CurledWup

Apologies and rebirth

2006-07-13T03:54:00.000-07:00

We all seemed to lose interest a bit when the English got knocked out of the World Cup, so sorry for not keeping this up.
We've a new blog though... not even football related.
Watch With Mothers will feature The Mothers of Inspection evaluating popular culture for your pleasure.

You can find it right here.

Bear with it, it's only just begun, as Karen Carpenter once warbled before she karked it.

All over now

2006-07-10T01:37:00.000-07:00

I have to admit that my interest in all things world cup took a nosedive when England got knocked out, from a bit interested to none interested. But I did watch the final last night, and jolly good it was too, specially when that Zidane fellow headbutted that other bloke in the chest and he fell over ahahhhaaaa!

Now it is all over for another 4 years - although apparently there is a smaller version just for Europe in a couple of years, so I might watch a bit of that too.

C'MON YOU REDDDDSSSS!

2006-07-03T06:50:00.000-07:00

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA, see what happens? Mmm, see the disappointed faces, the little fucking flags crushed into the gutter, the bruised faces of ex-football widows on the receiving end of England’s pathetic 90 minute farce?

I watched the match, I knew we were going to lose so I went out there and got really pissed up to cheer on the other lot. It was deadly boring as I expected, I mean d-e-a-d-l-y boring, not even a vomiting Beckham to save the day, he couldn’t even be arsed to play let alone puke, then he resigned, the cowardly cunt.

I have to take my hat off to Rooney though, Neanderthal is as Neanderthal does. Well done chimp-boy for stamping on a fellow mans testicles and then losing your primate temper following some on-field grunting dispute with another barely-up-the-food-chain monkey. When it came to the penalties there is no doubt Mr. Opposable Thumbs would’ve seen us through, no question, so blame him for your loss. It’s been pointed out, by the way, that by the time the next World Cup comes round the pin-faced tree dweller will be 24. That’s if he doesn’t catch foot and mouth or have his legs pulled of by neighbouring Silverbacks arguing over his James Garner faced floozie.

The Moto GP on Sunday at Donington was good though, Rossi rode well to come up second, despite a broken wrist, it’s a really good season but, because you like watching namby pamby men-girls rolling on the grass going ‘ooh ow ref, ooh I’ve grazed my little finger, look’, you won’t be interested. Bless

So until 2010, goodbye cunts, goodbye everyone.

Despair turns to grim acceptance

2006-07-01T12:39:00.000-07:00

Queen came on iTunes. 'We Are The Champions' blared forth from the stereo. I stopped it short and put on a Roy Orbison song.

'In Dreams'.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

2006-06-30T02:55:00.000-07:00

How thngs have changed since the beginning of the World Cup. Just three weeks ago, I was lonely as a cloud, gazing wistfully across the sun dappled valleys of South Yorkshire, composing poetry to the gentle breeze, the dancing willow, the gurgling brook, the comely maiden. As delicate as a newly hatched crocus, I skirted the fringes of society as tho 'pon a canoe of solitude and whimsy.

Thus, I looked towards the World Cup as a challenge to reassert my authority in the mainstream. Who'd have thought I'd be so succesful? Why, Dickens himself would scoff and baulk at the sight of me now. 'Was it not' he might whisper in awe, 'but thrice weeks hence that this individual before me was but a slender wisp. Well, I do declare that here, now, I observe a creature so hideous and malformed that I proclaim Shelley herself would struggle to conjure.'

Yes, reader, I am a man transformed. No more books and tea for I, for lager and tabloids are what interest me now. That and fighting. Oh yes, and an evening down Champs, getting muntered and banging a slag in the back of a motor. My bird asked me what I wanted for dinner yesterday, so I went 'Roooney' at her and then banged my face into the table until it was a smashed and bleeding mess, all becuase I watched some football.

Since it hant bin on for a few days, I thunk about writing some poetry but then I saw it were on tonight and I fought 'nah, poems is for benders and wimmin. I going out to hammer someone what is different.' All because I watched some football.

Oh! But is this not merely some new form of misery, for though I have friends a plenty in the boozer now, this is but a hollow conceit, as I am sure they like me not for my mirth and wisdom, but for my ability in a fight and capacity for imbibing. Because that's all most people care about, isn't it? Drinking and shouting, shouting and drinking. Oh, I long for my old life back again, away from this unendurable torture, but I know it shall never return, for I am doomed to this life of football. Football, football, everywhere football. Everywhere I look football. I don't even like it. Oh, why can't everyone be the same as I used to be?

Help me, frankly.

Premature Judgement

2006-06-28T15:22:00.000-07:00

Hello. My name is Dave and it has been 10 days since my last post.

For the first few days it was deliberate. I was attempting to actually follow the tournament so that I could have something constructive to write about on this very blog. I watched a game on TV, one in a bar, bought the Sun and even discussed the various possible outcomes of the cup with customers and co-workers.

The result? Well, I reached a few conclusions - none of them revelationary, and most of them confirmed my suspicions - but I feel that I have reached them after due consideration and valid investigation.

Firstly: I know much has already been said on the Nation Thug Portrait that is Rooney drenched in blood and cum, but I like to add what a stroke of genius the follow up shot by Sophie Tits Anderton was. What is better than a legally sanctioned hooligan providing a modern portrait of the British man? Why, a stupid fucking tart mimicking that, but with her baps out... what a fucking concept. Give the thugs in Page 3 Wank Land a fantasy, remind us all that we are an island race with serious tribal issues and prove once and for all that the modern woman is still entirely subserviant to the image of the male. Cunts.

Secondly: the advertising, culture, news and opinion is far beyond saturation point, beyond nausea and beyond obessession. It is disturbing, the frantic and desperate collusion by business' terrified to lose some of that precious football dollar is nearing pathological greed. This isn't about supporting the game, it's not about sponsoring sport or inspiring youngsters, it's not even about the game of football anymore. It's not about the players, or the teams, or the countries, or the fans, or FIFA and it's certainly not about who lifts the trophy. It's about money. Money money money money money money. It's about huge corporations ramming their name and logo (fuck the product, it's about ideeeeeas) deeper down into our conciousness and furthing their expansive grasp over EVERY ASPECT OF CULTURE AND ANYTHING THAT ANYONE HOLDS DEAR. These people are obscene cocksuckers and it amazes me, genuinely, that any football fan can even watch the game any more. I don't care two hoots about football and I am screaming angry on their behalf.

Thirdly: I find football to be really threatening. Or at least the culture of it. I keep looking for this national spirit I hear so much about, but all I do is flinch whenever I walk past someone in an England shirt for fear they'll suddenly yell 'Rooooooney' in my ear again. I belong to a forgotten race of peoples, the 1/3 of people who don't care - the nerds forced to pretend, the foreigners forced to become patriotic, the women forced to become tomboys, the men who find the alpha-male role offensive. Whenever I mention my objections to the money side of it all I receive the same looks as when I expand my 9/11 theories.

Fourthly, and finally: Football is boring. It is, sorry. I tried to watch some games but they were unbearably dull. I didn't feel any excitement when England roared 2-1 ahead in extra time as I knew 100% that they'd fuck it up. They did. I tried the football spirit but I found it oppressive. I tried hating it and just got bored.

And that's where I am now. Too bored to care if we go all the way and too bored to hope England get knocked out. I just want it to be over... soon... please... just fucking finish already...

2006-06-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

That Zidane goal - as promised...

Doesn't quite catch the magic of seeing it come from nowhere in open play, but you get the gist...

Etiquette of Support

2006-06-28T03:47:00.000-07:00

I work with a Spanish girl who is in a very bad mood today after the trouncing last night. She claims that Spain would have won if it wasn't for Henry's acting, denying that France would have scored a single goal against Spain had the decision not gone France's way. This has had the effect of a) making her seem a very bad sport, and b) slightly irritating me for reasons I can't put my finger on.

Now, I told her that I was supporting Spain last night to make her feel better (out of the very goodness of my heart) but that was actually a lie, as I was really cheering on France. After commisserating with her, I asked her if she would now be transferring her allegiance to England, to which she replied "No, I shall be supporting Portugal". How rude is that?!? (Bearing in mind she THOUGHT I was supporting stupid Spain last night). BRING ON THE TEBBIT TEST, I say.

