Intense competition, with those caught in the middle barely able to keep up, followed by a shared sense of wistfulness, bitterness and failure. But enough about divorce – we’re here for the completely unrelated topic of high-scoring draws.

In 1950, England finally deigned to grace a World Cup with their august presence, but, rather than show these other supposed countries the way of things, they instead endured the humiliation of early exit. So, in 1954, it was time to show the world!

Perhaps to avoid the risk of shaming the rich, a new format for the competition was devised: there were to be four groups of four, each containing two seeds and two non-seeds. Each would play twice, with each seed playing each non-seed, and the top two would qualify, a play-off employed teams level on points. As you’d expect, given their illustrious World Cup history, England were among the anointed elite, and they were drawn with Italy, Belgium and the hosts Switzerland.

England’s squad, coached by Walter Winterbottom, was a curious mix. There were a couple of stars, Billy Wright and Nat Lofthouse, a couple of fading stars, Stanley Matthews and Tom Finney, and three imminent stars, Roger Byrne, Tommy Taylor and Johnny Haynes. And then there were the rest, among them Jimmy Dickinson, Ivor Broadis and the wondrously named Bedford Jezzard.

In preparation, the players travelled first to Belgrade, where they were beaten 1-0 by Yugoslavia, and then Budapest, where they trumped the 3-6 debasement of the previous year with a 1-7 degredation. It’s true that some of the better players were missing – Matthews was away with Blackpool, Finney injured – but nonetheless, this was not impressive behaviour.

The party then nipped home to Roehampton – the players for training, and officials to officialise. “The annual general meeting of the Football Association lasted 12 minutes,” reported the Guardian. “Not a word was said about England’s recent heavy defeat by Hungary in Budapest.” After which, it was off to Switzerland, where, of course, England pitched up at Lucerne’s poshest hotel – though both their scheduled games were elsewhere – and set about relaxing themselves in official shirtsleeves and pantaloons.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest The 1954 FIFA World Cup official film

Though England’s first game was not until 17 June, they announced their starting XI six days before. Curiously, the group fixtures were arranged to overlap so, on the day, Italy and Switzerland kicked off at 10 to six and England and Belgium at 10 past – while, in another group, West Germany v Turkey and Hungary v South Korea began on the hour. The first televised World Cup this may have been, but quaint concerns like not playing in the heat of the day were also taken into account.

Either way, within five minutes, England were behind, Leopold Anoul ramming in a loose ball as Wright contemplated the role of ontology in existential thought. “This isn’t what the English spectators had hoped for,” clipped the voiceover.

But on 26 minutes, England equalised, Ivor Broadis dispatching a rebound after Taylor’s shot was saved. And, 10 minutes later, they went ahead, a lovely exchange between Broadis and Lofthouse allowing the former to cross for the latter to head home.

England appeared comfortable after that, and then, just past the hour, Broadis drilled across Leopold Gernaey and low into the far corner. Belgium, though, were callous enough to continue competing – or, as the Times’ Association Football Correspondent put it, “as dusk softened the receding day, a dramatic violence fell on the scene”, and on 67 minutes, Rik Coppens slammed past Gilbert Merrick. And, four minutes later, it was 3-3, Anoul slipping home from close range.

Neither side could find a winner, so the game went to extra-time – the assumption, presumably, was that the preferred team would eventually prevail. And, a minute in, that looked likely, Lofthouse putting England ahead, but just three minutes later, Dickinson headed an own goal, and the match finished 4-4. This, apparently, made England “like those rare children of light who can pass through any experience protected by a sheath of impenetrable innocence”. Precisely. DH

Three Points Lane: that was the nickname Chelsea supporters had for White Hart Lane. Whatever Tottenham did, no matter what measures they put in place, no matter how good their team was, Chelsea always beat them, sometimes emphatically, sometimes traumatically. A Gianfranco Zola-inspired 6-1 win in 1997 is remembered for a grim Christian Gross sitting impotently in the home dugout as the goals rained in, while Marcel Desailly secured victory in the last minute in 2001. Even when Tottenham walloped their tormentors 5-1 in their League Cup semi-final in January 2002, Chelsea did not have to wait long for revenge, winning 4-0 at White Hart Lane in the FA Cup a month later. “We’ve got our Tottenham back,” the visiting support crowed.

