WELL, we knew we were there before the final endgame against Belarus. And so a 3-0 triumph simply underscored just how convincing England’s advance to next summer’s World Cup finals in South Africa has been.

Nine out of ten. Now that’s a stirring mark fully deserving of a gold star and a valedictory very well done from those teachers down at the FA’s Soho Gate headquarters.

The march to South Africa 2010 has been a record-breaking one by the three lions brigade. No fewer than nine victories and a clutch of goals put Fabio Capello’s capos atop group six.

It’s not often I will write the following sentence, so even after composing it I will read the words very slowly and with immense deliberation – huge congratulations to the FA.

There...I’ve written it now and something that seemed almost impossible has been published.

But credit where credit is due. It was the FA who pondered, pursued and persuaded Signor Capello to quit his club success across his native Italy and Spain to enter international management, even after FA fingers had been somewhat singed by the Sven-Goran Eriksson experiment.

Capello too deserves nothing but praise. He has harnessed the tarnished golden generation into a force, where perspiration has at last counted for more than just over-blown reputation.

There’s a genuine feeling that no one player is guaranteed a squad role, let alone a starting position. Just ask Michael Owen.

The players, who have gone against history by comfortably qualifying, also merit some praise, though that has to be counter-balanced by all the occasions they have singularly failed to live up to expectations.

Of all the ramifications to spring from this week’s confirmation of qualification to actually stepping out under African vistas next summer, the one that gets the juices flowing most for me is just which players will comprise the 23-strong squad.

It’s a guessing game that has to forget about what injury, ill-luck, or loss of form may KO, but if – and it remains a mighty if – everyone remains fit there are arguably less than a handful of places up for grabs in the England party.

James, Johnson, Cole A, Ferdinand, Terry, Barry, Lampard, Gerrard, Rooney, Heskey, Green, Bridge, Upson, Lescott, Lennon, Wright-Phillips, Defoe, Crouch, Walcott are definite, I would venture.

That leaves four from any of Foster, Robinson, Brown, Hargreaves, Cole J, Milner, Beckham, Cole C, Bent, Owen and any others whose form may be so blistering over the next seven months as to demand recognition.

Me? I’d go for Robinson, Cole J, Milner and...Owen, though I doubt Signor Capello would agree, especially with that last player, who I believe should always be in an England squad until he retires.

But that’s the bewildering befuddlement of now and next June’s World Cup kick-off. Just who will make the epic trek.

It’s a far better pastime than to be carried away by the hype and all the other associated frippery that will explode like a volcano.

Some pundits are already touting England as a tournament favourite. But there’s a Wembley-width of difference between a stroll through the qualifiers and the actual dog-swallow-dog of knockout football at its most ruthless level.

That pit awaits ominously, though the meticulous preparation that Capello and his team have plotted to ensure qualification augurs well if such thoroughness is applied to a summer in springbok territory.

Besides praying that the most talented England performers remain healthy and fresh enough in nine months’ time, the biggest danger to England is getting ensnared in the hype that is no doubt girding its roller-coaster nature into overdrive.

No doubt the merchandise is already stocked and looming in some depot. The wall-charts will have already been printed; the celebratory cheesy or chintzy, or both, garments, banners and flags manufactured; the red, white and blue cup-holders, key fobs, pens, computer wallpapers and flashing ring-tones duly delivered to outlets throughout England.

Sponsorship deals will have been inked or are being exponentially increased. Backers are now euphemistically called partners as the smallest of pence is extracted to form a towering Table Mountain of profit and dosh.

Never mind the winds of change, you can almost smell the waft of excess gale-forcing its way from the South African sveldt to the Swiss coffers of FIFA, the world game’s cash-awash custodians.

Unfortunately, the big bucks that accompany any global sports event, represent an inevitable, inexorable and ultimately unstoppable force. World Cups, Olympics, generate a tsunami of cash, which does not always go where it should.