2006-06-28T03:24:00.000-07:00

I see a chap called Clive has sensibly responded to my wish to see Blecks barf up his Tangfastics and fizzy pop. What a filthy fucking pig, a disgrace to humanity and, indeed, the country, but it’s just the sort of thing one expects of a person like that. I don’t recall Carl Fogerty taking off his helmet and yacking up his Sidi boots after he won a double at Brands Hatch in 1996 (the biggest recorded sports crowd in UK history, no one was arrested, no one threw a punch and no one threw up btw)

I was delighted to see it though, it was utter poetry, however, I must question the mentality of the sort of chap that actually sources such revolting material for another? I can't fathom these footie types but I’m pretty sure if I requested an m-peg that displayed a young lady being penetrated in all her holes by 6 well-endowed men, and then vomiting two pints of spunk all over her high heels Clive would be able to assist, eh Clive?

So, Saturday and it’s all over. Gland don’t have a hope in hell, it’s going to be a fucking massacre. No way am I going to leave my flat, I was out after the last Gland vs. X match (which we won) and this cunt was inexplicably running up and down the high street screaming abuse at all and sunder (we’d won, right?) even trying to fight an entire pub (though we’d won) before he got nicked. The pussy was all meek and calm when the Police got hold of him, spoke volumes to me. What a 24 carat footie cunt. Just think what this chap and others will be like when we lose, it will be carnage. Murder.

Instead I am going to install my girlfriend (bet you footie chaps wish you had access to one of those) and allow her to perform sex on me (that’s sex, not pulling yourselves off in front of the internet) while ‘Gland get their arses whipped by the Portuguese. This time they will get theirs and all this nonsense will finally cease. And I will rue the day. And ‘Posh’ will have to make do with Hello and Okay magazine. And Beckhams can do his sick up in the comfort of his gold plated diamond encrusted bog in private. The bald cunt.

Zizo

2006-06-28T00:47:00.000-07:00

France deservedly won, despite Henry's theatrics to win the free kick. It was still a free kick, it's just a shame that he forced it into a card situation.

France's third goal was utterly sublime, all down to the genius of Zidane. I don't often speak of how amazing I find Zidane's focus and ability because I have a French friend who is prone to smuggery about the whole thing. He sits in his shed eating bizarre cheeses and feasting on horsemeat whilst being all precious about wine and stroking his Zizo shrine.

But I accept it's a universal and profound truth that Zidane, despite his already advanced years, is the best in the world. His experience and understanding of the way the game will be played is genuinely shocking. It seems to be second nature for him, if not first. Watching him keep an eye on the keeper in the slow motion replay, you see that he knows exactly the right point to glimpse in order to work out the keepers precise intentions. And his final touch was unstoppable, despite kicking the ball from sideways on. Ok, I was a little bit addled, but I couldn't stop saying 'That was fucking amazing' to my bored and entirely uninterested lady.

I'll try and embed the goal because, for me, it's the goal of the tournament so far. Ok, it wasn't looping all over the place and it didn't swerve from 30 yards out, but it a great demonstration of the pace, timing and power of a master. Pity he's French.

(Ronaldo's opening goal was pretty special too).

2006-06-27T05:51:00.000-07:00

I observed, last night, whilst nearly watching the Ukraine Switzerland match the commentators sneering at the two team captains as they shook hands at the start of extra time. 'Well, it's that kind of attitude that has led to the disappointing 0-0 scoreline' they said, or words to that effect. Meanwhile, the last full game I watched was Holland and Portugal acting like children. Portugal coach Scolari said this: 'Jesus Christ said turn the other cheek, but Luis Figo is not Jesus Christ' which is either magnificantly cryptic or the most astoundingly meaningless selection of words ever. Perhaps something got lost in translation. Meanwhile, the media surrounding England's progress has shifted focus from the lumpy shout men with red face to the hilariously named 'WAGS'. Mrs Beckham and other the others tottering the streets of Germany, loaded with shopping and hair and face. Tales of table top dancing in late night bars, karaoke and tequilas. The England team sport amusingly fussy haircuts on the pitch. Australia should have beaten Italy, but allowed them to cheat their way to victory.

I'm still enjoying it, honestly.

2006-06-27T04:10:00.000-07:00

David Beckham Throwing Up for England

Here you go Fur, fill your boots.

2006-06-27T03:35:00.000-07:00

I am disgusted and appalled at the BBC’s coverage of the world cup. We’ve had 24 hour coverage since this fucking disaster began, pundits, stats, players, coaches, the actual coaches they travel in, WAG’s wops wigs wankers galore, yet they fail, even after requested by Gerry Linecars during the post match coverage, to show Beckhams doing a sick up.

Without doubt the most important development in the history of the game, the Gland captain crouched over himself barking at the lawn, was omitted from my viewing pleasure. Instead we were treated to a sudden and, without so much as a cursory warning by Auntie Beeb, close of up of his fake titted chipolata-lipped stick of a wife who had been gassing to Cheryl ‘BNP’ Tweedy just as hubby scored.

Being fully aware of the fact the cameras would be focussing in her re-constructed fizzog, ‘Posh’, before she reacted to her husbands fluke of a goal, turned to face the camera and performed a quite explicit pout, prior to carefully gurning some sort of a expression of approval (lest her collagen implants flew out of her face killing a player on the other side of the pitch) and air hugged Tweedy (I bloody would by the way, despite her hatred of black people, just because she’s dating a black man we all know her true colours are implanted in the face of that young lady in the loos of that club in Newcastle, yeah) who appeared to be genuinely delighted at her mates husbands achievement.

In this one instance it was perfectly clear to the whole wide world that ‘Posh’, possibly the most talentless creature to have emerged from cosmetic surgery since Lea from Big Brother had space hoppers inserted under her skin, is married to her balding husband because he’s fucking loaded. Her meagre Spice Girls royalties would’ve dried up faster than a puddle of Camel’s piss in the desert, so her union with multi millionaired Brecks, who, let’s face it, has the brains of Plankton, seems very apt in terms of keeping the Gucci bag stuffed full of squillons of quids, and herself well ensconced in the public eye.

For the sake of my health, so I’m not subject to ‘Poshs’’ rubbery face for a second longer, released from hearing how much of the equivalent of third world debt she and the WAG’s spent on Cristal last night, you must all fall to your knees and pray we are halted by the Portuguese.

Moreover I DEMAND one of you skins get me a picture, better still an m-peg of Bekhams losing his Golden Grahams. It’s essential the balance is redressed or someone will have an accident. Kapiche?

All in the timing

2006-06-27T01:32:00.000-07:00

Blast. On the BBC updates the Australia vs Italy matched looked to be a thriller. I was even holding out for extra time so I could rush from work straight to a pub to see how things turned out, despite the fact that payday is three days away and my pocket is as barren as Hackney library. But Italy flukily won it, right at the end, so I went home hoping that the game of two underdogs (is that possible?), Switzerland and Ukraine would be an exciting one. Surely they would play out of their skins for a chance to reach the quarter finals? Surely not. It was drab. It was drabness intensified by the drab monotone of Mick McDrab McCarthy. I even turned over for short bursts of Big Brother at times, perfectly certain that this was one that would go to penalties. Flicking over when it went to extra time to watch Saxondale on BBC2, I'd almost lost the will to live. I put myself through the torture of penalties and decided that there was a magnet in the ball - as no team could ever miss that many chances, especially penalties. Not the best game of the tournament so far.

I'm also annoyed that Ghana vs Brazil - set to be one of the best games so far (if not THE best) is on at 4pm. Damn and blast. Spain & France should be a good game but I suspect it will be a good deal more tactical, certainly more defensive. Ghana and Brazil will both go for it. Maybe I can feign illness...

1-0

2006-06-26T02:02:00.000-07:00

Now, I don't know much about the old 'soccer', but that Lampard fellow seemed to miss quite a lot of his shots yesterday. All in all it was a bit of a rubbish game, but maybe all of Portugal's legs will be broken or something before the next game (that's not a thinly veiled Mafia threat).

War and Piss

2006-06-23T08:05:00.000-07:00

At school I spend a lot of time trying to argue that the media is but one discursive window to the social, and that a sound interpretivist epistemology posits it as far from the monolithic "mass media" depicted by some flimsy positivists - and rather a variegated and negotiated constellation of power flows.

But football pisses luridly on the indignant face of my poxy thesis, then slaps it in the chops with its still-dripping glans. Because everyone seems to be getting wound up by the same thing: the media's one-dimensional metaphorical substitution of "football" for "war". War needs courage and enthusiasm, and even those undiscerning enough to choose Budweiser as their World Cup tipple will report upon the curious sensation of power and righteousness it brings to proceedings. So that explains the booze ads. The footballers might timidly sip Lucozade Sport as they snap their own wince muscles over insubstantial ankle-clippings and haircut-ruffling shoulder charges, but the viewing public (whom this spectacle is really all about) need some proper sauce to egg on the polarizing nationalism.

