Here we go, here we go, here we go! (Repeat as necessary).
The World Cup has only gone and ruddy kicked off hasn’t it! Oh boy, it is really rather swell.
On Thursday morning I ran a blistering 5k. Three Lions roared through the headphones. I had more goosebumps than RL Stine! In fact, I’ve started listening to multiple football songs. I hope the other people in my block don’t think I’ve become too nationalistic as they hear me repeatedly shout ‘England!’ as I continue to sing Vindaloo over and over in my small head.
Re-e-wind to Thursday and I thoroughly enjoyed Russia’s rout of Saudi Arabia. I particularly enjoyed it when Clive Tydesley decided Russia had wrapped up all three points after about 80 minutes and four goals, when to a superfootballexpertpundit like me, it was bleedingly obvious from minute twelve.
Sweeping into Friday, I was Fernando Gagging for another game. I missed a couple of scintillating 0-1s as I was moulding young minds, as per usual. So I didn’t catch a game until 7pm. But, phwoar, wasn’t she a good’un?
That Ronaldo appears to be quite the player. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him light up the world stage time and again in future. And by golly wouldn’t he look splendid in amber and chocolate? Interestingly, I watched the first half on a MacBook in a reputable local beer garden. Shuffled inside for the second half on a moderately-sized flatscreen TV. #facts Others went for burgers at the interval; I don’t think there’s a pattie in the world that could have rivalled this Iberian romp!
Woke up at the weekend, feeling a shade groggy, as if I’d been clipped on the noggin by a Nacho piledriver. As it was, I only had Carling to blame, not a Spanish full back named after a great, but often poorly executed bar snack. Not to worry! Football was on its way again!
Me and my homeboys, sorry, my homeboys and I, rolled down to the cricket club to watch game 1 on this Football Marathon. France vs Australia, or Kronenbourg vs Fosters, as some pundits billed it. I ate pains au chocolat (breads of chocolate) during the game, which perhaps influenced the outcome in the French favour. VAR got a real good outing. Debate raged -like a Scottish arts fire- about its use. People had lots of opinions for sure. #mysteryopinions
After this game of Socceroos against Soccerchoux, I had to do some other things. Like cricket. In fact, the things were so similar to cricket, I would, on second thoughts, just call it cricket. I cricketed.
Missed some of the footer because of all that cricket of course. After a sudbursting shower though, it was time for Croatia vs Nigeria. I bet on corners for the first time in my life. Oh the thrill! I had gone wild and staked a not inconsiderable £4.71. I cheered each deflected cross and shot like a backbench Tory MP at an upskirting exhibition, funded by money recouped from the blasted EU.
And there were more corners than at the Müller factory, but sadly I’d twinned it with a Nigerian goal, and they were absolutely hopeless in kicking it towards that netted area of the pitch. I felt a bit sad that I lost my money, perhaps I need to seek some expert advice. Anyone have any suggestions? On the plus side, Channel 5 aired a cracking documentary on astounding TV talent show moments. Check that out via their catch up facilities.
To Sunday, and there was yet more football. It’s more like a World Jug than a mere Cup! Hahahaha. Lol. If you had to compare other tournaments to a variety of receptacles, what would you choose? The Carabao Demitasse anyone?! Lol again.
The Germans didn’t do too well. Big pressure on their next game and the fate of my big night out on Düsseldorf hinges on the result. I hope Joachim Löw uses this to motivate his troops. And victory also eluded my pre-tournament tips Brazil. The Daddies of World Cup football had clearly had one too many Old Speckled Hen on Father’s Day as they weren’t as tasty as they had looked on many FIFA games prior to the Jug.
Speaking of which, that Jug begins its journey home tomorrow. Come on ENG-ER-LAND! 7pm tomorrow. Wonder how they’ll reschedule The One Show...
My name is Humper and I have some interest in football. I bleed amber and chocolate in my lifelong support of Sutton United, over land and sea, though mostly land I admit. And by land I mean specifically Gander Green Lane. And by lifelong, I don’t mean my life. I mean the life of anyone born around December 2016. Still, how Craig Dundas has not made any of the World Cup squads is entirely beyond me.
So, as the 2018 tournament looms larger than Gareth Southgate’s waistcoat collection, I decided/was coerced into collating a few thoughts re: the football. I doubt they’ll assist your betting; I doubt you’ll be glad you’ve read them, but I hope they stay with you for reasons that perhaps even you won’t understand. Come and join me as I explain...
When I think of the World Cup, or la Coupe de Monde as they say on the continent, I think of Michael Owen gliding past panicked Argentinians. I think of Brazilians crying in the face of a 7-1 German blitzkrieg. I think of special aluminium bottles of Budweiser positioned prominently in supermarkets, mmm tastytasty.
My most tangible Russia 2018 buzz stemmed from the recent FIFA 18 World Cup update. It has served as delightful foreplay before the all-consuming orgasm of the tournament itself. And if my performance as Panama are anything to go by, England in for a life a death struggle against the nation more renowned for its appearance in one of the great palindromes than for its football prowess.
I’m also going to Germany in a few weeks and it just so happens it coincides with one of their games, which is nice. A few pilseners and some classic German bantz is will no doubt form the perfect storm of World Cup memories. In fact I’ve just realised I’m going to Germany twice during the tournament so the chances of me doing a Klinsmann along the bar has just doubled #odds #betting. Double-wunderbar!
Finally, there’s the old sweepstake malarkey. I’m running one with my class, in the name of charity of course. The sporty kids are brimming with excitement; the nerdier ones look more lost than Ashley young at left-back. HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA #footballsatire Come Monday, Chess club announcements, house point tallies and the school nurse appointment sheet on the noticeboard in my classroom will be lost beneath the vast expanse of a gleaming wobbly wallchart. Competition to be the student elected to fill it in will be fierce as any Russian hooliganism.
So there they are, my musings. Who knows what will be in store next time, if indeed there is a next time.
Keep it real,
Name: Will Humphries