Wally with a Brolly

International football comes back to town, and with it I begin to wonder why I should even think of turning my TV on to watch ITV's coverage of England vs Pope Francis' cardinals from a country which shouldn't really exist. And yes, I do know that San Marino is not the Vatican.

San Marino get ready for their big game against England

International football has become a bore, simple as that. Of course there's still the excitement of the World Cups and the Euros, and sometimes of the play-offs for these tournaments. But apart from that, it's pretty much dead. For England, and France (my team), it's become a bit of a formality. International football has definitely lost its lustre.

I feel typically justified in deciding not to watch England vs San Marino. After all, I do watch an obscene amount of football, read loads about it, and obviously write a blog dedicated to football. So watching England's players have a quick attack-defence drill against a team worse than the Pope's Swiss Guards (again with the Pope!) and not even break a sweat? No thank you.

England vs San Marino? Maybe. With Adrian Chiles? No thank you.

However, I do not believe that justifies the total loss of passion shown by the players themselves.

This is not a case of double standards, and I'm tired of people giving these players excuses. "Oh but this is a pointless game, and he's just coming back from full fitness!". "Oh, but their careers are so short, why would they risk injury to play San Marino?". This all exasperates me. Seriously.

I'm getting tired of players not loving their shirt anymore. Whilst I can understand clubs' reticence in allowing their employees to potentially break a leg playing against a pub team (after all, they're paying their wages), I'm appalled by the total disinterest from players. It's all so monotonous you see.

I remember one of the saddest days of my life. It was in June 2010, somewhere in South Africa, a place called Knysna. Don't ask me where in South Africa that is. I don't know and I don't care. All I remember is that's the day the players supposed to represent France insulted their own country.

I was incensed. Not only was their 'strike' just simply annoying because it fitted the deserved French stereotype (yes I know, we always go on strike for everything and anything). But, more importantly, it just showed they didn't care. I didn't get angry because they humiliated their country (and mine at the same time). I didn't get angry because I hated Domenech for not standing up to them.

No, I hated them because they destroyed my dream. They destroyed every boy's dream. This might sound populist or overly simple, but I hated these players for simply losing sense of what it is to represent your country, and what's more, to do it whilst playing football. I thought of all the kids, with their France shirts on their back, dreaming of playing at a World Cup. I remembered Franck Jurietti's smile at recording the shortest cap for France ever (5 seconds). I remembered inventing scenarios in my head when I was a kid, of what it would feel like to even put on that sacred shirt in front of everyone and play in those stadiums for even just 5 minutes. I remembered thinking of the pride I would have felt, not only for myself, but also for representing something bigger than myself.

I thought of all this as footage showed the players, with hands in their pockets, getting back onto the bus. I thought of this as players barely apologised, simply using excuses to try and justify their scandalous behaviour. I thought of Thierry Henry's hand ball, robbing Ireland and their wonderful fans of a World Cup adventure.

The moment of infamy: France players forget their values in Knysna in 2010.

Needless to say I was furious. This loss of identity from the players, their loss of relationship towards their game; it was shocking.

That's why the traditional merry go round which goes on whenever a pointless international game comes along is infuriating, and why I don't and won't accept it.

You knew this was coming, but let me take the Rio Ferdinand debacle as an example. Of course what he's done isn't as bad as what France's players did. Of course not. But I don't count settling a personal agenda or massaging your ego as being worthy of representing your country. That's not loving the shirt.

"That shirt is mine, I tell you. MINE! If I can't have it, no one can!"

For that's what Rio has done. Irked by the disregard Hodgson supposedly showed him, which by the way is the same disregard he's shown to so many players not selected, Rio has decided to use this opportunity as a reminder that he owns his England shirt, not the other way round.

And now that Roy, with more dignity than anyone has shown over all these events in the past few weeks, has swallowed his pride and asked him to come back, Rio has said "no", even as he knew all along that his club and his fitness wouldn't allow it.

It was a calculated, personal shot at the England manager. It was an arrogant smirk at the whole England institution.

Rio's reaction, as he jets off to Dubai to do some punditry and relax? "No different from what I did on the last 10 day international break." This lack of respect for the England shirt and what it represents is staggering. Rio made his point: he can move back into the England team anytime he wants, except this time. Because he's decided he doesn't really fancy it this time. Not against San Marino. Of course he was much more interested when Brazil was in town.

The Rio Ferdinand episode aptly destroys the 'careers-are-so-short" argument. For Rio, like the majority of international players (at least for big countries like England) recently, and certainly after him, will have no money problems or lack of opportunities once they retire. Just ask people like Paul Ince, Roy Keane, Gareth Southgate, Steve Staunton and many others who have been given way too many chances in management and punditry.

Memo to Rio: if Gareth can make it as a pundit, then surely you can.

I'm not buying all that, and I wished players and fans didn't. It's not only a question of professionalism. It's a question of duty, of honouring your pride in being picked to play for your country. It's about remembering all the boys and girls who dreamt of putting on that sacred shirt. Don't betray them. Go and play. No excuses anymore.