The World Cup begins very civilised: with 32 nations equally pitted against each other it almost looks like democracy. Although there are favourites, "anyone" can win it, and we get patronisingly supportive about the prospects of X African team of "plucky underdogs". This is the early enlightenment period before rationality is freed from philosophy/artistry and applies itself to the empire building to come. Because once the group stages are put to the sword, nobody gives much of a shit about Ghana anymore and the once innocuous-looking Equador are suddenly a despised band of backward pretenders who must be bummed back into submission.

This is why Wayne Rooney is depicted in The Sun as "St. George's angry tampax": the thug he is construed (unfairly) to be in the press is exactly the type of fearful curmudgeon you want turning out for your side in a punch-up with some foreigners. Although my beard smells faintly like the urine of pompous wrongness, I'd argue that the US went out lamely, not because they lack a solid footballing tradition, but because the World Cup was just one conflict too many...

2006-06-23T02:03:00.000-07:00

Right, Tuesday night.

Fancied a pint with a mate but the cunts were all out dragging their knuckles over the hallowed pub floors of London, skins congregated together, men? Waiting to hug and kiss each other should 'Gland get a fucking gowl.

Not being gay and replete with locks, I selected the only bar without a TV in the locale, so me and my mate met up there a 20 minutes before 8 o clock. It was half full of fat women of various ages, most of them eating extravagant looking burgers and drinking Pinot Grigio, upper lower class types, laughing, blonde with lowlights. They all seemed to smoke. Fat they were.

So there we were, apart from one tall man in his late 50's drinking wine and reading The Standard, we were the only 2 swinging dicks in there. It felt good being surrounded by these fat birds, fellow football haters, they all seemed jolly and I'm pretty sure me any my mate were getting more than out fair of attention. Hardly surprising as their men folk were probably off getting inebriated on Magner's and Stella and these birds hadn't had so much as a sniff of a real mans cock in months, if at all.

Then, half way through pint one, I noticed to my utter horror up in the corner there was a TV screen, a big one, sat silently. When did this arrive? WHO FUCKING AUTHORISED THIS! Its big glass eye was momentarily black, then suddenly alive with colour noise, shouting, clapping and a single screeching squawking voice 'well, here we are again, can England make it a three?'

The birds erupted in a fever of bingo wings and naval piercings, what the FUCK were these things? I thought they were…And my own mate mumbled something along the lines ‘if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em’, and I was in a bar a half a pint down and fucking thirsty so I had to stay, I had no choice at all. I was compromised, defeated, beaten. I watched the while fucking thing, all of it, drinking double time in stunned disbelief of my own actions. It was Hideous, the worst aspect being the innate ability to understand proceedings and watching ‘Gland flounder against a team that were clearly worse, yet they came back at the end leaving one with a feeling of emptiness and feeble disappointment, not withstanding the personal devastation at being witness to such a futile gesture of sport. And feeling somehow involved. How I hate myself, how I hate the game. How dare it. The rotten, low, cunts.

Never Ghana give you up....

2006-06-23T00:41:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the lame Rick Astley reference.

Well I'm very, very pleased that Ghana have made it into the last 16. But I'm very annoyed that Australia are through. I've tried my hardest to feel no ill-will towards any team in the competition as karma dictates it will come back to bite you on the balls - but somehow I can't really abide the 'Socceroos' finding this success so cheaply. I was watching the Japan v Brazil game yesterday and was delighted when Brazil went a goal down, my joy intensified by Croatia going a goal up, meaning that one more goal for Japan and they'd slink there way beyond the group stage. Gutted when Ronaldo scored, but slightly happy for the waddling fool when he cracked that smile revealing his enormous teeth. I feel like those dental oddities have been away for years.

Australia scraped it in the end, and I will hear no end of it from the antipodeans at work. Let them enjoy their glory for the moment, they took it on the chin when we won the rugby World Cup. I say 'we won', I actually couldn't have cared less. Rugby's a game for overweight toffs and we all know that.

Walking down Dalston Lane on my way home yesterday, cars with black-star flags bowled along with Ghanaian men stepping on their accelerators with their horns parping and huge white-tooth grins flashing. I stepped into one of the African produce shops to buy some cigarettes. The lady behind the counter was drunk and couldn't hear a word I was saying because a group of people the size of an extended family were dancing to party music in the aisles of her store. I didn't see a single miserable face. Come on the black stars say I.

2006-06-22T03:49:00.000-07:00

Now, I don't know a lot about football, as has been established. But does it not strike anyone as strange that a man in his twenties with a very high level of health and fitness can simply fall over and smash his knee up? Does this happen a lot in the game? Players tumbling to the floor for seemingly no apprarant reason and sustaining massive injuries?

Well, anyway, there is at least some emotional drive to the England team now as they are proclaiming that they will 'win the trophy in Owen's honour' or some such. It would be easy to be cynical, but I'm rather taken with the idea that the remaining games will be a sort of grudge match Wild West style showdown. Do I mean showdown or standoff? Or is that something to with Mexico. Anyway, the prospect of some genuine passion is quite an exciting one, I think.

PS Other countries in the world are also playing games in the World Cup, some of them not against the England team. Some, I hear, have been won. Others lost and drawn.

2006-06-21T03:50:00.000-07:00

Observations from a soccer-ninny on England vs Sweden.

- Happy that Joe Cole scored. Has appeared to be the best player so far, and the goal was highly entertaining.

- Do not understand why the world and their mums seem to hate Owne Hargreaves. Appears to be one of England's strongest players.

- Do not understand why Seven Go On Eric's Son did not give Walcott a go. Seems like the only chance he would have had. Perhaps with Owen injured something interesting might happen. This is palpably unlikely.

- Sweden appeared to score from a throw in. The incompetence of the England defenders can only indicate that they were paid to throw the match. It was like watching an magic enchanted ball. I do not understand and no one in the media appears to either, preferring instead to pretend it never happened. It did, and it was weird.

- My enjoyment of the match was ruined utterly by the ITV commentary. Now, I could have turned it down and stuck some music on, or chanted my own songs, but I find some of it useful, in terms that I don't always know what's going on. But whoever it was last night was an idiot. I only know John Motson, and I think he's BBC, though I suppose he could be freelance. The other one was Gareth Southgate, and he was alright. But the other one was infuriating. Once Owen had fallen over he spent about 5 minutes going 'Extreme peril now faces England in the shape of a fallen striker' or some such nonsense, when clearly nothing of the sort was happening. As far as I can see, Crouch just came on and everything was fine. Then he speculated on Eric's Son's possible tactics - laughing, he dismissed Walcott as 'having a provisional driving license'. Which has clearly got fuck all to do with kicking a ball around. What else? Well, he basically spent the entire game composing tabloid style news pieces about the action as it happened, which were all shit and retarded. Also, when Rooney was taken off the tv people kept cutting back to him hurling his boots around and sulking, which might have made for amusing viewing after the event, perhaps in the post match analysis when the serious men say 'too deep' a lot, but not when there's kicking and running action actually happening. It's nonsense. Television ruins everything. It's like a precocious and arrogant child drawing a very lifelike picture of an otter, but then giving it wings and colouring it blue and demanding that it's definitely a true representation of an otter and then eating the drawing before you have a chance to dispute it.

- In summation, I actually enjoyed the game last night, more so than the other England games thus far. The sense of relief when Gerrard scored was matched only by bitter laughter at the Sweden goal which followed. They still don't look like a team that's going to win anything, but are certainly more entertaining to watch. And that's all I care about, frankly. I hope to God that all the other matches are on BBC. I take it all back, Ian Wright.

2006-06-20T06:08:00.000-07:00

I noticed the cover of The Sun, who in a staggering display of greed, tastelessness and all round cuntery have 'teamed-up' with the sweat-shop heroes of the modern age, Nike, to produce a sensationally pathetic image of that bulbous headed pin faced fucker Rooney (a man so unbelievably thick it's a wonder he doesn't need two 24 hour coaches to advise him when it's time to breathe in, and another to tell him when to breathe out) naked in Jesus Christ pose sploshed in the St. Georges cross.

It's a game of football, this comprises of over paid dildo's (safely) chasing a pigs bladder over some cut grass. I could understand if it were to promote kickboxing or motorcycle racing where one is at genuine risk of injury or even death, even then I'd level the 'sensationalist' label squarely in their respective camps, but football! It'd be pushing the implication of danger to portray a little Brownie politely drawing attention to half a pink hand made mitten.

