(I’ll preface this by saying that even I realise this post is… well… a bit dull. There’s only so much you can write about watching football at my local pub. But in the spirit of recording the World Cup exactly as I’m experiencing it, I decided to put finger to keyboard anyway. I trust there will be more genuine excitement to come)

There is too much World Cup football at the moment.

There! I said it. And I can’t—won’t—take it back.

I know. Shocker! Me, of all people, complaining about dawn-to-dusk football coverage.

You know I am a massive football fan, especially when it comes to the World Cup and the carnival of nations that I’ve now enjoyed on four continents. And I absolutely love those first two or three weeks of group-stage mayhem: three matches a day, wall-to-wall coverage, the carnival of nations, especially those on the fringes of world football.

But once that chaos is over, I rather like it when the tournament settles down. The serious contenders get, well, serious about it, and we march on towards the final, the pinnacle of the sport.

This time, though, it hasn’t happened.

I was skeptical of the new 48-team format when it was announced, but I came to accept it and, in truth, relish it as the fringiest of fringe nations—yes, Scotland among them—were given the chance to celebrate the World Cup.

But I hadn’t thought it through.

Of course, sixteen extra teams means sixteen extra matches in the new Round of 32, and so the mayhem simply rolls on. Three matches a day for another week or two as the next tranche of teams quietly weeded out.

It is, I can attest, too much.

Those treasured rest days for the ardent fan between the group stage and the knockout rounds have disappeared, sacrificed in a frantic effort to squeeze the expanded tournament into much the same calendar as its smaller predecessors, all so the final can still be played on schedule and the superstars can return to their “day jobs” with their clubs.

And here let us pause for a moment to spare a thought for those stars, many of whom now seem to play almost the entire year without proper time to recover. They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? Although I’m fairly sure the eye-watering salaries of the modern game are enough to stay the pistol for a little while longer.

Of course, my television does have an off button. I don’t have to watch.

But I do.

It’s an addiction.

Rather like an addict turning up at the crack house every single day.

So, three times a day I roll up to my local or disappear to the basement for another hit. Quite an accomplishment really, given those other annoying commitments—like, well, work—which keep getting in the way.

As I write this we’re about halfway through the Round of 32. I’ve managed to watch almost every game, but it would be impossible to offer detailed commentary on them all.

The penalty shoot-outs, where Paraguay eliminated the giants of Germany and Morocco squeezed past the Netherlands, were obvious highlights. Both were incredible, chaotic, unscripted drama, with the matches—and, in the Netherlands’ case, the coach’s job—decided by the finest of margins. I am in awe of any player who can step forward to take a penalty under those circumstances. I doubt my legs would even hold me upright, never mind let me kick the ball with enough conviction to score.

Two goals, though, stood out for me and both for the same reason. Martinelli’s last-minute winner for Brazil against Japan and Mbappé’s first goal for France against Sweden. In both cases, the players had only a fraction of a second before the opening closed. What amazed me was the speed of their feet and the tiny—almost non-existent—back lift before striking the ball. The economy of movement, the reaction time and the instant decision-making were simply astonishing.

By the way, France look unstoppable. So far, by far the best team in the tournament.

England won—eventually, inevitably—against a spirited DR Congo, but they’ll have to find several more gears if they’re to go much further. Until ‘Arry scored his first, their body language was terrible. Something doesn’t look quite right in the Kingdom of Tuchel.

They’ll certainly need to improve for their next match against Mexico, who looked very impressive in beating Ecuador. It was an unusually polished, controlled and professional performance from the Mexicans, who can sometimes lose their shape and discipline in the pressure cooker that is the Azteca.

Mexico’s best World Cup performances came when they reached the quarter-finals on both previous occasions they hosted the tournament, in 1970 and 1986. On this showing, I rather fancy them to repeat that feat this time—perhaps even go one better.

As I’ve said before, Mexico are the last of the great footballing nations never to have won the World Cup.

I’d be delighted if this were finally their year.

I’ve reached this point in my blog during previous World Cups. The thrill and excitement of actually being there is behind me, and I find myself trying to maintain my enthusiasm as the seemingly endless catalogue of early knockout games rolls on, patiently waiting for the real World Cup—the serious World Cup—to begin.

Hopefully tonight’s USA–Bosnia match will re-energise me. I doubt football will ever truly be in America’s soul, but Americans certainly know how to get behind their team. Unlike the handful of fans who turned up at the pub for England versus DR Congo at lunchtime today—OK, I should probably have been working as well!—I expect the place to be packed tonight, and I’ll need to get there early to snag a seat.

But my thoughts—my real hope of regeneration—are focused just over the horizon. Next Thursday brings a road trip to Kansas City, about 8 hours, with an overnight stop in St Louis, for one of the quarter-finals, most likely Argentina against Portugal if the bracket unfolds as expected.

The match is sold out at the moment, but tickets may well appear on the secondary market next week. I’ll wait to see just how outrageous the asking prices become before deciding whether to go.

But, as with so many other World Cup experiences, if I don’t get in, I’ll be perfectly content finding a spot at the FanFest or settling into a sports bar with my fellow addicts.

(Since first drafting this, tickets have started to appear, the cheapest….almost $5,000! FanFest it is!!!)