Perhaps, given England's perceived lack of success, it's only natural that we should hark always back to 1990, that we should be forever trying to recapture what made that tournament so compelling.

Yet it is a little odd. It doesn't take much of an examination of England's World Cup record to see how fine the margins sometimes are. In the last eight World Cups, England have reached the last eight (in 1982, the second phase comprised four three-team groups; so for the purposes of this stat I've counted the teams who finished second in those groups as losing quarter-finalists) on five occasions. Put like that, England's World Cup record doesn't sound too bad – in fact, only Brazil and (West) Germany can beat it.

In 1990, they went one stage further. Is that really enough to set that tournament apart? England were seven minutes from going out against Cameroon in the quarter-final. If they had, would we remember that tournament with such fondness? They were a minute from penalties against Belgium – who hit the woodwork three times.

Gary Lineker is tripped by Cameroon's goalkeeper Thomas N'Kono. Photograph: Patrick Hertzog/AFP

If Mark Wright hadn't nudged in a header in an execrable game against Egypt, England would have been left to draw lots with their opponents to determine who went through as best third-place team and who was eliminated.

That's not to say England were terrible or lucky in Italia 90. It's not to say that, for those supporting England, the experience of Italia 90 didn't become an extremely positive one. It is to say that success and failure are often a hair's breadth apart.

Flip two decisions: what if Diego Maradona's Hand of God goal had been given as a foul in 1986 and Gary Lineker had been denied a penalty against Cameroon in 1990? Would we then venerate a side that lost pluckily to Belgium in the 1986 semi-final and shrug ruefully as we remember the team overcome by Roger Milla? Or, imagine another counter-factual: what if David Platt hadn't scored against Belgium and England had gone on to win that game on penalties: would England have developed the hang-up about spot-kicks they subsequently did?

Paul Gascoigne celebrates beating Cameroon. Photograph: Popperfoto

To repeat a line from former Real Sociedad manager Juanma Lillo, "Human beings tend to venerate what finished well, not what was done well. We attack what ended up badly, not what was done badly." The wins over Cameroon and Belgium in 1990 are remembered fondly because England did end up winning. The game against the Dutch is remembered fondly because England did end up going through. That said, England did play very well against both Holland and West Germany (not that they won either game); in that instance the process, perhaps, is venerated – and certainly there was far more to admire about England's general play in both 1986 and 1990 – even 1998 – than the turgid campaigns of 2006 and 2010. But still, there is a large element of chance in the centrality Italia 90 still has to the consciousness of English football.

Belgian goalkeeper Michel Preud'Homme holds off David Platt. Photograph: Bob Thomas/Bob Thomas Sports Photography

It has become fetishised: tropes are actively sought. In the last couple of friendlies before the announcement of the squad, players are forever said to be looking to play their way into the squad, yet really, who has ever done that since Paul Gascoigne against Czechoslovakia in April 1990?

Gascoigne's impact was such that there's always a belief that there's a young player coming through, the form man who will peak at the right time and take the world by surprise. Already Ross Barkley is being fitted for that role, even though the globalised nature of modern football – as Roy Hodgson pointed out on Monday – means that nobody who plays in the Premier League is ever really going to be that surprising to opponents. Yet the comparison isn't really apt anyway: Gascoigne was 23 in 1990; he had a measure of experience far greater than, say Michael Owen in 1998 or Wayne Rooney at Euro 2004, or Barkley.

We spend tournaments looking for the David Platt figure, the player who will hit form at the right time and force himself into the side. Platt had only five caps – and had started only once – for England before Italia 90. Raheem Sterling, perhaps, or Adam Lallana could fulfil that role. But it happens rarely: it might happen, but it's not something we should expect.

Paradoxically, slow starts are permitted – because England had one in 1990 – but it's also considered reasonable to demand a major tactical shift after one game – because England went to a back three in 1990. Never mind that Bobby Robson was sceptical about the shape and ended up employing a back four against Egypt and late on against Cameroon and West Germany, it seems to be seen as reasonable to toss away the previous two years of planning mid-stream, just because that's what happened in 1990.

The problem really is less with Italia 90, or even with the veneration of it felt now, as with the seeming belief that just because something has happened once it must happen again. It's true that certain World Cup stereotypes are comforting, that an ideal World Cup could be constructed from certain key tropes – the dull opening game; the realisation Brazil stopped being the Brazil of myth in 1982; the plucky debutants who become flavour of the month so half a dozen are sold to Premier League clubs in July only to flop dismally; a referee losing the run of himself and flourishing cards like a stage magician; the journeyman striker who hits a purple patch – but those aren't ways to run a team.

Decisions of tactics and personnel, rather, have to be made on their own merit and should be appreciated as such, rather than being measured against a checklist for creating an idealised version of Italia 90. Things happen, and sometimes echoes of those things happen, and to repeat the solutions of the past to problems of the present is no guarantee of success.