Humiliatingly, Tottenham went 16 years without beating Chelsea in the league – but all embarrassing runs must come to an end at some point and they finally got the better of Chelsea in a fractious affair at White Hart Lane in 2006. Claude Makélélé gave Chelsea an early lead, Tottenham hit back with goals from Michael Dawson and Aaron Lennon, before John Terry was sent off.

Sixteen years of frustration over, Tottenham began to believe against Chelsea and went agonisingly close to winning an FA Cup quarter-final at Stamford Bridge a few months later. They were 3-1 up at half-time and Dimitar Berbatov was running the show, only for Chelsea to equalise and then win the replay at White Hart Lane, thanks to magnificent goals from Andriy Shevchenko and Shaun Wright-Phillips.

Tottenham were getting closer, though, and their moment came when they beat Chelsea in the 2008 League Cup final, recovering from Didier Drogba’s first-half free-kick to equalise through a Berbatov penalty and then win the match in extra-time with a Jonathan Woodgate header. Admittedly, the result needs an asterisk against it because Chelsea were managed by Avram Grant but, still, top work.

So Tottenham had a spring in their step when they welcomed title-chasing Chelsea to White Hart Lane in the league a few weeks later. The atmosphere was electric, defending was low on the list of priorities and a classic ensued.

Chelsea, effectively on Mourinho autopilot, began as if affronted by Tottenham’s Wembley impertinence and Drogba headed them in front after four minutes. However, Tottenham were not put off and after 12 minutes Woodgate did it again, heading a free-kick past Carlo Cudicini.

The game continued at a terrific pace and Michael Essien restored Chelsea’s lead after 20 minutes, looping a finish over Paul Robinson. Then, seven minutes into the second half, Joe Cole made it 3-1 and there appeared to be no way back for Tottenham.

Yet Chelsea, not quite as defiant with José Mourinho gone and Grant in charge, were developing a habit of letting leads slip. A Berbatov header just after the hour made it 3-2 before Tom Huddlestone cracked one in after a scramble with 15 minutes remaining.

Chelsea weren’t done and led 4-3 when Cole, in the best form of his career, scored again five minutes later – but Tottenham weren’t done either. With two minutes remaining Ricardo Carvalho got himself in a tangle, the ball dropped to Robbie Keane and he curled a stunning effort into the left corner from 25 yards.

There was still time for Cudicini to deny Berbatov a winner, with a storming save – stretching out his right hand to claw away the ball after the Bulgarian seemed to have sent him the wrong way – but Tottenham settled for a point that did major harm to Chelsea’s title hopes. Elsewhere that night, Manchester United cruised to a 2-0 win over Bolton Wanderers, Cristiano Ronaldo scoring twice. Chelsea finished second by two points. JS

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Highlights of the 10-goal draw at Loftus Road in 1984

Though we’re constantly informed that football was horrific during the 80s, those who actually went and watched tell a different story – and nothing says 80s football like QPR 5-5 Newcastle United.

In 1981, Rangers became the first club in England to lay a plastic pitch – Omniturf, it was called – to the future pleasure of Malcolm Tucker, but to the contemporary pleasure of no one. And even their manager, Terry Venables, must have been suspicious, given that only 10 years earlier, he’d co-authored a futuristic football novel called They Used To Play On Grass, in which Commoners, a fictitious team, dug up their pitch in favour of a synthetic one.

As you’d expect, a few decent seasons at Loftus Road and Venables was poached by Barcelona. He was replaced by Alan Mullery, whose squad at the start of 1984-85 featured a Who’s Who of Panini heroes – Peter Hucker and his goalkeeper’s surname, Wayne Fereday, Michael Caine’s brother, Gary Micklewhite, Gary Bannister and Simon Stainrod.

Newcastle, meanwhile, was a city ravaged by savagery, its industries and communities annihilated by central government. But, at least, there was solace to be taken in events at St James’ Park. Their promotion the previous season was decent enough on its own merits, but it was the specifics that enraptured; the team was led by local hero Kevin Keegan, and in front of him were two local youngsters: the genius, Peter Beardsley and the touched by genius, rescued from the sausage factory, Chris Waddle.

And, though Keegan had retired, they’d had a decent enough start to their latest bout of top-division competition, winning their first three games, and though they’d lost the next three, their opponents were Arsenal, Manchester United and Everton.

QPR, meanwhile, had earned a creditable draw at Anfield and also beaten the league leaders, Nottingham Forest – though, in their previous game, had been clouted 5-0 by Spurs. They lay a point behind, having played a game fewer.