It makes me so fucking angry that I'm actually going to have to stop posting this blog because I can feel my neck swelling with potential heart killing pressure as I scrabble around my vitriol fuelled lexis in order to convey my sheer exasperation at the fucking bollock cunted death putrid shit die death aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhh

Over to Rooney

2006-06-20T05:46:00.000-07:00

So - we're through. Both previous games seem like something of a non-event, so let's hope tonight's is a real rip-snorter of a tussle. I shall be out of Hackney for tonight's game, and probably watching the remaining England matches (or match) in Camden in a delightful little boozer called The Halfway House. Always packed to the gills, always full of England fans and always good for atmosphere.
As part of the hype, Nike have had the accompanying poster printed in the centre of, from what I can tell, every major newspaper's centre pages. I find it a little bit disturbing. Given Rooney's slightly soiled behavioural record and his thuggish look, is it really wise to be sending this message out? Maybe I'm being a bit conservative but it really looks like blood, and Rooney looks savage - the image looks like a still from The Firm with Gary Oldman. What next? Brooklyn Beckham chewing on a stanley knife blade?

It's a cracking photo and really very powerful, but given that there were arrests of England fans in Germany last night for their violent antics, it all strikes me as unnecessarily violent.

Hope we get germany in the next round, I feel Ecuador are strong contenders for the quarter finals. Better to knock out contenders for the finals, if we're capable. Pray Hargreaves doesn't destroy the dream...

Lies and Betrayals

2006-06-20T02:38:00.000-07:00

I watch breakfast television at the moment. It's a recent development, and I'm not sure why it's happening. It makes me furious in the early hours. But I can generally guarentee the sight of an England footballer looking worried in what appears to be an enchanted garden, or Sven Go-On Eric's Son at a press conference endlessly repeating himself before flashbulbs. BBC have a news team in Germany, obviously, going around the cities and doing stuff. I saw that our boys smashed up Cologne last night. Nice work. They've finally told that arrogant and accomodating host nation where they can stick it. It's a bit like being invited to stay at a friends house - a beautiful, ancient, historical house, lovingly restored and cared for, and after a few days of staying there, having being kept in the greatest luxury, perhaps after a night of vintage wine, port, whiskey and cigars in the summer house, for no real reason you suddenly fuck, kill and eat their pets with maximum fuss and noise possible. It is also filmed, duplicated and sent to your family and friends.

Back to the telly. This morning they had a band on, these three chaps form England. The leader was a little bit like a young Alan Sugar. There were three cheerleaders with them. No, I don't see the relevance either. Anyway, they had a song which they sung which went something like: 'Lager,lager, have another pint of lager. Another pint of lager. Have another pint of lager, lager, lager.' I'm paraphrasing, admittadly, but only very slightly. The video and associated flim flam was of course football related. I honestly don't think there's a sight more terrifying than a fully grown man holding a pint of strong, Belgian lager, roaring in a semi demented state with his face painted white with a red cross through it, while a witless pub punk racket screams 'have another pint of lager' at 7.30 in the morning. It's like one of the gangs from The Warriors. It's like Braveheart, but drunk and without a grudge, which is infinitely more dangerous.

Also, Budweiser are the offical sponsers of the World Cup according to the third channel. What is the connection between lager and sport? How did this come about? I don't think that the Argentinian football squad drink much lager. I'm no doctor (I don't care what anyone says), but if you drink a crate of Bud, even those little tiny bottles, you'll have trouble getting from one of the field to the other at speed without coughing out the contents of your fizzing, tumbling stomach down your read and white painted torso. How did the refreshment of choice for a major sporting event become a beverage which angers and confuses it's drinker, and makes them want to fight and eat the furntiture? Surely, logically, weeks spent watching atheletes excel at the physical activities that have made them famous and loved world wide should inspire the spectator to respond in kind, with the attainment of some level of personal fitness of their own. Rather, it seems as though the act of spectating has become enough of an achievement. The time and effort spent stumbling into a chair before a great, cinematic, lurid screen, pouring oink juice down your throat and roaring ill conceived tactical opinions into the void is time well spent, it seems.

I'm certain I would like football a lot more if it wasn't connected to and advertised for this horrific neanderthal excursion. To re-address the balance, I will watch tonight's match with the sound down whilst quoting 'The Waste Land' through a megaphone, and also finishing off the fig rolls and ginger nuts.

2006-06-18T15:52:00.000-07:00

I've watched no football since Thursday. I've been busy. It's remarkably easy to ignore.

Footy footy footy

Is it over yet...?

2006-06-18T01:41:00.000-07:00

I can't tell. Sure the Engerland flags are still flying and the ads are on TV ad nauseum but it's been a few days before anything football related has permeated my conciousness. That's one of the bonus' of "not being interested" - it's relatively easy to ignore if necessary. Admittedly it requires a few sacrifices, the majority of which I have listed below in a handy and amusing list.
- Not going to any popular public places, and avoiding walking past pubs with big screens.
- Turing off the news at exactly two thirds through.
- Going straight for your paper of choice and not scanning the tabloid headlines.
- Setting yahoo.com as your homepage instead of yahoo.co.uk - the Americans just don't care.
- Responding immediately with "fuck you" to the question "are you watching the World Cup?" or anything related.
- MP3 players in the street help avoid overhearing the conversations of fuckwits.
- Developing a thousand-yard-stare that you can trigger instantly should anyone attempt small-talk.
- Ignoring anything on Channel 4 after 10pm as it is always counter-football-programming.
- Ignoring everything on ITV as it is always pro-football-programming.

Should any of these fail then I urge you to lock yourself in your bedroom with the curtains closed and lights off while repeatedly screaming "am I the last sane man on Earth?" That should do it.

I write through a haze of alcohol...

2006-06-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

Ok. First thing's first. A win is a win is a win. And a 2-0 victory happening in the last 10 minutes is fucking great TV. And it was well sunny and just one of the nicest days I've ever had in my life. How is it possible, to go and watch the match in your local, with one of your best mates, see England snatch it in the last ten minutes, then go and hang about in his shed smoking and drininking bottles of real ale, playing catch with his 2 and a half year old kid, watch sweden narrowly beat paraguay, and not have had a nice day? World Cup Summer is ace. How can you not love this shit? It is the finest shit.

You're missing out, Fur.

2006-06-16T01:22:00.000-07:00

Fucking hell, when will all this end? How much longer will this shit go on for? Needless to say everyone has a hangover and the office is once again empty. I have a hangover but unlike the absent cunts here I can handle my drink and not being a binge drinker (more of a steady alcoholic) I don’t find myself trying to say En-Gland between bouts of retching out 2 and a half ickle pints of watered down Carling. You turds can’t even drink properly. Pathetic.

But being a reasonable man I have a solution whereby you get your ‘footie’ and I get some p and q. It’s simple, think concentration camp, think incarceration, think football. Lets 'house' all the nations teams in separate guarded blocks and place them around a strip of wasteland with one goal at the end (the relevant nations footballers wives/girlfriends can be suspended in a cage over the ‘pitch’ to add some sort of fucking incentive to proceedings). Then over the course of a month in strict 12 hours cycles, each nation will tirelessly punt balls at the opposition’s goalie (every member of the opposing team takes it in turns to be goalie or they will be taken out back and shot, sorry, but rules is rules). This will certainly make the scores more exciting; imagine En-Gland scoring 134 over Germany’s poultry 89! You'd love that wouldn’t you? Anyway, there would be no real reason to broadcast the game (even if it would be marginally more exciting than the current format) but at the end of each 12 hour cycle a blimp would be sent into the sky with the results clearly displayed with a modern dot matrix display affair. Imagine your little hearts pounding with joy as you hear the blimp approach, I can see you shiny eyes light up, ‘It’s the footie blimp!’ You’ll cry, and you can walk (no fucking running) from your workplace/sheltered accommodation and on to the street where you’ll greet the blimp with a polite round of applause before returning refreshed to your daily business full of the news of En-Gland’s victory.

En-Glands victory celebrations will be conducted quietly in your own homes and not on the street via song and certainly not sat in the flat below me taking sniff all fucking night long engaging in loud conversations as to Gland’s chances. I really hope the police don’t go round this morning…

stating the obvious part 2: oblivious stating

2006-06-15T15:38:00.000-07:00

Spent all day in the cinema today, went to see United 93 and Brick. I only found out football was on when I wandered into the bar for a whiskey and had to circumnavigate the whole room just to place an order. I got laughed at by a stranger later on when I said to a friend that I didn't even know who was playing, let alone the score.

Turns out I'm not a very good patriot.

Anyway, upon discovering Engerland were playing I popped my head back in to check the score, it was still 0 : 0. I suffered the same problem as I described in my previous entry, however, as I had no fucking clue who Tri were. Turns out it's some obscure Caribbean island with a population of 35 who have been capturing the heart and souls of fans everywhere. Until they lost, I imagine.

