THERE was a strange hush in The Bolton News towers yesterday as the vuvuzelas finally fell silent and the more sedentary sports of tennis and cricket took preference.

The day off gave me a bit of time to reflect on the tournament as a whole, and I have come to the conclusion that it has been a rather faceless affair so far.

Looking back at the World Cups of my formative years, I can pick out moments of genius or individuality that set those competitions apart.

Josimar, Belanov, Negrete, Baggio, Matthäus, Al-Owairan, Bergkamp, Lechkov, Maxi Rodriguez, Cambiasso – mention any one of those names and I can replay their famous goals in my head instantly.

I also recall exactly where I was when the really important stuff happened.

For example, I know I was at my mate Gavin’s when Roger Milla danced round the corner flag for the first time in Italia 90, or working behind the bar at the New Inn in Walkden when Ronaldo went missing in the final of France 98.

In 2002 I remember sitting in a press conference at Gigg Lane, Bury, where the Shakers announced they were out of administration when Senegal shocked the French in the opening game. And in 2006, I remember watching from my sickbed as Zinedine Zidane went temporarily crazy in Berlin against Italy and headbutted Materazzi. I had the flu.

But aside from England’s untimely exit against Germany, which even five days after the event is starting to seep into the “unwanted trivia” section of my brain, I can’t say much about this World Cup will live with me in the same way.

There are eight games left to change all that – and I have high hopes for tomorrow’s clash between Germany and Argentina.

I’ve enjoyed my 24-hour break and I’m ready for the vuvuzelas to fire up again.

It’s nowhere near as much fun having your afternoon narrated by David Gower and Andrew Castle.