Come on, admit it. You know you want to. All of you who slated, hated and baited him; who ridiculed his team selections and castigated his leadership; who scoffed at his meekness and condemned him as football’s answer to Iain Duncan Smith. All of you who had your pens and knives sharpened after his appointment at Manchester City and who mindlessly perpetuated the myth that he had signed a shipload of foreigners without even bothering to watch them play.

Come on, put your hands up and confess. Open your tight-lipped and embarrassed mouths and proclaim the truth that is obvious to everyone else on Planet Football: Sven-Göran Eriksson – the man with the cool head and the quiet words, who masterminded the England team’s commendably consistent performances for more than five years, who has taken Manchester City to the dizzy heights of the top three in the Barclays Premier League – is one of Europe’s finest managers.

It is not as if there was a lack of evidence of his uncanny ability even before he accepted the poisoned chalice from Adam Crozier in 2001. His stints at FC Gothenburg (treble of domestic league, cup and Uefa Cup), Benfica (final of European Cup plus domestic titles) and Lazio (Cup Winners’ Cup and Serie A winners) spoke of a man with an unfathomable ability to coax the best from his players. Again and again. At club after club.

Only the pathological Sven-bashers, who wore their derision as a badge of honour during his tenure as England head coach, have been stunned by the miracle that he has performed at Manchester City. But it is an irony not lost on Eriksson that they have yet to reach the conclusion that is staring them in the face: he has always been a fine manager. He is a fine manager now. He was a fine manager at Lazio. And he was a fine head coach when in charge of England. It was our expectations that were out of kilter, not the man in charge.

Eriksson’s leadership at Manchester City is merely a continuation of his success over the course of a quarter century. No, he will not lead City to victory in the Premier League. He will probably not lead them to a Champions League place. Hell, he may not even get them into the Uefa Cup. But when you compare the slick outfit that has delighted fans this season with the mediocrity of the team under Stuart Pearce you get a measure of the quiet chap’s achievements.

Yes, he had money to spend (£40 million on eight players), but so did Martin Jol. To have fused the impassioned flair of Elano with the rugged intensity of Martin Petrov whilst coaxing some genuine stylishness from the rest of the team – and to have done so with such remarkable speed – speaks of a manager at the top of his game. But when was he not at the top of his game?

Eriksson’s torrid journey tells us more about us than about him. We thought he was a failure because he did not lead England to World Cup glory, which just goes to show how our brains scramble whenever the national team looms into view. We lose sight of logic and common sense, compassion and fair-mindedness. It is not just the haplessness of the national team under Steve McClaren that should lead to a radical reassessment of England’s record under Eriksson, it is everything that has happened since 1966.

When are we going to learn that reaching the last eight is a creditable performance? When are we going to recognise that football is the most competitive sport on the planet and that failing to win the Big One does not necessarily imply that the coach is a schmuck? Eriksson’s record tells its own story: top position in the group in all three international campaigns, three quarter-finals in leading competitions and only five defeats in competitive matches. It is a record that compares favourably with every man to have held the post since Sir Alf Ramsey.

Either we accept that our players are not as good as we think they are or we continue dancing to the tune of those who think it is OK to turn every England manager into a root vegetable.

The most shameful thing about our treatment of Eriksson is that we were not content merely to condemn his ability: we also sought to undermine his humanity. This reached it apotheosis when he jumped into bed with Faria Alam, the FA secretary. Eriksson had consenting sex with an attractive woman and found himself cornered by a pack baying for blood. The hypocrisy was beyond satire. I mean, if getting laid is a sackable offence, we may as well all join the dole queue.

Fortunately, Eriksson has forgiven if not forgotten. His interviews have been frank, good humoured and bereft of the bitterness that might have contaminated a lesser man. He may not be the greatest football manager but he is undeniably one of the Premier League’s finest. Even those of us with no connection with the blue side of Manchester will wish them well as they seek to build on their remarkable start.

Seeking the magic formula

The nearest we have come to a player divulging the secret of Avram Grant’s success was when Joe Cole said: “Avram’s very similar to Sven [-Göran Eriksson] in his management style.” This is about as useful as saying ice cream is nice because it is creamy and cold. Nobody knows what Eriksson does and nobody knows what Grant does, either. At least we now know they do what they do in a similar way. Both have access to world-class players and appear simply to tell them to get on with it. Neither lets cruel gibes in the media affect them. Eriksson still studiously and calmly fields all questions and Grant calmly and studiously ignores the fact everyone assumes he’ll be gone by Christmas. Someone should have told Martin Jol to do less and smile more.

Words by Alyson Rudd