Don't make us endure Jermain Defoe inferno, Fabio Capello

Until Defoe produced his replica of Stuart Pearce in the 1990 semi-final tragedy from which some of us have no hope of ever recovering, my World Cup thoughts had run along more picturesque lines.

First of all, it struck me that England's most devastating weapon next summer may well be neither Wayne Rooney nor Steven Gerrard, but Aaron Lennon. The monobrow was splendid again at Goodison Park yesterday. Having finally learned to cross he is now a lethal, world-class winger.

With him continually troubling a sub-strength Everton down the right, Spurs looked every inch a top-four team before losing concentration late on. In both the initial quality of passing and the subsequent cluelessness about how to defend a two-goal lead, in fact, theirs was an Arsenal display.

They should have secured the points by the end of a vibrant yet scoreless first half. After Peter Crouch sliced over, Defoe had enough chances to have bagged the match ball before the interval.

In times past, this inability to translate chances into a lead would have had Tottenham players resigned to the sucker punch. But there is a confidence about Spurs these days and they wasted barely a minute of the second-half before grabbing a goal.

As Lennon crossed delectably from the right for Defoe to lash high into the net, you began to fantasise about this combination unlocking stronger sides than Algeria and Slovenia next summer.

Everton were being sliced open at will now, and what little colour resides in David Moyes's face was drained by the second goal, when Lucas Neill's paralysis allowed Michael Dawson a free header.

At this stage, the solitary question was how many more Tottenham would score. Yet the turning point, as so often, was supplied by a rank bad miss. With a quarter-hour remaining, Niko Kranjcar cutely released Crouch (right).

The human javelin dragged his shot wide and within seconds the Everton recovery was launched.

One substitute, Seamus Coleman, skinned another, a sluggish Gareth Bale, on the Everton right, and his cross was an offer to volley home that Louis Saha couldn't refuse.

The suspicion that we might be watching a rerun of West Ham v Arsenal from August, when the Hammers's spirit overcame technical inferiority to turn a 0-2 deficit into a 2-2 draw, soon hardened into fact. With four minutes left, and Spurs panicking, Tim Cahill stooped unchallenged to head the equalizer.

There was still time for a World Cup template to suggest itself. When Andre Marriner correctly gave Tottenham a penalty in added time, the mind flashed back to the 1986 final, in which Argentina led 2-0 and were in total command before Germany scored twice late on and then with extra-time looming Maradona's exquisitely weighted through ball released Burruchaga to win the trophy for the plucky little Malvinas-claimers.

That there was no repeat of that scoring sequence was down to Defoe who, after an unnverving delay, hit his shot weakly and centrally. Battle-scarred England followers will have identified in this wretched penalty the ghost not only of disasters passed but also of trauma ahead.

Still, at least this offered a two-point guidance for Fabio Capello:

1) If we are involved in a penalty shoot-out, anyone else will be a better bet than Jermain Defoe . . . and anyone includes Michael Foot, Lady Gaga, the late Arthur Negus and the even later Rin Tin Tin.

And 2) On no account must 1) happen.

The pain inflicted on Spurs fans by Defoe's miss is but the tiniest fraction of the agony guaranteed should we endure another shoot-out hell. So if it's 2-2 against the Hun deep in extra-time and a glance along the bench reveals that Gaga, Tin and Negus aren't up for it, just abandon the game. Take the buggers off and lose 3-0 by default. Do anything, Don Fabio, but don't make us walk through that inferno again.