Did we really believe it would end any differently?

The pattern is now painfully familiar: massive hype, disappointing opening performances, brief upturn to re-raise expectations...crushingly predictable defeat to send us crashing out of the world's greatest tournament with our tails between our legs. Only this time it was even worse. Not only were we robbed by a combination of an incompetent Uruguayan linesman and FIFA president Sepp Blatter, but we were ripped to shreds, torn up limb by limb and spat out by the old enemy.

This was as bad as it could get.

Like a gruesome murder scene the question is, where do we begin?

Well, for starters there must be some plausible excuses for this shambles, surely? Like those thrown up by our great white hope Don Fabio after he was dragged in front of the media following the most pathetic of English capitulations. 'Tiredness' he claimed was the reason behind our failure. I'm afraid that isn't going wash Senor, given that the excellent German team that so ruthlessly dismantled our Three 'Lions' team had actually played even more games over the course of last season than our 'players' had.

Hmm. Where next? Oh, I've got it, the ball! Yes, the Jabulani, or jabroni, as is probably more appropriate, given that for all the talk, Adidas have produced little more than a floating, plastic orb designed to bamboozle goalkeepers and heighten excitement, only to succeed in compromising on quality. This pesky elusive leather spheroid was employed by the German Bundesliga six months ago, in preparation for the World Cup. Every other competing nation had the option to follow suit, but of course the Premier League were too busy counting the coins flooding in from their ball deal with Nike to care about the national interest while, even more inexcusably, the Football Association, so consumed by commerce these days, were hypnotised by pound notes from a similar arrangement with Umbro, which incorporated England international matches and even training sessions.

But any notion that this could possibly excuse such an insipid display is ludicrous. While the ball is clearly capable of moving this way and that in the air, it is not – as far as I can tell - able to move defenders into unfathomable positions that resembled a Moses-like parting of the waves. The Germans just strode right through the chasms in our backline that an under-11s team coach would be furious with and picked us off at will.

That's two excuses down, then.

Admittedly, there can be no denying that we were well and truly screwed by FIFA and its minions when, at 2-1 down, Frank Lampard executed a delightful volleyed chip that clipped the underside of the bar and dropped a full yard over the line, before rebounding up into the goalkeeper's arms, only for the officials to wave play on.

Gathered with several friends at a pal's house, I had spent the first half an hour of the game berating our players' incredible concentration lapses and astounding defensive frailties when my hopes were briefly raised by Matthew Upson's superb header. Perhaps there was a route back into this. And, sure enough, Lampard drew us level, or so I thought.

Such was the enthusiasm of my celebration I kicked the dog, before melodramatically sinking to my knees, hands on head, in disbelief, as if someone had just died, as the referee waved play on and the enormity of the decision dawned on Capello and his players.

It was a farce. Revenge, said the Germans, for Geoff Hurst's disputed goal back in '66. However, while it cannot be denied that this was a massive turning point in the game – England had all the momentum and may well have gone on to win – what cannot be excused is the reckless mess this hapless rabble coughed up after the interval.

Yes, we all want Blatter's head on a platter for not sanctioning goal-line technology before the tournament– ironically the incident seems to have given the president the kick up the backside he needed to change the law. But the Germans were on the rack, praying for the half-time whistle, even after Lampard's phantom goal. Use the break to collect yourselves and emerge with purpose and professionalism in the second half.

But what do we do? We go hell-for-leather, attacking with mindless abandon so that our already rickety defence is painfully exposed once again. Sure enough, Gareth 'England's saviour' Barry, gives the ball away needlessly on the edge of their 18-yard area, allowing Germany to scamper up the other end of the field to score their third, and then fourth, goals.

Many experts and pundits have claimed it was the worst defensive display from any team they have seen in yonks. And you would have to agree.

Much of the blame must, of course, be placed on the players' shoulders. An alarming inability – or reluctance – to track their runners, getting themselves in to suicidal positions from long balls, and affording their opponents way too much space. However, Capello must also take the rap for this debacle. For starters, Upson was stationed in John Terry's familiar left centre-back role, leaving England's finest defender in foreign territory for the entire game. Upson, one last-ditch tackle aside, was unconvincing in the previous game against Slovenia, while Jamie Carragher was embarrassed by that world class striker Jozy Altidore against the United States.

Did anybody else realise we had a fit and in-form Michael Dawson sitting on the bench? Someone who had occupied the right side of a central defensive axis all season with Tottenham? Capello didn't.

At the other end of the field, as explained in my previous blog (dated June 3), Steven Gerrard was hopelessly ineffective on the left. No surprise, given that too is a totally alien position for the Liverpool skipper. And Wayne Rooney resorted to dropping deep, so often the case when he is starved of service, to try and bring the team to life: the result of a lack of width, pace and penetration to feed him with, which is the fuel he so thrived on with Manchester United last season.

I could go on. The omission of Adam Johnson and Theo Walcott smacked of over-cautiousness; the selection of a goal-shy Emile Heskey and subsequent decision to throw him on for Jermain Defoe when two goals were required was mindless; the unwarranted hype surrounding Barry was proved to be just that; a midfield crying out for a combative presence such as Scott Parker was bereft of battling qualities. The list goes on.

And it all amounts to this: Capello needs to go. Unfortunately it has today been confirmed that the Italian will stay on as England boss, largely because the FA know they face a massive £12million pay-off to remove him after they removed a clause in his contract before the World Cup that stated either party could call time on the relationship. But instead we are consigned to another two years of Capello, who has proved he is too stubborn to accept when he has got things wrong and is so deluded as to suggest that the team actually played 'well' against Germany.

An Englishman who understands our game – and our language – must be appointed if we are to really turn the corner. Roy Hodgson would be a good choice had he not just joined Liverpool. Harry Redknapp would make an excellent national team manager, and has already indicated his interest in the post.

We need someone who can communicate with the players effectively, but is not so chummy that complacency can creep in, a la the Wally with the Brolly. We need a manager that will deliver what Capello promised when he was sworn in two years ago; selection based on form and not reputation and a fearlessness to experiment, while giving our younger, more exciting players the chance to prove they can shine on the big stage.

The FA have experimented all right. But their expensive foreign gamble has not paid off. It's high time they cut their losses, held their hands up, and left this national side in the hands of an Englishman that will restore pride to the players that are fortunate enough to wear the England shirt. That hasn't happened. Perhaps it will take another gargantuan failure to force them to wield the axe and cough up.

When they do come to their good senses, perhaps this disastrous trend of failure can be bucked in time for the next major tournament, the European Championships, in two years time. And then the hype can begin again.