So who fancies a trip to Trinidad and Tobago then? I reckon at least half the population have got to be on the team and then when you include coachs, managers, physiotherapists and fans the whole island must be damned near empty. We could perform a cou d'etat and have our very own Caribbean island...? It has to be near Marlon Brandos island and I heard that Willem Dafoe is squatting there right now.

The Ceilidh Arms

2006-06-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

I wake up in Hamilton, Ontario, in a B&B. After groping my way out of the sheets to register a breakfast order, I eat pancakes in front of the telly gratefully and try to get used to the sixth remote control of my trip. Ecuador have time to score a goal before I decide to get out early to preempt atmosphere. Baking, viscous tarmac sticks to my flip-flops on my way into town. I befriend four fans who order me the "hooligan pint": a litre jug of chilly Becks. It's Ecuador all the way, then just enough time for fags as The Ceilidh Arms fills up quickly.

The four fans have St. George's Cross face-paint which has been applied, apparently, by an impressionist. In reality, they look like clowns with pulverised, leaking noses. One of them is an on-call reservist fire-fighter. He sets a pager down next to his second hooligan pint and waves a pretend yellow-card at one of his mates. The yellow card means "you're an idiot" and the trick is to wave it at the funniest, most apt moment. But there are old jokes in play that I am not privy to and I don't dare to join in. The first shout of "Rooney!" rings out just before the kick-off. I feel like I have found a good pub.

My beer-mat says "World Cup Heroes"; I draw a line down from the "o" so it says "World Cup Herpes". This tells me that the first half is boring, but I get a bit drunk and shouting things makes it better. I convince myself that my English accent makes me sound authoritative, and people actually start to shout along. This bit is great. Then Dwight Yorke drops to the grass with his hands down his pants. His face is clenched in a grimace and the camera keeps showing him tending to his balls. Yorke actually squirts a water bottle down his shorts as he gets up which makes everybody laugh.

My unsteadiness surprises me as I lurch back from the bog to a dejected-looking table. Rooney actually comes on and the grumbles turn to roars, but it's Aaron Lennon who's impressing us the most. Beckham's cross seems to hit a tree and go in, then Steven Gerrard is let off the reigns long enough to put some net-thrashing left foot magic on his CV. I get clown make-up on my cheeks and badly misjudge a high-five as the pub erupts impressively at the end.

The four fans go outside again to smoke, and I try to decide whether to slip out or hang on for the Paraguay game.

2006-06-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of points - I am now aware that Mr Eric's Son has stated quite clearly that he will not play Rooney for a full match, which rather ruins my predictions from earlier. Secondly, when I said that Rooney's leg would 'shatter like an ice hammer', I had forgotten that an ice hammer was an actual thing, rather than a hammer made out of ice, which is what I was thinking. I was trying to get across the idea of a man's leg suddenly exploding into thousands of tiny, jagged shards. I am aware that ice hammers can be smashed and broken, but to be honest the best and most dramatic thing you could expect would be the hammer head falling off the handle and hitting the kitchen floor with a quite loud noise. It doesn't really have the same metaphorical qualities. So to clear that up, I think that Rooney's leg will shatter like a crystal maze.

2006-06-15T02:43:00.000-07:00

It seems that Rooney is set to play later today. I predict the following will happen: he will socre one goal in the 11th minute. Much celebration will take place. England will dominate for the rest of the half. Shortly before the half time whistle, Rooney will be violently sick on the touch line. Much punditry will take place - blah blah fucking blah they will go. Some footage will be shown of Ian Wright dancing when England scored. He will feign embarressment, despite the obvious fact that his contract with the BBC stipulates that he must do this at any given opportunity. In fact, it's all he must do.
Play will recommence at which time Rooney's entire leg will shatter like an ice hammer. He will be stretchered off. England players will play the rest of the match crying. Footage will be shown of Sven doing that frustrated thing he does when England nearly score as though he's miming the petulent pushing away of an unwanted plate of food. Trinidad will win by 2 goals to 1. England fans in provincial towns will go on a druken rampage to the sneering distaste of breakfast tv presenters. All cars of a foreign origin (i.e. all cars) will be smashed. Hysterical red tops will proclaim the word 'Louts'. We will all be ashamed. England players will appear on screens looking bewildered and hot and asked to explain themselves. Everything will hinge on beating Sweden. We will, then be promptly knocked out by a team who have acquired the means to fly or something. And that will wrap that up.

Actually, clearly I'm just being cynical as work commitments are forcing me to miss the first half, and I will be making my way home at that time. I have a vision of a deserted city as the population crowd into bars and front rooms of unassuming terraces to holler at portable televisions. I will meet a bicycle riding rastafarian on the way home who will be listening on a tinny hand held radio. I will drink a can with him in the street and together we will bond over the airwaves in the evening heat. At half time, he will produce a tube of Netto brand Ginger Nuts. It will be perfect.

2006-06-15T01:51:00.000-07:00

Oh look, a half empty office. Well at least all the interesting ones are here due to the absence of the morons calling in with various 'illnesses' (really clever that, you've been banging on about the fucking World Cup since you started here last year and now you've got a 'stomach upset' on the very day 'Gland are playing a match in the afternoon). This isn't just one member of staff, I've taken 4 calls so far, the last one, a particularly vile little shit called Hickok, I confronted directly. When I suggested he was faking it started doing this pathetic little cough, so I called him a lying cunt and hung up on him. He called back a few minutes later to reinforce his 'illness' and finished with a 'well if I HAVE to come in I could... *little cough*' obviously in fear of losing his job. (I have some say as to whether certain people, like Hickok, stay or go in this place). Now sacking someone for being ill isn't really a good idea so I had a chat with my boss and we decided that Hickok can have his fucking nasty little day off to watch men running around after a ball, but when he comes back next week, in about 3 hours after he walks through the door, I will have him fucking fired. In fact whilst I’m about it I’ll take Davis out of it too, I get extra points because he’s Welsh, yet he supports ‘Gland with almost too much vehemence, so in addition to being foreskin flesh he’s a traitor to his awful country as well.

You see what happens? Football ruins lives, as a direct result of ‘Gland playing a fucking game of 2 halves blah blah blah, 2 young men have lost their livelihoods, and I put the blame squarely at he feet of those that support this fucking travesty, people like you. I hope you’re fucking pleased with yourselves. You cunts.

Stating the obvious

2006-06-14T15:33:00.000-07:00

How much has the BBC spent on the World Cup...? Does anyone know, as it must be millions. For all their fancy graphics, and celebrity pundits, and expensive equipment, and obtuse camera angles, and reporters, and location shoots, and professional interviews, could they not put the full name of the team on screen?

I know it's small request, and indeed may paint me as somewhat of an idiot, but I find it amazing that for all the coverage they have of this blasted competition they couldn't find the time to add the 'I' and the 'N' at the end of 'Spain'?

I wandered into the bar at work today to find the football being plastered across the big screen. The match was SPA vs UKR and it took me a good ten seconds to work out who they were. Ok, I was having a slow day, but the point stills stands. Of all the stats, clocks, replays, trivia and sponsors they cram onto that fucking screen are you seriously telling me that there is no room for IN and AINE on there?

It would help us uninformed pleps who only dabble in football occasionally to understand what is going on - not being too informed on all the countries involved, and their subsequent abbreviations, I don't want to have to play the cryptic crossword everytime I want to know who's playing.

Or maybe I'm just an idiot.

One of the boys

2006-06-14T08:37:00.000-07:00

There was some football yesterday. I know this not only because its the World Cup and logic dictates that there would be a match on everyday, but also because when I walked through the pub with my best girl on my arm I noticed it on television. I couldn't have told you the teams, although I know one of them was playing in yellow, but I did notice that the score was 1 : 0.

Later that night, in a different pub but still with the same girl, I was engaged in friendly, non-confrontational banter with a couple of locals. In mid-joke about the benefits of draining outside seating they were joined by another man, and soon enough both respective groups had returned to their own individual conversations.

Suddenly the new arrival at the adjoining table leaned over the back of his chair and tossed a question my way. "Was it 1 nil to Brazil at the end?" Flawlessly I shot back "yeah, well that's what it was when I left" and the man threw a "thank you" in return. And it was over.

I felt so proud. So proud that the man had chosen me to be the oracle for that particular moment (if he'd known me at all he'd have asked Isobel the question). So proud that I could so easy respond with an answer that satisfied him, despite the fact I was largely bluffing and for all I know it could have been a totally different match I caught in the pub. Mainly, though, I was proud that for one fleeting second I was accepted as one of the boys, and they had no idea of either my dislike or complete lack of knowledge of football.