Newcastle kicked off, and in classic Jack Charlton style, soon booted the ball into the sky, because somewhere underneath some sky was Waddle, and he was good at football. It came to nothing, but just three minutes later, the cunning ruse paid off. Kevin Carr – socks under tracky bottoms – humped the ball downfield towards the left-hand side, where Kenny Wharton flicked on. Waddle, as long, lank and languid as his hair, then performed his trick – leaning inside then cutting outside, diddling Wayne Fereday in the process – and chipped to back post, where Neil McDonald, another local lad, headed home.

Though QPR came close to equalising, before too long, Newcastle went further ahead. A further long ball was headed down by Waddle for McDonald, who lobbed a return. Now on the right of the box and unmarked, Waddle easily rounded Hucker – socks over tracky bottoms – and slid in a second, celebrating by way of Jesus pose directly in front of the away fans. Modern footballers, eh.

Waddle then tapped home number three, after Wharton’s volley was deflected against the post, after which Stainrod had a goal disallowed because the referee had already blown to award him a free-kick. Then, four minutes before half-time, a clearance broke to Waddle, 25 yards out and close to the right corner of the box. Though facing the touchline and with the ball on his far side, he showed beautiful balance to somehow still feather it across his body with his left foot, before stroking a lightly curled finish inside the far post to complete his hat-trick.

Mullery was not altogether amused by this turn of events, using the break to administer the kind of going-over that would make him such in insightful, incisive pundit. But the reality was that QPR had actually played the better football in the first period, and they began the second in similar vein, Carr forced to punch away Bannister’s header.

Newcastle, though, created the next opportunity, Waddle isolating Ian Dawes and skipping into a glide-by, before, when his shot was blocked, perpetrating the most ludicrous dive imaginable – a technique he no doubt picked up from the many dishonest foreigners infesting and infecting English football, also to the detriment of the national team.

But that would be his last contribution for a while, as QPR resumed the ascendancy – and within minutes, Bannister had nodded past Hucker. The scoreboard responded with dot matrix jumping arms, the kind of non-intrusive silliness that has since been usurped by defiling pomposity.

And soon, Rangers had another, and in brilliantly comical fashion. Stood on the edge of his own box, facing his own goal, Mike Haddock saw Wharton’s interception force the ball into his path, and unable to contain himself, he raced towards it, blasting it as hard as he could. It duly hit Wharton in the face and beat Carr inside the far post. 4-2.

Now on a roll, QPR immediately attempted a better own goal, Micklewhite running on to Neil’s defensive header to measure a delicious half-volleyed chip from 40 yards that Hucker only just tipped over the bar. Then, with 15 minutes left John Gregory found himself in through the middle lifting the ball over the onrushing Carr and into the far corner.

But then, with only six minutes left, Beardsley, well inside his own half, drove a brilliant crossfield pass for Waddle, coaxing his aching bones towards the right side of the box. Cutting in and with only Steve Wicks between him and goal, he shimmied inside, snaked outside, and set up Wharton for a tap-in. 5-3, nice effort, well tried, game over.

No sooner had throaty strains of “You’re Not Singing Anymore” rung out from the School End than the deficit was back to one, Wicks climbing well to head Gregory’s cross Carr. No one dashed into the net to grab the ball – the referee simply stopped his watch – but the home players dashed back to halfway with purpose, while Newcastle argued and dawdled. There were five minutes left.

Then, with the scoreboard showing 90 minutes, Ian Stewart picked up possession 25 yards from goal and dead centre. Seeking Stainrod, he darted in a pass that was cleverly stepped over, and there was Micklewhite behind him, haring into the box and in on goal – incredible, in the circumstances. He lifted a finish over Carr and into the roof of the net, sparking precisely the kind of celebration the situation demanded, that only football can give you.

These were sentiments not quite appreciated by the Newcastle manager Jack Charlton, whose fault none of this was. “Saturday’s game was a total embarrassment, absolutely diabolical,” he said. “I have never seen anything like it in my 32 years in the game. I went mad at the players because there were times when they were going to give me a heart attack. They just stopped playing. There are so many things wrong at Newcastle it is incredible. People are asking me where I intend to start with the problems, but I just don’t know. It will take years to put right. Some of the players couldn’t even breathe in the second half. I don’t know where they got their education from before, but, believe me they’ll get it from me in the months to come.” DH

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Highlights of the 1991 FA Cup fifth-round game

We all remember where we were on a multitude of occasions – every event of our lives that we can remember, for example. So, the ability to remember where we were when something of significance occurred is not itself of significance, rather an attempt to make ourselves its subject, when we are not. All the same, everyone can remember where they were when they heard that Kenny Dalglish had resigned as manager of Liverpool, perhaps the most shocking footballing development of the last 30 years.

