Before England's World Cup game against Liechtenstein, we all confidently expected to hammer them. Were we not way higher up in the world rankings, with vastly superior forces, better-trained men, able to employ assets worth millions? They'd probably collapse in shock and awe, give up quickly, surrender possession, be kissing the hem of Beckham's shirt, begging for any swaps or handouts.
In the event, they hung on for most of the first half, which seemed to last for ever, fought resolutely, defended bravely, played to their resources, did not allow us to play our game, while England messed around, made stupid mistakes, underestimated the opposition. So what did it remind you of?
"No one said it would be easy. There are no walkover victories in the world these days." Blah blah. That's what both Sven and the generals have been mouthing, as if reading from the same game plan.
"No battle plan survives the first engagement with the enemy," a German First World War general is supposed to have said, a quotation that has been trotted out several times since the Iraq war began. As if it was an amazing piece of wisdom. Folks in football have been saying it since 1863.
For about 150 years, we've also had friendly fire - when someone inflicts damage on their side. An own goal, so it's called. We've had managers hailed as heroes (as Sven was when we beat Germany) who then get rubbished when it gets tough. Blair could do no wrong after two stunning election victories. Now it's boo, hiss, gerrimoff, he's lost it. In war and in football, a herd instinct quickly sweeps the media.
Managers demonise the enemy, blame the other side for dirty tricks, for not playing fair, for shirt-pulling - or, in the case of the war, not wearing proper shirts so you don't know which side they are on. Bastards. Same old Eye-rakkies, always cheating.
When their own side gets up to similar dodges, the managers are in the dugout and didn't see it, or argue that in fact it's allowed under their interpretation of the UN - sorry, offside - laws. My men didn't touch their centre half or their market place. It fell over.
Each day, Radio 5 Live covers the war and football round the clock, and it's hard to tell the difference. We hear how the first half is going, and studio guests and experts sum up so far, then predict the final score. For ages, one team seems on top, then there's a quick breakaway, a counter-attack, and heavy damage is inflicted. On TV and in the papers, I'm sure they're using the same stats and graphs to show percentage in possession, goals for and against, number of dead and/or red cards.
In football and war, there are defenders who take no prisoners. Patriotism is invoked: we do it for the flag, the badge, the honour of the nation. Triumphalism is frowned upon by the authorities, but it still happens.
Because it's a modern war, mind games are important, to win over or break the hearts of the enemy. Just as Fergie and Wenger have been doing all season.
I heard two commanding officers last week, talking about their own teams, say that "the lads are up for it". A phrase that had been pinched straight from football.
About 30 years ago, when I was writing a book about Spurs, the manager, Bill Nicholson, and his coaching staff would endlessly use wartime metaphors. "Into battle," they would yell as encouragement to their team going out. "Over the top." Fancy-dan players on the other side "didn't like it up 'em". Many coaches of that period had been soldiers or PE sergeants, and still used the language of war.
We haven't had a proper world war for some time, but we have had wall-to-wall, blanket coverage of football, which everyone under 50 has grown up with, so it's natural that the language and attitudes and coverage of football should be so pervasive.
Oh, if only the world had stuck to playing football for its excitements, its honours, its victories. Liechtenstein did hit the post. The Iraq war could well go to a penalty shoot-out.