Maybe this period ain't so bad after all.

Spain in the neck (hahahahAHHAHAAAA!)

2006-06-14T06:20:00.000-07:00

I am going to Spain on Friday and in the interests of the Tebbit-test I will be supporting Spain for the next 6 days after that, which mainly seems to mean supporting Spain in one match against Tunisia.

GO ON YOU SPAAAAIINNNNNNNN!

(I shall shout)

And

MEAT PIES SAUSAGE ROLLS COME ON SPANIARDS GIVE US GOALS!

My uncle and aunt live in Spain by a large hill/mountain type thing, on the top of which it is customary to plant the flag of ones country. At one point last year it boasted a Spanish flag, Portuguese, the Welsh dragon (courtesy of my cousin), French, Canadian and more. One day my uncle noticed that there seemed to be only one flag flying so they clambered up to find the flags strewn heartlessly over the mountain top, replaced by the stars and stripes. Not really to do with football, unless you replace the word 'flags' with the word 'footballs' or something.

2006-06-14T06:10:00.000-07:00

I didn't watch much of the football yesterday, I went and did some late shopping in Medowhell instead. I was on the tram going down West Street at about 8.30, looking into the windows of the many city bars as we passed. Each had an identical giant screen with lurid green pictures on it and small but rapt audience. The streets were near deserted and it was raining a bit.

I don't know what all that means, but it was the most memorable thing I can think of from the last 24 hours. I think to attempt to extract any extra resonance from it would be foolish.

Brazillicking

2006-06-14T04:02:00.000-07:00

It was bound to happen - build up Brazil to that kind of height and they can only disappoint. I was so bored of the build up being a pro-Brazil presentation with NO mention of Croatia that I turned it off until kick off and shot some innocent people in Hitman on the PS2 in some kind of rage of ruthlessness.
The pundits were right about Ronaldo though, he's not quite the player he was four years ago. Still - Kaka's goal was an absolute screamer of a beauty and Ronaldinho showed a couple of amazing touches. I feel Croatia can feel hard done by though, they had a few strong chances in the second half but couldn't quite bury them, despite a clearly dodgy Brazilian defence.

I watched this one with the sound off and music playing as I've realised, after so many games of football in such a short space of time, that it is the commentary that truly grates.

Watching Croatia in that red and white strip I was reminded of Davor Suker - remember him? He was a particularly fine striker because not only did he score goals for Arsenal, he also looked a bit like George Orwell.

Minus the 'tache.

2006-06-14T02:48:00.000-07:00

I saw some pickle brained skin, stripped to the waist (possibly naked) driving a white van through town yesterday with a total of 13 fucking flags dangling or blowing from his revolting transport. I think he saw the putting-on of piles of England flags as some sort of status symbol, either way he clearly had a micro penis, it doesn’t take a psychologist to figure that out. I bet it stinks as well and the helmet is bloody and bedecked in white rennet, actually resembling the colours of his fucking team

There is no doubt that I should have been given divine permission, from God himself, to walk up to him at the traffic lights and cap him in the skull. Clearly, this absurd pointless creature was displaying all that is wrong with society and should be eliminated? Surely you can see that?

I’ve been informed by a totally reprehensible fuck face (in a suit, with a heart popping England tie)) from my office that IN-GLAND are playing tomorrow, the stupid goofy cunt could barely conceal his idiotic delight at the prospect of getting into the pub with his equally pin-headed overbite fwends and watching IN-GLAND doing a game of football, which we will inevitably lose, causing his pebble smooth brain to get all cross and flustered, and as sure as day follows night, will result in pointless violence, directed, ironically, at the very same types that support IN-GLAND. Because that is the sort of wretched creatures we are discussing here, people like you.

Brazil

2006-06-14T00:38:00.000-07:00

I went out to soho last night with a girl and there was a footballery match on. I think Brazil won the match, as most of the people in yellow were quite jolly. This chap didn't seem awfully pleased with the result, maybe Brazil didn't score enough?

Also a pub I was in had an interesting feature in the urinals. Football really has got into every aspect of our lives at the moment.

Saying that it was quite good fun to use the pee-goals. I drank as much cider as possible so I got to have a few goes. I hope they have a something like this for the Olympics too, and the Grand National.

Kildare Pub

2006-06-13T06:55:00.000-07:00

Because of a serious lack of foresight, I have ended up in Ontario on a research trip throughout the groups stages of the world cup. Not content with the boozy smog emanating from my recently woken body, my days have been spent searching for a bit of atmosphere. Yesterday I found the Kildare in Windsor - which is a city just ten minutes away from Detroit and therefore full of American children taking advantage of the more lenient Canadian alcohol restrictions. Needless to say the city centre is a whooping, pukey mess - which is why I ended up in an Irish theme-bar in the suburbs. I am quickly befriended by a 50-something bloke also called Dan. This is significant to him, as he begins gripping my arm affectionately and saying "Dan, Dan, Dan...". He is very pissed and keeps screening phonecalls from his angry girlfriend.

Italy vs. Ghana has just kicked off and there are 8 or so punters interested in the game, I decide to start a conversation, but before I can comment on the rapid rise of Luca Toni, Dan slurs something.
"Spain".
"Spain?" I say.
"They'll win it this year...Ronaldo...plays for Manchester...you're an Australian?"
"English," I say, Canadians always think I am Australian, "Ronaldo is from Portugal."
"Spain will win it. Listen Dan, have you ever thought about being a freemason?"
Dan grips my arm again and tells me about how joining the freemasons was the best thing he ever did. I learn that it is a brotherhood and once you're in you have someone looking out for you wherever you go. I try to watch the game over his shoulder but it's no use, he needs attention. He tells me many many details, but whenever I ask a question, he looks over his shoulder and dribbles "shhhhh" at me. Finally, I ask the most open question I can:
"What's the single most important thing to a freemason?"
Dan sips his pint, groggily turns his head to eye up a blonde girl who pulls her skirt down over her legs in response, and grins toothily.
"Morals", he says.
The half-time whistle goes.

FACTS

2006-06-13T01:08:00.000-07:00

I found out yesterday that when England played Paraguay the other day, it was 40 degrees (FORTY DEGREES!) on the pitch and the players lost an average of 6 pounds each (in weight, not money obviously. Six pounds would be a mere bagatelle to a premiership footballer, not like me where it is all I have left till payday).

That is all.

World Wide Teletext

2006-06-13T00:45:00.000-07:00

Thank God for internet access at work. Keeping up with Japan v Australia and Czech Republic v USa was reliant on this new fangled technology for me. Watching Japan beating Australia for all of 84 minutes was thrilling, even if I had to keep pressing F5 every two minutes, straining my imagination as I tried to picture a Japanese man named Keisuke Tsuboi being replaced by another man called Teruyuki Moniwa, neither of whom I'm sure I can picture. Then, around the 85 mintue mark, to read that the horrible (but immensely talented) Toffee, Tim Cahill had pulled back two goals was a bit of a heartbreaker, even if it was all only an image in my minds eye. Really wanted the Japanese to win that, if only for their sublime haircuts.

Later on I watched Italy play Ghana and up to Pirlo's goal, I was convinced Ghana were going to do it. Essien, not my favourite of players being a Chelsea mega-signing, was amazing.

Lets' face it: England, Italy and Portugal have all been shamed a little by the narrow margin's by which they won their first games.

At half time Frank Lampard was wheeled on for a satellite interview with Lineker (back in the studio) which was a relief, because it meant we didn't have to withstand Garth Crook's freaky and foreboding questioning. Lampard looked like a little boy lost - possibly because he'd been with his new daughter for the day and she'd just flown home with Mum. What's the point of making homesick players even worse by allowing them half a day with their newborn? Seems to only be worsening the problem. They called it a Family day, so presumably while the rest were seeing their sons and daughters, Walcott played a game of Monopoly with his Mum.

Speaking of problem's, Lampard stated that he and Gerrard don't decide before the match who is going to be holding midfielder and who's going to attack. This strikes me as rather odd. Surely, as they're both attacking by nature, Sven should, at some point, have said before every match: 'Stevie, you attack and Lamps you hold the line (or vice versa)? Perhaps (and I know this kind of tactic requires half a moment's thought and is perhaps alien to Sven) they could even exchange roles at half time? Just blindly going in and not being sure of your role would seem to me to be professional suicide. But like everyone in the England set up keeps saying - a win's a win. It sure is chaps, but a win by an own goal is only a win by an own goal, and Paraguay is only Paraguay. Have a chat before kick off and decide who's playing where please.

