed remarkable speed but was eventually hauled down and carried off along with what appeared to be a monkey in dungarees and roller blades.

There was another moment of serious alarm when Wayne Bridge, unable to even get into the England C**** rival XI, stormed onto the pitch in a one-man invasion, holding a megaphone and shouting: "What about me? What about me? I am a footballer too, or I used to be! I'll give them something to remember me by."

Sadly, before he could fully chain himself to David Villa, the needy but superfluous full-back was tranquilised and dragged off by armed security. In the ensuing confusion Fernando Torres produced a tremendous shot on the turn, but James was able to parry it with his pocket watercolour set.

After 115 minutes a rare England attack saw Owen Hargreaves burst through the centre of the pitch and hit a tired but on-target shot at Iker Casillas. Gary Neville, who ran fully 65 yards in a lung-bursting sprint, shoulder-barged the Spanish goalkeeper to the ground, shouting "that's for Orwell" and the ball bobbled over the line. Despite vigorous protests from the Spanish side, and a torrent of vile racist invective from coach Luis Aragones at England's black players, the referee allowed the goal to stand.

On the final whistle, the England players hugged each other and shook hands with the opposition, like men who had won a football match. Nobody rolled around the floor, licked a team-mate's face, tried to dry hump a colleague or wept like some tart off X Factor making up a story about her dying bloody nan.

Germany awaits.

STEVE McCLAREN'S DIARY

What an emotional night it was. I'm so proud of the lads and they applauded me onto the coach as we left as though I was a proper manager. I am now wearing the ear-piece all the time, I find life is so much easier when you listen to Sven and I've been picking up tips on how to get on with women and a handy recipe for meatballs as well.

I hear the old players are dead meat to me. We sorted them out big style. And they thought I was just a useless ginger c***. Ha! Now we must win the final. Or lose.

SPECIAL K

Kevin Keegan analyses how England defeated Spain

From the start it was a level playing field, in fact the pitch was as flat as a snooker ball, and that helped our passing game but over the years we've had a habit of kicking ourselves in the foot y'know but last night they ran their socks into the ground and avoided all the trapdoors that Spain had dug for us and started, if you like, digging their own bunkers.

Football today is like a game of chess - it's all about money, and when you're left to pick up the pieces, the die is cast often when you least expect it and no one who watched last night's game could say they knew which way the game would go, you could have flipped a card to decide it really but the main reason we won was when the dice was thrown in the ring, we came up trumps.

The young lad Sears, he's got an old head and you need that at this level. He's a natural footballer; he literally came out of the womb kicking a football. You can't buy that but if you could you wouldn't be able to put a price on it. At times it was as if he had the ball mesmerically tied to his foot with a ball of string.

And they scored at the right time, which was while the match was still on and that's what made the difference. A late goal will win any match unless the other side score later of course, but even then it's sometimes not enough you never know until the fat referee whistles as they say.

I can't see anything stopping England now because they've got the momentum going forward and so much so that even if they were going backwards you couldn't stop them.

BIG SAM AND REIDY AT THE MATCH

We blagged a freebie for the England game when I saw Brian Barwick in the street. He was just lying there spark out with a foot-long hotdog in his mouth. Naturally I robbed him of his wallet and FA pass; the blubber-hound owes me. I gave a brilliant 14-hour Powerpoint display to prove I should have been England manager and he took no notice and gave it to McClaren just because he turned up with a haunch of roast venison, pig's trotters and a jug of goose fat!

At the gate I showed Barwick's pass and said Reidy was my pet monkey. He'd put on a pair of red dungarees and roller blades and was smoking filter tips to play the part properly.

He looked very convincing and the bloke patted him on the head and said,

"He's a lovely monkey isn't he?"

"Touch me again and I'll f*cking do you la," said Reidy, nearly giving the game away.

We hurried off to find the bar but it was ten-deep with FA staff on freebies. We were gagging for a snifter so we found our way into the groundsman's store room underneath the stands where Reidy correctly predicted we'd find quality refreshment.

An hour, two bottles of Paraquat, one large bucket of white wash and a light snack of slug pellets later, we took our seats.

We tried watching the football but Reidy was restless so we went for a wander and saw Clive Tyldesley and David Pleat doing ITV's commentary. Feeling boisterous as the Paraquat kicked in we immediately downed trousers and appeared in front of them - I've never heard a man scream like Pleaty, he had his hands over his eyes and was shouting,

"Clive! Clive!There's a hippo on the loose!!"

"'Ello!, 'ello!' retorted Clive in his trademark fashion.

Security immediately started chasing us. I ran down onto the pitch towards the dug-outs while Reidy got away at speed what with him wearing the roller blades, but in the pouring rain I fell over trying to put my underpants back on and went down heavily, crushing one of those McDonalds player escort kiddies. Christ, he looked like a quarter pounder when I got up.

Security were very nice while chucking me out and offered me a salad baguette to hide my modesty, the underpants having been accidentally used by the Spanish coach to mop Torres' brow after a clash of heads. That revived the lad. Reidy followed on soon after escorted by two burly men, his red dungarees all torn and stained.

"Your monkey's having too much of a good time," they said and threw him over a wall.

Later while eating the baguette I checked Prozone and discovered that I'd run for 32% longer than any other streaker at a major international. Proof once again of my class. A top job surely awaits Samuel.

POLL:

We Asked Which England International Would You Have Liked To see Dressed Like A Monkey in Dungarees And Roller Blades?

5% said Beardsley

25% said Gazza

34% said The Waddler

40% said Martin Keown

1% said Frank Lampard

By popular demand, get a '1% said Frank Lampard' t-shirt here.

John Nicholson and Alan Tyers