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| This is a real photo. |
It is a sad truth that if Wayne Rooney had broken his leg at 23, like Paul Gascoigne before him, he would be more loved by the English public than he is now; on the verge of becoming our record goal scorer. It is a dark irony that if one cannot live up to the expectation the fans demand, and the perfection they themselves undermine, castigation will follow. Being very good but not achieving greatness is worse than being unexpectedly good when mediocrity beckoned. Because, as Harvey Dent tells us in The Dark Knight, “you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain”. Wayne Rooney is our flawed protector, a man destined for perfection who didn’t quite achieve it, but who still toils to save England again and again and hold us back from the abyss. On Saturday, earning his 100th cap, he dragged us back into the game against Slovenia. People laughed because he scored a penalty. He consistently drives us to tournaments we have no right of reaching. For this he is derided as a player who fails to perform at the very highest level. While Rooney, like Batman, is not perfect, he is the best we have. Yet our brute Wayne, like Bruce Wayne before him, will never be recognised as the hero he is. This is not his fault. It is ours.
