Perfectionism achieves results – but often at great personal cost. England may have bombed out of the World Cup, but the huge collective effort put in by the players before the competition itself was motivated by the chance of victory.

To have reached the standard of world class sportsmanship – that’s tough. How many years must their lives, from whatever accident of birth, rich or poor, have been dominated by rigorous discipline and incessant practice? For what? A life of self-imposed trials, in which, in a moment, victory or defeat will mark them out as either winners or losers.

It’s not a personal grief. It’s a public one. There’s no where to go, when every gesture, every grimace, every desperate look of panic is scrutinised close-up on giant screens: exposed and beamed around the world to an audience of strangers.

The pain and exhaustion on Steven Gerrard’s face in defeat was raw. This was not acting – like some of the extravagant diving seeking penalties. This was gut-wrenchingly real. It’s powerful voyeurism. The players carry not only their stellar reputation but that of their country. They carry the block hopes of millions who can scarcely kick a ball, yet dream and will glory for others; those individuals who have strived, and continually tested to prove themselves to be supremely talented, in a public arena.

Would you like that pressure? It’s almost intolerable. Yes, you’re paid well, but there are penalties: restrictions on your movements and that of your family when you’re out of the spotlight. If talent brings fame and success, it may have malign consequences, as the aggravated burglary carried out at Ian Wright’s family home demonstrates.

As a World Cup commentator 6,000 miles away in Brazil, how must Wright have felt when he learnt that his children had been separated from their mother, and a knife held to his wife’s throat? Extreme – yes, unusual – yes. But there’s often a price to be paid by those close to an high achiever.

But what about the voice inside?

Speaking this week in Oxford to an audience of schoolgirls, Professor Roz Shafran of the Institute of Child Health contrasted healthy competitiveness with unhealthy perfectionism. The former nurtures self-esteem; the latter may undermine it.

She gave an example of a footballer, who messed up. Coach A called him every pejorative name under the sun; Coach B acknowledged his considerable efforts and offered support to help the player find ways to improve. ‘Which voice is inside your head?’ Professor Shafran asks patients in clinic. ‘Coach A’, they invariably reply. Now how’s that make you feel? ‘In prison 24/7,’ one girl said.

So don’t let’s think that the pursuit of excellence is just a sporting phenomenon. It’s a personal quest for many people. This city, with its reputation for academic excellence is bursting with effort – and inevitably, as is the human condition – riddled with disappointment.

GCSEs have passed for another year, A levels are finishing, university exams are drawing to a close. Most people have tried their best. Aiming high has a brutal cut-off: some will fall short. Job seeking is another minefield of broken dreams.

It’s not failure which destroys us. It’s the coach. So come on England. Pick yourselves up. Hodgson, be wise and humane. They’ll be more challenges along the way, and cherished opportunities to strive for. You want it – go for it. But let Coach B’s voice be heard loud and clear.

Perfectionism isn’t wrong: but it’s hell unchecked. Balance is key – for all our sakes.