Lee Carsley has achieved something at Wembley that may have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago. On a thrilling, almost entirely amorphous evening of international football, Carsley made Gareth Southgate look like he actually, just maybe, knew what he was doing by laying out a performance and tactical plan that was, in its own way, a wonderfully selfless tribute to his strangely reviled predecessor.

OK, Carsley seemed to say here. People want full English roar, no brakes. Let’s see what this actually looks like. And of course, in any version of the real world, the answer is… well, what exactly? Like a collapsed wedding cake rolling down an ornate staircase while a football game is taking place nearby. Like confused talented people walking strangely. It’s like watching someone try to build a dinghy made out of nothing but licorice, diamonds, and vibrations. At some point you will need some twine and some driftwood. But carry on. It’s kind of fascinating.

Nobody could say it wasn’t fun until the end, as a half-empty stadium roared in confusion and Jude Bellingham’s botched equalizer at home seemed to have saved the day for the world’s 48th-ranked team, only for Greece to finally score a chance to death.

And yes, people may be harsh on Greece because they only won 2-1. But you can only beat what’s in front of you. And what was in front of them was basically an idea from the Internet. There’s no doubt that Carsley has the best intentions with these games. One of them is to try to get the job in England by getting people to like him and think of him as something new. But this was also the most amorphous, strangely arrogant attempt to reinvent the basic idea of ​​international football against a team that can actually play.

Wembley had been a cool, tinny place at kick-off, with the familiar midweek feel of a lukewarm, light entertainment spectacle taking place. But it was also a really fascinating occasion. Here Carsley had the chance to express his vision, the future shaped by Carsley.

And so we got the England of everything and everywhere at once. That was the whole tube of Pringles. Easter eggs for breakfast. Bellingham started in a false nine role. Behind him, well, count them, grab the full house. Saka. Palmer. Foden. Gordon. That was Carsley: Full Throttle, out there on his diamond-studded Vespa, popping donuts in the Aldi parking lot while watermelon steamers fall out of his pockets.

Carsley had already made seductive speeches in advance and promised a flood of number 10 players. It made professional sense. The gallery’s judgment is important. The FA would clearly like to appoint him if they can. Playing all of his most likeable attackers was the perfect opportunity to sell himself and be the fun new stepdad. Those who had grown tired of Southgate and who saw it as a great betrayal that they had not won all the tournaments could now jump into the warm bath of Carsley and apologize.

In the event, Carsley’s England instead produced a 90-minute real-time demonstration showing why loading all attacking players onto the pitch is not the way to create coherent attacking football. The biggest irony is that England didn’t really attack much. Creativity comes from structure. And although there were a few chances early on, England were wide open at the other end from the start. That’s no surprise. This team was designed as an open team. Cool, bro. It’s under control.

Carsley was immediately on the sidelines, wearing skin-tight jeggings and a cropped hoodie for the occasion, drawing attention to 1. his coaching credentials; and 2. his buttocks. So England set out to become one half of free jazz, but free jazz without real instruments, just banging on a plastic bag, a box of dates, a bicycle wheel.

Cole Palmer stepped in as the second midfielder, which in itself is a funny idea, like asking King Charles to put some jumper cables on his car. Phil Foden raved about playing No.10 behind a false nine, which isn’t actually the case. As the half wore on, you could actually see Foden thinking about it. What did I…what did he…?

At times England were worried about keeping the ball. But it was also a formation in which you have a lot of possession and the opponent is deep, but then there is no striker to pass, a masterpiece of tactical foot shooting.

Behind him was Declan Rice, every midfielder. Just “do” the midfield, Dec. The whole midfield. We’ll be over there. Rice could have been booked for an early lunge and later stretched to cover the open spaces.

A 0-0 scoreline at half-time seemed strange, and not just because England would be 8-0 down against France. Furthermore, they only had one shot on goal at that point, even though all the players were out there today and there was a lot to do.

There were no changes in England at half time. Trust the process. Believe. Grow. And Greece duly took the lead. The aim was to run through the heart of the England team and let Vangelis Pavlidis fire freely into the corner while a strange mass of white shirts twitched in front of him.

In the end, England played the classic 4-4-2 with Dom Solanke and Ollie Watkins, a fascinating Benjamin Button-style return to the tactical soup from which Carsley emerged back in the safe, warm space of a David Moyes Everton team. It worked a little better because the players knew what to do.

But Greece were stubborn and passionate and really wanted to win this game, and that’s what it’s all about. No doubt England and Carsley wanted it just as much. But if this was a populist bid for the permanent position, it ended up feeling like a pretty catastrophic tactical setback.