The exaggerated outpourings of national fervour that are the World Cup are captured by the television cameras through the teams, predictable shots of delirious fans and the ubiquitous managers. Their every facial expression and gesture framed on our screens.
For Argentinians, for whom football is a deep part of the national pschye, it must have been some consolation to know that their manager, the almost magical Maradonna, felt the pain as deeply as they did. An Argentinian crying for Argentina.
Now try sharing a national sense of grief with this pair. One a cool undemonstrative Swede, the other a hot demonstrative Italian. One already moving on from the unlucky (to have chosen him) Ivory Coast, the other, lucky for him not us, to continue in his post, too expensive to fire.
How much better if we felt the manager cared, really cared, as we do, and that he was motivated more by patriotism than money. Whether we fail next time or, who knows, succeed, it will be so much more satisfying with a Harry Redknapp or a Roy Hodgson.