Friday, 25 June 2010

World Cup Madness

Despite hailing from the land of Engs the team England does not have my support. This isn't just because football is to me what compassion is to the Conservatives or due to the fact I am as patriotic as a flag burning American named Osama. No the disdain stems from the fact football is the game of men...if those men happen to live in Nazi Germany.

Now wait just an udder fondling minute every 'diamond geezer' across the country will now be shouting in-between pouring their ninth pint of Fosters down their oesophagus; comparing football to Hitler is ludicrous they will cry - after all with a moustache like that watching sweaty young men run around chasing each other would be slightly too weird, even for him. What the FIFA World Cup does do however is promote casual racism...think about that logically for a moment; demonising your opponents so that non-English nations are seen as vile, faceless enemies - this is how most right wing parties begin.

The Knights Templar attitude that our national side has the divine right to win simply because we are English is reminiscent of The British Empire and I hardly think we need reminding of THAT Michael Caine film. That belief evokes images of drunken holidaymakers angrily demanding staff at a restaurant speak English not French whilst in Paris. Whether a country deserves to win the ultimate prize is not based on geography or what skin colour the indigenous population have but rather on merit and skill; which judging by how the England side have played in every World Cup after 1966 they would probably be better sat on the coach playing tiddlywinks.

Speaking of 1966 I would like to talk directly to my fellow English here - "Shut the fuck up about nineteen sixty fucking six". I appreciate how that is our sole moment of glory in a past otherwise as checkered as a douche-bag flannel shirt, but holding onto that moment is like how teenagers put their role as a paper deliver on their CV when applying for a job because I guess masturbation and video games aren't great employment qualities. To further agitate the point in the manner of screaming at King Leonidas are cretins whom believe that having a kit which mirrors the 1966 team's will aid the effort. If you are one of these people then I would like you to pick up the nearest and sharpest object and proceed to perform an autopsy on yourself.

None of this matters however, as on Sunday the team will lose to Germany who may not be on top form but are still capable of playing football better than a drunken giraffe unlike England who have banked all their dreams on Liverpool's version of Shrek. And thanks to the incessant howling of the vuvuzelas I am off to invest in shares in hearing aid manufactures.