So farewell then, Michael Owen. We will miss you. Or rather, we would have missed you had you announced your retirement in, say, 2008. As it is, we won't really notice the difference. But here at Fiver Towers you will always be cherished, however many people say you've spent too long trading on your reputation, making occasional substitute appearances, picking up wages and buying up racehorses to do the nasty with each other in the stables of the very expensive stud farm you also bought up.
A chill wind his blown through this nation these last few years. British brows are set to permafurrow as we fight through the foul fog of austerity and battle constant concerns about our gas bills, our jobs, our mortgage repayments. It was not always thus. There was a time, not all that long ago, when the sun shone, the economy boomed, Blair grinned, Iraq remained uninvaded and all an Englishman really had to worry about was the state of Owen's hamstrings.
Given the chance, many of us would probably love to return to the heady, happy innocence of 2001. Back then, Britons were so ready to look on the bright side that they considered a cover version of Mambo No5 by Bob the Builder such a good idea the single zipped straight to No1. The biggest-selling song of the year was Shaggy's It Wasn't Me. Bridget Jones' Diary was in the cinemas. The Office got its TV debut. In 2001, everything was funny. [The Fiver wasn't - Fiver Ed.]
And Michael Owen was great. Liverpool won three trophies – the least good treble, but a treble all the same – with Owen scoring a stunning brace as Arsenal were mugged in the FA Cup final. The following year he captained England at the age of 22 – of all players since 1900 only one, a certain Bobby Moore, got the armband sooner, and that by only a couple of months. Happy days. Good times.
If you could identify a precise moment when our world changed for the worse, what would it be? Sure, the textbooks will talk about the collapse of Lehman Brothers, the run on Northern Rock, the bailout. But the property market, at least in the US, peaked in June 2006. From that moment, widespread financial ruin in the west was inevitable. On 20 June 2006, Michael Owen collapsed in the first few minutes of England's World Cup tie against Sweden.
In that match Owen won his 80th cap. He was 26, and had scored 36 international goals. Bobby Charlton's record was just 13 strikes away. Until that knee buckled he was certain to become the greatest goalscorer the country had ever seen – a hero, a legend. After it recovered he would win nine more caps, the last of them five years ago next Tuesday, and totally change the way he is perceived, from expert goal-poacher to callous wage-thief.
So farewell then, Michael Owen. When life was good for you, life was good for us. Whatever it is you choose to do next, the Fiver, for one, hopes it goes well.
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