The wonderings, ponderings and other 'ings' of me. Lifestyle, review, news and opinion posts. Chic with a hint of sarcasm... hopefully!

Sunday, 13 June 2010

How you do solve a problem like the world cup?

Written June 2010

Really! Are we here again? Has it seriously been four years since we forgot about real issues like oil spills, third world debt and the sheer speed in which chavs are reproducing? It is really time to got ourselves all worked up over whether 11 men can come even vaguely close to ‘earning’ their £140,000 per week wage, and actually get the damn ball at the back of the net?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Typical woman, hates football, doesn’t get the off side rule thinks it’s ‘just a game’. But actually I used to get just as involved with shouting at the TV as anyone.  I've thought several times 'well that Rooney may be more closely related to monkeys than the rest of us but he sure can kick a ball' and got more jittery at the thought of penalties than a crack addict in the morning. Many times have I been seen to be swigging a bottle of Budweiser whilst pacing the lounge desperately hoping that if I just want it hard enough Steven Gerard won’t screw it up and we will at least get through to the semi’s.

But this time its different. With all the ridiculous salaries, constant spousal cheating and Edward Terry feeling the pinch of the recession so much that he feels the need to start dealing coke to make ends meet, I think I’m pretty much done with the world cup.

All the acting when tackled gets me going as well. You'd expect the shin bone to be poking through the skin for the amount of 'pain' that is showing across certain footballer's faces. And you know with the same attack, a 9 year old girl would have got up, dusted herself off and continued on her way. Why do we even consider it ‘the beautiful game’, it’s certainly not the majority of the players, (sorry Clancy, but you know your man looks a bit like a lanky horse-faced troll).

In my opinion, other than the fact that it means for those 90 minutes the roads, shops and supermarkets are all eerily quiet, the best thing to come out of the world cup is that the genius who goes by the name of Dizzie Rascal put pen to paper and recorded his version of a football song Shout for England. Even if it is backed by that flipping Cowell, another man who sees himself as a demi-god and gets paid more money than... well everyone I think.

Come on England we need to sort it out,
Put the champs down,
Pull your finger out,
Leave the wags alone,
Set aside your ego,
We're tired of bragging about 40 odd years ago,

My thoughts exactly Diz, never were truer words said.

I say Dizzie for the next England coach. Heck if it wasn’t already too late I would champion a movement backing Dizzie for Prime Minister.

Now, before you pick up your red and white scythes, start welding your pitchforks and prepare yourself for a lynching, try to understand. Football, for me, is like a badly behaved boyfriend, one who has cheated on me countless times and proven again and again he is only going to let me down. But every time he comes back and gives me that cheeky grin, I can feel my heart flutter and I wonder, maybe this time.

And therefore, we all know I am extremely likely to do a full 180 and get all excited about the hoopla should we reach quarter finals. If I think about it hard enough I can feel the prickles up and down my arms and the swelling of pride already.

Now if South Africa could just rid themselves of those stadium based giant mosquitos!
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