welcome to my world cup

Or the storm in a world cuppa.  Actually just a light breath to cool it a little.  What’s the fuss – well there isn’t any really, is there?

England sets out its stall convincingly – English values and all that.

Our footballers are too old and in the wrong place apparently.  Not helped of course by most of our native teams being exclusively staffed by sharper dressed and quicker footed Johnny Foreigner so consequently, they’re all playing against us.  So having nicely set ourselves up for the usual routing with a good burst of defeated attitude, we’re already into the first round of tears and head hanging.

I loved Spain’s response to their defeat.  Roughly translated ‘couldn’t be arsed’. 

Now, if I was being paid an infinitesimal percentage of their daily wage for a three month PR programme to deliver some results, it damned well would, or I would be happy to be on the receiving end of a well deserved kicking.

Perhaps we could spin the free kick rule.  If you can’t be arsed, are too old, in the wrong place or haven’t got a scoobie, get in the line and adopt the position….


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