At the time, Liverpool were three points clear at the top of the league and still in the Cup at its fifth-round stage; there was, quite simply, not the slightest indication of his ill health. Looking back, it all seems so obvious – the tragedy of Hillsborough and his position afterwards can be understood by no one but him – but Dalglish simply got on with it.

In the meantime, things were not quite right on the pitch. Though it’s often argued by those of the Liverpool persuasion that they were not knocked off their perch by Alex Ferguson, rather Graeme Souness – a sentiment in which there’s plenty of truth – the decline was under way before his appointment.

In the summer of 1986, Ian Rush agreed to sign for Juventus, who agreed to loan him back to Liverpool for a final season. This allowed Dalglish time to find replacements, so in January, John Aldridge arrived, followed in the summer by John Barnes, Peter Beardsley and Ray Houghton. They gelled immediately, playing the most exciting, devastating football in the club’s history, and also some of the finest ever seen in England. They led the league from the middle of October, went unbeaten until February, and were denied a double only by one of the biggest Cup upsets of all-time.

But, that summer, Dalglish re-signed Rush, disrupting the near-perfect attacking balance his team already had. At the same time, their contemporaries – Bruce Grobbelaar, Mark Lawrenson, Gary Gillespie, Steve Nicol, Ronnie Whelan, Alan Hansen and Craig Johnston – were nearing the end of their usefulness, a combination of boardroom parsimony and bad management leading to their replacement with deeply inferior players. So, Barry Venison, Gary Ablett, Nigel Spackman, David Burrows, Steve Harkness, Glen Hysen, Mike Marsh, Nicky Tanner, Jim Magilton, Don Hutchison and Jimmy Carter were either acquired or promoted, with inevitable consequences.

Decline, though, is rarely instantaneous. After losing the 1989 title in the final seconds of the season, Dalglish was able to coerce his players into reclaiming it – the parallels with Alex Ferguson in 2012 and 2013 are telling – and then they won 12 of their first 13 league games the following season. But by February, things had started to slip. They had won only four of their last 11 league games, been brutally eliminated from the League Cup, and required replays to get rid of Blackburn and Brighton in the FA Cup.

In the fourth round, they were drawn to play Everton at Anfield, the teams producing that rarity, a goalless thriller. So, three days later, they reconvened at Goodison Marshes, and when, on 32 minutes, Beardsley thwacked in from close range to give Liverpool the lead, there was not the slightest inkling of what would come to pass.

But, moments after half-time, Graeme Sharp headed Everton level, a parity they held for almost half an hour – until Beardsley intervened again, shuffling past Martin Keown to cream home a left-footer. “I don’t want to sound big headed,” he said, “but I honestly feel I scored plenty that were better. In fact, it wouldn’t get in my top 10.” Of course, he was right, but it was very nice nonetheless.

The advantage lasted just two minutes. Mike Newell beat Ablett to flick on a goal-kick, Hysen slipped, Grobbelaar came, Nicol passed it past him, and Sharp ran in the loose ball. Rush then quickly headed home Molby’s cross, assuming that it would settle things – but things were not even close to over.

In desperation, Howard Kendall sent on Tony Cottee, whom he furnished with inspirational and traditional instruction: “Just get us a goal, son.” And, in the final minute, Neil McDonald turned the ball into the box, where not only Cottee, but Newell too, found themselves in front of goal. Cottee reacted first, to send the tie into extra-time.

Just as it was beginning to look as though another replay was likely, John Barnes, who’d had a quiet game, took possession on the left. Cutting inside on to his right foot and arriving at the corner of the box, he looked up, calculated distance, angle and velocity, then somehow placed a loft into the far side netting. And, of course, that still wasn’t it, Everton responding to another majestic Liverpool goal with an obligatory scramble of their own. With six minutes left, Molby rolled back a pass to Hysen, who skipped over it for no reason – and there was Cottee to slot into the far corner.

Two days later, Dalglish was gone, and a week later, Dave Watson’s goal was enough to decide the third meeting. We don’t have cup replays anymore; thanks, the FA. DH

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Highlights of Motherwell 6-6 Hibernian

Motherwell and Hibernian were both pushing for Europa League qualification as the season drew to a close, with fourth place in the Scottish Premier League still up for grabs. In that context, a tight, edgy encounter would not have been a surprise. Instead, both sides served up one of the most astonishing matches in the history of Scottish football.

