The last time England’s footballers came to Belo Horizonte, at the 1950 World Cup, they stayed in the luxurious and familiar surroundings of the British‑owned Morro Velho gold mine, despite which they ended up suffering the worst defeat in their history, 1-0 to the amateurs of the USA.

As the current England squad returns in a familiar state of dejection 64 years on, Morro Velho still seems a strangely potent image. The private gold mine that for all its wealth and privilege ends up doing nobody in an England shirt any good whatsoever. Hmm. Something familiar there.

Either way, and whatever it may be, England’s Premier League stars, 53 days from the start of the Premier League season, continue their summer break from the Premier League on Sunday night by arriving in Belo Horizonte already a cosseted irrelevance at this World Cup.

It will take time to digest fully England’s five-day exit from Brazil 2014. But with the wounds of defeats by Italy and Uruguay still raw, one of the most baffling elements of the customary instant autopsy has been the demand, variously taken up, that England’s players apologise for their results here. Wayne Rooney has even gone so far as to comply, offering a brief but convincing sorry to the general public on his Facebook page.

It is to be hoped no other players feel the need to follow suit, and that the whole vaguely preposterous idea of public apologies is quietly dropped. In fact, given half a moment’s thought, it quickly becomes clear this is a process that should if anything be turned on its head. If we really do care so much about England’s fortunes at World Cups that apologies are deemed necessary, then the roles should be reversed. It is we – the public, empowered component parts of a society that continues to produce game but under-skilled footballers – who should be apologising, both to the players and to each other.

Sorry for the disappearance of our vital inner-city and suburban green spaces. Sorry for standing by while the shared national treasure that is state-school sport atrophies into underfunded inactivity. Sorry for sitting on my sofa enjoying the brilliantly dressed product that is another six-hour soaraway Super Sunday, created by a system that while extremely successful in its staging, is clearly incompatible with also expecting English football to produce players capable of bestriding the globe at a World Cup.

Quite frankly there is a decent case for doing it properly, for the government to step in and organise special camps in parks and open spaces where members of the public can queue to file past Fraser Forster and Gary Cahill to apologise personally for the playing field sales, for the lack of proper public facilities, the absence of artificial pitches, all enacted by successive local and national governments. Lads, Roy – we’re sorry. This is, in part, why you aren’t better at all this.

Perhaps a million-signature petition could be delivered to Jack Wilshere’s house apologising for the disorientating effects of early overexposure, from too much concussive big-game football, a gruelling celebrity culture, to vast windfalls of disorientating lucre offered at an early age.

Maybe Gary Barlow could record a charity song to raise money for a memorial in Maidstone town centre apologising to Chris Smalling for all those people – yes, us – who used to yell on the touchline and tell him to get rid and who applauded whenever he sent it long into the channels because big, son, big, it’s got to go big.

What would an apology the other way around be for, anyway? The players have tried their hardest during this long summer away from home. The various conspiracy theories – Joe Hart didn’t save Luis Suárez’s shot because he was scared the ball would hit his face; the players are all running around out there thinking only about their cars and watches and ostrich-fur-lined helicopters – are all just noise. The players have just not been good enough.

Similarly Roy Hodgson did the best he could, given that he is indeed Roy Hodgson and not José Mourinho. A proper top-level, imported managerial giant might have dragged England weeping and sulking through their group by force of personality and squeezing the details. But it would have been a temporary fig leaf.

In the end England may still justify their Fifa ranking by finishing third in Group D, having also twice come from behind to equalise against better teams. And there really is no need to apologise for giving your all and falling short, no matter how exculpatory, how purging for the rest of us it might seem.

The fact is England have been identifiably undercooked ever since that last trip to Belo Horizonte, when they also lost to Spain in Rio and left the World Cup looking like visitors from the fuddled prewar past.

A record of one semi-final overseas in 64 years since points to the absence of any coherent remedial measures. The same flaws are there, chiefly the simple failure to produce high-quality, tactically state-of-the-art players, the result of a combination of societal neglect – we play too little; we have too little space to play – and an enduringly inadequate coaching culture, backed higher up by a failure to nurture and show patience with what talent does emerge.

To demand an apology for this from the current group of players seems a bit like raising a child without teaching it to cook and then demanding that child hurl itself at our feet in contrition at the age of 18 for being unable to bake the perfect soufflé.

At the end of which here we are once more, England. Albeit with some of us – clue: the ones in boots and shorts – having given their all, fruitlessly, in the heat of Manaus and the chill of São Paulo.

I’m sorry the system has failed once again. Wayne Rooney is sorry. Perhaps, after waiting those three or four hours in the queue for Danny Welbeck and Raheem Sterling, you’ll get the chance to say sorry too.

Now. What are we all actually going to do about it this time?