Imagine this: you’re a professional footballer at the height of your career. You’ve reached the pinnacle of your sport, and the rewards are beyond your wildest dreams. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of pounds a week, sprawling mansions behind electric gates, and luxury cars that purr in the driveways of the English countryside or the upscale suburbs of Madrid.

On the pitch, you’re in prime condition. You’re performing well, but the competition within your own squad is fierce. Training is intense, and every aspect of your life is under scrutiny. Your diet, your sleep, your social life—all of it is managed by those who decided you’re worth more per week than most people will earn in a decade.

Matches come thick and fast. One weekend you’re playing Arsenal at the Emirates, the next you’re flying to Madrid for a midweek clash with Real Madrid. This is what you gave up the late nights, the junk food, and the questionable parties for. It’s all football, all the time. You’re living the dream that millions of young players around the world chase.

Enter International Duty: The Boring Reality

Then, one day, you get the call: you’re in the England squad for a match against Greece. Sure, you say all the right things at the press conference—what an honour it is, how it’s a lifelong dream, etc. But inside? Well, it’s Greece. In a glorified friendly. The crowd will be a mix of half-hearted fans and people who got corporate tickets they didn’t even ask for. Back home, most people are choosing to watch Celebrity Bake Off on Ice instead, occasionally pausing to abuse you on Twitter.

Meanwhile, your club’s owner is pacing around his marble-floored mansion, not because he’s rooting for you, but because he’s terrified. What if you get injured? A bad tackle could take you out for 10 games, and suddenly you’re missing the top-of-the-table clash and a Champions League knockout match. All the progress you’ve made, all the sacrifices—it could be undone in a meaningless fixture.

And if we’re being honest, you’re thinking the same thing. You don’t want to be sidelined from the matches that actually matter. You’ve got your eye on Arsenal and Madrid, not a lukewarm game against Greece. This, in a nutshell, is why international football can feel like such a drag.

International Football: No Buzz

In most sports, playing for your country is the big break, the ticket to serious cash. Take cricket, for example. If you’re a county cricketer, you’re earning about as much as a bricklayer—probably less. But get a central contract with England, and the money starts to flow. It’s not football-level wealth, but it’s enough to set you up for life. For cricketers, playing for England is the dream. It’s the career highlight.

Footballers? Not so much. Once you’re making obscene money at your club, international duty starts to feel like a risky sideshow. It’s a threat, not an honour. The risk of injury on international duty is enough to give club owners nightmares. If one of their stars goes down while wearing the Three Lions, it could cost them a title, a Champions League spot, or a few million in TV rights money.

Club owners hate international football. Managers hate it. And players, deep down, are at best, nervous about it. It’s an unnecessary gamble in a career where you’ve already hit the jackpot.

England vs. Greece: A Nightmare, Not a Dream

It doesn’t matter if the England manager is Lee Carsley or Pep Guardiola—you’re never going to get footballers to go full throttle for a Thursday night game against Greece at Wembley. The atmosphere will be tepid, the stakes low, and everyone involved will be counting the minutes until it’s over. For the players and their clubs, international football isn’t a dream; it’s a potential disaster.

And honestly, who can blame them? The big matches—the ones that really count—are waiting just around the corner.

It’s not the players’ fault. It’s just the way it is.