Ich bin ein Tuchel! Why we all should back the new boss

To see some of the early reactions to the appointment of Thomas Tuchel, who we must all know by now is a German — or, specifically, a Bavarian — you might think that England had just lost a war (or at least a World Cup final) in the most humiliating of circumstances.

Sports hacks on our more “patriotic” newspapers have been dispatched to harvest hostile reactions from Three Lions fans, ex-players and former managers. Tuchel’s appointment is being portrayed as a betrayal of the nation (or, rather, that part of it which is both English and nativistic) only currently rivalled by Keir Starmer’s sinister plot to “reset” Brexit with streamlined procedures for photo-sanitary border checks. Predictably, Nigel Farage was performatively offended by this German incursion onto sovereign turf.

It’s at times like this that I reach for my battered DVD of the cult classic movie Mike Bassett: England Manager, a satirical masterpiece starring Ricky Tomlinson that was released in 2001 but, especially at the moment, feels timeless. The film tells the story of the titular Bassett, who finds himself in over his head as manager of the national team.

Bassett was an idiot, albeit a heroic failure in true English fashion (think Boris Johnson or British Leyland) but also helped into the post because the old boys who ran the Football Association found the idea of a foreigner managing England so distasteful.

Obviously, times have changed at the FA. Their trust in Tuchel to revive England’s fortunes after some disappointments and an unfortunate recent loss to Greece has been endorsed, notably, by Prince William — FA president and, as it goes, himself also a bit of a German.

But that hasn’t appeased the grumps. It should be an Englishman. Shouldn’t it?

Obviously it would be preferable — but would any English manager be better than Tuchel, who has a more than respectable record at Chelsea and Paris St Germain? I wonder, for example, what the reaction would have been if Sam Allardyce had been recalled to the colours, his past misdemeanours and that newspaper sting cheerfully forgotten.

Wayne Rooney is still available, and would probably have found a way to relinquish his present duties at Plymouth Argyle and shrug off his mixed record with Birmingham City. Kevin Keegan, another distinguished former England player with management experience, isn’t doing much at the moment.

Maybe dear Roy Hodgson could be tempted out of retirement? Steve McClaren, even with his strange Dutch accent? Steve Cooper?

It is not, after all, as if we’ve never had a foreigner in charge before. The breakthrough appointment was that of Sven-Goran Eriksson, iconic Swede, back in 2001. At the time it attracted some controversy, but the moving tributes to him after his recent passing are testament both to his work as England manager and the place he held in the affections of the nation.

By the time Fabio Capello took over in 2008, the appointment raised not much more in the way of protest than an Italianate shrug. And he didn’t even speak English! (Tuchel happens to be fluent). Had the Catalan Pep Guardiola just been announced as the permanent replacement for Gareth Southgate, there would, one suspects, have been a few rumblings, but nothing like the revulsion at the arrival of a German — a German! — in the top job.

For reasons that would occupy a team of psychologists for an unconscionable span of time to properly analyse, these tussles about Tuchel are merely the latest example of the love-hate relationship between England and Germany — the most vexed psychodrama in cultural and geopolitical history. It is always there, and characterised by extreme schadenfreude on the rare occasions when Germany stumbles and England wins — 1966 and all that.

There’s an irrational hatred on show, yet English football fans travel to their matches in their BMWs, enjoy German lagers at half time, and when they get home they chuck their gear into their Bosch washing machine.

Usually the rivalry is harmless, but sometimes it takes disturbingly virulent forms. The Germanophobia is real, but it seems to be — slowly — easing. Brexit didn’t help and the Second World War still occupies its foundational place in the myths of English exceptionalism, but Tuchel’s triumphs should change a few minds.