THERE'LL be other days.

Days when the heat isn't so stifling nor the humidity so heavy. Days when the nerves of waking up and realising they're playing in the World Cup have dissipated. Days when passes will stick and tackles will thump and crosses will meet the heads they're supposed to. For their sake, there better be. Because play like this for the rest of the tournament and England will be home a lot earlier than they bargained for.

They beat Paraguay here yesterday but had to rely on their South American opponents to get on the scoresheet for them. The game's only goal flicked off the forehead of Paraguay captain Carlos Gamarra and into his own goal after just two minutes.

For the rest of what was a dreary, not to mention sweaty, game they got next to nowhere when it came to scoring a second.

The heat just about earns them a pass. It was in the mid30s on the pitch yesterday afternoon and judging by the way the likes of Peter Crouch and David Beckham greeted the final whistle by creasing over and bending double, it looked like the players felt every bit of it.

The good news for England is that this was their only three o'clock game in the tournament. The bad news is that one less excuse is now available to them.

They won here because they had the better players, even if those players didn't all shine. Frank Lampard was given the Man of the Match award, although it's probably fair to say that Joe Cole deserved it more. Lampard had a very quiet first half whereas Cole was bright and breezy at a time when none of his teammates looked all that interested.

But then, that was generally the way of it throughout the pitch in the opening period. Both teams started the game as nervous as Junior Cert students fresh from the barber. The Paraguayans couldn't deal with anything in the air but that was okay because England . . . one Beckham free-kick apart . . . couldn't cross. Add the two together and you had a half filled with instances of Peter Crouch back-pedalling furiously to chase balls that have sailed over his head and being followed by a centre-half and full-back sighing with relief at having escaped anew.

The one cross they did manage that was worthy of the name brought the only goal. Beckham knifed it in from a cheaply-awarded free and Gamarra overshot the pitch of it. Instead of catching it full-on and heading clear, his head was arching back as though he was trying to speak to someone in the row behind him at the cinema without turning around. The ball skimmed and skidded across the line.

A settler? A soother? Not a bit of it. England couldn't get anything fluid or slick going.

Gary Neville was having the kind of game people like to hold up in triumphant evidence against him when lampooning him. Beckham and Michael Owen were losing possession like men who knew well it would be coming back to them soon enough.

Owen looked neither fit nor sharp. He ran through onto the end of the best move of the first half after 11 minutes but hadn't the lightness of touch when it was needed. None of his runs screamed to be fed by Lampard or Steven Gerrard and he and Crouch seemed like two lads at a party who'd been introduced but had forgotten each other's names.

When he was replaced by Stewart Downing 10 minutes into the second half . . . Joe Cole pushing up in his place . . . the folly of Sven Goran Eriksson bringing two unfit strikers and Theo Walcott was shown up.

Thing was, England were fairly safe. Paraguay didn't muster any sustained pressure and if they were going to draw level, it was going to be a nicked goal rather than a deserved one. Mostly, they were routinely comfortable on the ball but had little enough idea what to do with it when they got to the England box. Roberto Ancuna was looked like he had it in him to do some damage but for reasons best known to himself he decided to keep shooting from 35 yards out. Neville and Ashley Cole, who regularly left prairies of space in behind them, had much to thank him for.

The closest Paraguay came to equalising took the shape of two Nelson Valdez shots. The first, from the edge of the box in the first half, came after a high boot by Gerrard could have drawn a penalty out of a decidedly quixotic referee. It flew wide enough for Paul Robinson not to sweat more than the sun was making him.

The second was a closer call. Valdez took possession out on the right wing and a shimmy and shake took him clear of Ashley Cole. He raced into the box, daring Cole to trip him on the way before checking and shooting with his left foot. John Terry was lucky football doesn't employ cricket's Snickometer, otherwise the glance off his everflailing left hand would have been picked up as the ball made its way into Robinson's chest.

Other than that, England were never in real danger of giving up the lead. Lampard busied himself further forward as the game died out, thumping in two swerving shots from 25 yards that substitute goalkeeper Aldo Bobadilla had to palm away.

Downing set off on a couple of runs down the left without ever really threatening to make a real name for himself and Crouch became the most unlikely of pantomime villains when a booking for dissent and a mistimed tackle almost got the referee's dander up enough to earn him a red card.

Now that would have been a fun phone call to listen in on.

"Hello Alex? Sven here. Yeah, you know the way you didn't want Wayne playing before the end of the group stagesf"