The scoring began in the 11th minute, Colin Nish putting Hibs ahead, and the visitors led 6-2 after 65 whirlwind minutes. For Motherwell, it appeared to be a lost cause and a case of damage limitation. At that point, they must have been fearing the worst. Sides do not tend to come back from 6-2 down.

But then Hibs relaxed, thinking with some justification that the game was over as contest. How wrong they were. Giles Coke made it 6-3 on 67 minutes, it was 6-5 by the 76th minute and Motherwell had ample time to find an equaliser. They pushed forward and won a penalty after 87 minutes, only for the designated taker, Lukas Jutkiewicz, to leave it to Ross Forbes, whose effort was saved.

Not to worry, though. Jutkiewicz made up for it with a breathtaking equaliser in the 93rd minute, running on to a long ball, forcing himself wide and then, under pressure from a covering defender, cracking a brilliant left-footed volley high past Graeme Smith in the Hibs goal. JS

One of the reasons football is established as the world game is the compelling nature of its scoring system; goals are both rare and unique, according them a status unmatched in other sports. But in that context, serious needle is an even greater beauty, as illustrated by a game boasting 10 goals, some superb, each overshadowed by the abandon of aggravation.

Holland and Belgium had last met at the 1998 World Cup, careless finishing allowing Belgium to finagle a goalless draw. But Holland played the final 12 minutes with 10 men, after Patrick Kluivert earned a red card for a gentle elbow imparted to Lorenzo Staelens’ chest, an offence not forgotten by either man.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Highlights of Holland 5-5 Belgium

With neither side needing to qualify for Euro 2000, both were in need of competitive action, out of enmity arising a friendly. Early on, Branco Strupar flapped a forearm into Edgar Davids’ coupon, throwing a heel-kick to the body as he was tossed to the ground, and things progressed nicely from there.

But first, a couple of excellent goals. On 10 minutes, Emile Mpenza flicked up his heel to divert a cross towards Strupar, who opened his body and sent a delectable volley across Edwin van der Sar and into the side-netting. Then, on the half-hour, the same combination did it again. Mpenza skipped down the left, crossed, and, foreshadowing Jared Borgetti, Strupar contorted his body behind him to facilitate a delicate header; it hit the post, cannoned the keeper’s hands, and put Belgium two-up.

Next, Staelens issued Kluivert with a portion of revenge, waiting for him to commit for a ball 60-40 in his favour before diving shinwards with both sets of studs. Clearly, this was not to be tolerated, so shortly afterwards, when Vital Borkelmans slid in to rob Dennis Bergkamp, sending the ball well clear, he was stamp-raked in the pelvis with trademark vision, dexterity and grace.

Holland then forced their way back into the game. On 37 minutes, another foul on Kluivert earned a free-kick, and when the wall blocked Berkgamp’s effort, Davids scuffed a cross-shot that lolloped past Philippe van de Walle. But karmic balance was restored almost immediately, when Davids collected possession 25 yards from goal, level with the left edge of the area. Sprinting free of his marker, he sashayed inside a second challenge and outside a third, cut into the box, enticed the last man to collapse, and poked home the equaliser.

And there was still time for another before half-time, Bergkamp going through one-on-one, and the substitute Frédéric Herpoel doing well to read and smother his dinked finish. But it achieved nothing, finding Kluivert unmarked and seven yards out. So, of course, he allowed the ball to roll forwards, trapped it two yards from goal, paused, rolled his studs over it, paused again, and only then knocked it over the line for one of the bravest and finest finishes of his career.

Belgium, though, quickly drew level, Bart Goor driving through Van der Sar’s legs, and three minutes later, Marc Wilmots tapped home another handy Mpenza cross. But Holland would not be shaken, Herpoel flapping at a cross and Michael Reiziger nodding back, the ball again falling to Kluivert almost under the bar. This time’s unnecessary necessary was a violent spanking into the roof of the net for 4-4, and 11 minutes later it was part of a hat-trick, hat-trick, Ronald de Boer’s cross easily nodded into the net.

With 13 minutes remaining, Mpenza levelled the match once more, and two minutes after that, Wilmots was shown a straight red card for hacking Ruud van Nistelrooy. But Holland could not make the advantage count; the match finished 5-5, and the countries haven’t played a friendly since, which tells us exactly how great this one was. DH