2006-06-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

Spend much of day reading World Cup blogs. Dozens of writers seems to have utterly contrasting viewpoints on games. At a loss to how this is possible. Begin to worry that unless I discover objective truth at the heart of football, I may never fully understand.

Kept back late at work for 'Health and Safety training'. In reality a man literally dripping with sweat failing to make a video play. Switches tv off. Switches it on again. This does not make the video play. Room is stifling. Am annoyed.

Get home in time for the last 20 mintues of Czech Republic vs USA. Observe that USA coach resembles a distant relative of Chevy Chase and is trying too hard to look like he doesn't care. His friend has moustache and is showing a player named Josh Woolf something on a luminous clipboard. First instance of clipboard spotted in tournament to this point. This pleases me. Eat 2 ginger nuts and 2 fig rolls. Girlfriend arranges these on small plate in attractive manner. Am further pleased by this.

Cook pasta. Watch Italy play Ghana. Will Ghana to win. Have no idea why. Ghana impress then commit atrocious fouls. Feel cheated. Lose interest. Drink tea. Water plants. It's still light at 11pm.

2006-06-12T01:59:00.000-07:00

Even my fucking dad started talking to me about the football, even when I said, 'dad, I don't give a fucking shit, really, stop', he insisted on giving me a full blow by blow account of why there were no strikers in the second half after Ian Lampard and Victoria Beckham were caught goal hanging and they were told to take an early shower, or something. We were trying to work on my van at the time, changing the bastard break discs in the burning son, it’s wonder I didn’t push dad’s torque wrench down his face. It’s a bad enough job as it is without discovering your turncoat dad (he never used to like football before all this shit) has set himself up as the new Mottie, after all this brain-dead conjecture and analysis he actually admitted that the match was a bore (as did every other cunt that subscribes to this idiotic practice) but this didn’t stop him from twittering on about for half a fucking hour.

I’ve been informed that the next match is Thursday, great. Doubtless the hard downtrodden workers of England will prove their mettle by not doing a fucking thing all day fucking long, apart from talking about The Match (what is that about really? Why talk about something that hasn’t happened yet but will become apparent in the course of time. It’s like me pondering my next cigarette, I know how it will taste and at the end I will have finished it) before fucking off down to the pub to gawp at a telly like Jack Nicholson at the end of One flew Over the Cuckoos nest. You stupid silly cunts.

2006-06-12T01:12:00.000-07:00

Went into Bratfud town to watch the England game in the main square, on a giant telly someone had kindly stuck on the wall, but was driven inside by the combination of searing tropical heat and them things that go "er er er-er-er er-er-er-er ER ERRRR". This is a picture of the mess that they all left behind them though. Tut tut.

That Mexican referee looked like an extra from a stage performance of Evita, and not in a racist way just cos he's Mexican.

2006-06-11T15:25:00.000-07:00

At this moment in time, I am much less interested in how England fare than Angola, who for some reason have captured my imagination. And yes, my heart. Does this qualify for immediate de-patriation? Is there even such a thing? If I had to be exiled I would choose Wales. I don't care. At the moment, I think England are boring at football. On a more positive note, I can semi hold my own in a discussion, only really losing grip when it comes to the relative merits of each player and which club team they play for. It's not bad progress for a couple of days.

Hazy head

2006-06-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

As I type this a Portugal are playing an Angola. I think the moment of saturation is upon me, all I can see is green-ness and legs.

Managed to persuade work to show Costa Rica vs Germany as we drank our weekly gratis beers which was good fun but meant I was too in the swing of beering to really contemplate watching Poland vs Ecuador.

My hangover on Saturday morning was so bad that I consumed two ibuprofen and then realising how hot it was and being in a state of badheadedness I double dropped some piriteze during a vague panic attack over potential hay fever troubles. And to calm myself I had a smoke, followed by a cheese sandwich. I only realised when I got to the pub just how silly it was to have self-medicated before drinking. By half time I was watching the football through a fog and barely able to speak.

Back to my mate's shed after that for a spot of pizza and more refreshments whilst watching the remaining two matches and Rio's World Cup Cheeky Jokes or whatever it was called - it was pretty horrific, apart from the Gary Neville stitch up which made me chortle. 'I'm non-negotiable' indeed.

So my Sunday was spent in solitude watching football through a head which isn't quite where it should be.
Perhaps I should pace myself if there's still a month to go.

Grapevine

2006-06-11T08:52:00.000-07:00

So I hear England won yesterday. I didn't watch the match as I was busy losing half my body weight in sweat whilsts at work, but the man in the off-licence felt obliged to tell me the outcome anyway. I had suspected the result had been positive by the chanting, screaming and yelling that passed below my work window all afternoon, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

So, well done England. Jolly good result.

Then I read the front page of the Observer today... it was a bloody own goal! All of a sudden I feel embarrassed, I feel embarrassed for those people who sang, whooped and hollered past my window all afternoon. Were they really merrily drunk and proudly celebrating the fact that their team won, not as a result of their own skill, but as a result of the other team fucking up? Surely they should be aware of the fact that had it not been for the other team fucking up (Paraguay, was it? Portugal? Definately a 'P' country) they wouldn't have won at all...

Admittedly a gang of lads chanting "we won by default so we better take a hard look at our attacking formations lest we not be so lucky next time" doesn't really ring true but, I mean, come on...

2006-06-10T14:30:00.000-07:00

Wake early. Spend much of morning sitting in hairdresser's reading The Mirror cover to cover. Become aware that all tabloids appear to carry same eye searingly emotive picture as front cover - red England shirt being roughly grasped around the badge. About two thirds of newspaper dedicated to the game. Consider this excessive. Observe that many of the other men are having head's shaved. All are paying £5 for this. Get hair cut. Realise have inadvertantly got hair cut like I did when I was 9. Quite like it. Return home. Cars with St George cross flags appear to drive erratically.

Watch England play Paraguay. Get bored in second half. Observe that Crouch is basically a mammoth insect in a shirt. Consider this a good thing, especially since he continually appears to climb over people, much like an insect would do, given the chance and proportions. Commentator remarks that 'Robinson had the place of mind to make himself big' in reference to a challenge. Mind wanders as to whether the goalkeeper does in fact have the magical ability to change his size at will. Realise game is finished. Skulk off.

Cam's brother comes around for a bit. Idylly watch Sweden play Trinidad. Say things like' Oh, beautiful,' and 'that Mexican ref, eh?' Eat 3 dark chocolate digestives, 5 malted milks and a ginger nut. All biscuits consumed during Dr Who. Consider that series is finally getting into it's stride after a few disappointing episodes. Watch first half of Argentina vs Ivory Coast. Realise what teams who win trophys play like. Observe lack of 'cynical football' in contest as a whole so far. Conflict of interest means second half is sacrificed in favour of BBC2 documentary on rave culture. Buy portable LW radio off eBay. Write this.

The faces of football

2006-06-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

I watched England play some other country in blue outside with lots of people. England won. I took some photos of strangers during the match.
Here is a photo of a lady just after England scored.

She kissed me after this photo was taken because she was so happy.

And here is a picture of a man when the goalie for the other team cried and then hobbled off the pitch.

I think he likes to watch other men cry.

a shared moment

2006-06-09T07:35:00.000-07:00

Sat in my bedroom as I am, I have the window wide open and the fan whirring so as to provide some form of relief from this sweatbox that my room has become. I live on a busy road, what with cars, shops, pedestrians and a nearby school and I often find the sounds of the street drift very easily throughout my flat.

Just now as I was tip-tapping on my keyboard there was the sound of bastard loud car engine revving from the street. As I scrambled over my bed to peer out the window at this monstrosity the owners of said car turned up the stereo to deafening volume as they pumped out the chorus of Three Lions.

It was an open top Escort convertable, snow white with two balding mid-30's, Slazenger Polo Shirt wearing, Police sunglassed, designer stubbled pseudo-paedophiles on the prowl for schoolgirls to impress. They revved their engine once more and, with the sound of squealing rubber, roared up the main road.

As the sun beamed down on their glistening scalps, and in turn on my head as I looked over them, I became aware of the sound of primary school children laughing and giggling as they left the gates, of the sound of dogs gently yapping and, somewhere in the squinted distance, the sound of church bells.

'This is England' I thought.

Cynical football

2006-06-09T04:37:00.000-07:00

Further to my earlier post, apparently you play cynically by:

"diving, trying to influence the ref, defending a lead and not trying to score, walking off the pitch very slowly when being subbed... "

i.e. by CHEATING.

This disgusts me, and I shall henceforth be supporting Brazil, who do none of these things (according to the man in the pub).

2006-06-09T02:33:00.000-07:00

Hey! You football cunts

You're gearing yourselves up to ruin my fucking life for a month. I can't go to the pub without a load of aggressive shaven headed male nazi's screaming at a dangling tv, I can't have a conversation in work or outside without some sappy cunt going on about football, I can't turn on the tv, radio, open a newspaper with being perpetually reminded about Rooney's foot, Beckham's balls or how some drippy drink of water dun a funni dance after he dun a gowl.

Man in pub

2006-06-09T01:22:00.000-07:00

Only one day to go until England beat Paraguay 2-0, I have been reliably informed by a man in a pub. He also said that he will support Brazil if England get knocked out, which seems a bit of a boringly populist choice. His reason was that other countries play "cynically" but Brazil play "with their souls". I questioned him on how you play cynical football, but he was decidely vague.

Flagged

2006-06-09T00:38:00.000-07:00

I can't really understand the moaning from non-football types about the flags that are flying throughout the streets of merry old Albion. Surely it's great that a nation can fly their colours in the name of something other than war? People should remember that, rather than announcing our separation from the rest of the World, the only real intention of supporters is to show their pride in being part of a worldwide tournament. Where's the harm in that?

For those who make the comment that it's generally only white van man and council estate types who raise the flags - erase your prejudices.

For those who claim the flag is a reminder of Empirical atrocities - start talking with your brain and not your white middle class insecurities. Stroll around your town and you'll see that the distinctions between people who fly the flag and those who don't comes down only to one thing: those who like football and those who don't. It seems to me non-football types or (NFTs as they shall henceforth be known) just feel a little bit excluded, and without reason. We're not at school any more - you're not going to humiliatingly get picked last when the squads are chosen (as I was - week in week out), just get some friends around, get some drinks in and have a nice time watching ace entertainment. You'll enjoy it more than book club, I guarantee.

Mais Non!

2006-06-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I meant ‘Man On.’* Just practising. I’m not very good at shouting. It comes out all weedy and desperate, as though surprised by a snake. I’m certain this is one of the things which cursed my football abilities all those years ago.

But this is one of the things which might be a bit weird in the coming weeks, as I am sure to be watching the majority, if not all matches in a semi-self imposed solitude. This will no doubt result in a sedate form of heckling, with common phrases being: ‘Come on.’ ‘Yes, go forth and score’ and ‘Oh Crikey. You have conceded a goal.’

Since I won’t be in the pub and ingesting lager with soggy elbows, I will keep a running update of the finest non-alcoholic drinks to accompany a match, perhaps even lapsing into themes depending on the competing nations. I will also keep a biscuit log. If Netto is good for a lot of things (and it is, it really is) then it’s brilliant for biscuits, so this really is an ideal chance to get some hard research done. If I get a chance, I might even list all the biscuits in Netto, divide them into groups of four, assign a biscuit to a nation and enjoy the tournament in a more tangible way. As long as fig rolls win.

I won’t get the chance to do this. I won’t give myself the chance. I have limits.

* In truth, I haven’t heard anyone shout this since about 1994, when I was at school. I’m not certain it has any currency beyond the shoddy pitches of Sleaford. If this is the case, it roughly translates to: ‘Watch out team-mate, there is a player from the opposing side approaching and I’m certain that at present you are unaware of his/her looming inevitability. Arm yourself immediately, for I am sure his/her intentions are to remove your temporary stewardship of the football, and in turn use it to their advantage in the general scheme of this match.’

If this phrase is, in fact, common parlance to footballers and their fans, then you probably found that last bit uniquely patronising.

Urgent Governmental Warning

2006-06-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

Wayne's World

2006-06-08T05:18:00.000-07:00

So Wayne's going to be ok! Huzzah!
(Still only got two feet though)...
I was quite optimistic about our chances even without him, but thank the Lord he's able to go.
I honestly can't see that much stands in our way now, apart from Brazil. And Argentina. And Portugal and Germany and a few others. Time will tell.
It all kicks off tomorrow and my enthusiasm has given way to dread and foreboding. It's like this every four years.

As for the cynics who feel this international, non-political celebration of LIFE is infringing on their own bitter and horrific little worlds, I have little to say beyond 'lump it'. It's only a couple of months, so grin and bear it.

I was looking for somewhere to take a shit

2006-06-07T01:24:00.000-07:00

And I found this little grief hole.

According to one of the moronic redtops today is Waynesday. No, it's not.

I would also like to mention the factory worker who got a whip round from his whole company to afford a brain scan, which identified a tumour and thus saved his life, in contrast to this huge headed pin faced cunt who shits money out of his boots. The entire fucking news today is focussing on this wankers fucking foot, you’ve all got mums, any of them got sick? Did they receive 24-hour care from the best medics in the world when their tits turned black? It’s s fucking sick joke, all the country ‘united’ by England then divided by the obscene wealth and behaviour of the very team you support.

Just look at his lumpy bloke faced girlfriend bedecked in Bulgari and Cartier, in fact, lets look at all the England squad, keeping alive the spirit of working England in their private jets and Mercedes, doesn’t it make your heart swell with fucking pride.

Fuck the world cup, fuck the England team and fuck all of you lot for paying them.

Rooney is a three hundred percenter?

2006-06-07T01:00:00.000-07:00

Delightful news as I woke up - Rooney is apparently 300% sure he will play a part in the World Cup. A few things to consider here:

i.) Rooney is not a qualified physiotherapist.
ii.) Nor is he a bone specialist.
iii.) Nor is he Alex Ferguson, who, let's face it, will say whether or not he's playing (whether or not he's fit to).

All the same, it's better news than a smashed shin on top of a new knackered metatarsal so I'll take it and pray that he at least joins the team for England / Sweden.

One thing I don't understand, and this has been going on for ages now, is how managers, players and pundits alike misuse their percentages. How has Rooney arrived at a 300% certainty? Considering he wouldn't have time to take 'A' level maths when he was the right age as he was playing footie by day and rutting with pensioners at night, I'm at a loss as to how he came up with this figure. We all agree, right, that 100% means entirely sure. A certainty. You'd only increase that percentage if, for example, I owed you a quid and I gave you four quid instead. I'd have increased the amount by 300%. So if Rooney increases his healing at this rate he'll end up with five feet, which I'm sure contravenes the FIFA regulations in some ways.

Perhaps last season when Steve Maclaren mentioned that Mark Viduka had improved by 110% he meant by bodyweight. Who knows when football types speak in such cryptic mathematical lingo?

Anyway - 2 days and 7 hours to go. Time to get my Panini sticker book completed.

Got, got, need to fill, got.

Dormant Passion

2006-06-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

I've been to several football matches, but none in the last two decades. I once went to watch Liverpool vs Nottingham Forest with my best friend and our fathers. I'll have a guess at the year being 1988. For some reason we were stood at the Forest end, despite our Liverpool scarves (note: everyone in Sleaford supported either Liverpool or Man Utd.). Because we were little boys, we had brought stools with us to stand on in the terraces to see the action. All I remember of the afternoon is being pushed over relentlessly by the roaring, demented crowd. I recall crying as a result. Liverpool lost 2-1. Observing a Forest striker celebrating his goal, I understood for the first time the concept of arrogance.

I think this experience coloured my interest in football for life, that and the shift from kickabout to competition the actual playing of the game took on moving to secondary school. Though, in truth I suspect the allure of Eddie the Head and fantasy gaming may have exerted an even stronger force.

Each international football competition for the last 15 years I have attempted to rekindle a dormant passion in the game to no lasting effect. But this time things will be different. By July I will have an in depth working knowledge of every facet of the sport. This is my pledge. That, and to try and be less lengthy and pompous in posting on this blog.

Now. Which way are we shooting again?

3 days to go...

2006-06-06T07:57:00.000-07:00

Ooooooh blimey. Only three days until the greatest competition in the world. I've put the wallcharts up at work, in the kitchen at home and also in the front room, much to the consternation of the missus.

I've still got to get down to Ladbrokes to put a few bets on, including England to win and Ivory Coast to win their group. I fancy them to do quite well.

So all I can do now is wait. On Friday I'll be keeping up with the Germany - Costa Rica score at work and then going straight to the pub for the Poland - Ecuador match. Saturday will involve a jaunt to the park with the lady for a picnic breakfast and then, by 1pm I'll be in the Compasses with the chaps, ready for the most important match in four long years. Come on England.

My first football match

2006-06-06T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have seen one football match in real life. It was Bradford City versus Manchester United in 2001. Bradford, the home team, lost 3-0.

I hope England do lots better than Bradford. They should do, cos there are more people to choose from for the team in England than there are in Bradford.