Monday, June 19, 2006

Cup My Balls

Twat spotting.


I'm bloody sick of all this World Cup rubbish. Why exactly am I supposed to care?

Stop saying I have to. It's only a game for Christ's sake, and not even a very exciting, glamorous or particularly challenging one at that. And making the horrid special needs kids of the past into national heroes just doesn't sit pretty with me. Especially that Wayne Rooney. Someone who looks and acts like that should not be wheeled out for every tv show and newspaper. He should be locked in a dark room and fed fish heads through a grate in the door.

I can't stand how you can't go anywhere without being confronted by St George's flags. They're not even that nice to look at - all pasty colours and BNP connotations. The worst are the ones on the cars. They look even cacker due to the cheap materials and the fact that the ends are nearly always frayed. I saw a report on the news last week that they've even partly closed down a local horse riding school for the disabled, since the horses travelling on the roadsides were being scared shitless by all the vigorous flapping as the cars drove past and were bucking out of fear. I'm not sure what type of harm being thrown off a horse can do to the already wheelchair bound, but the moral: flags are bad.

Even more irksome are the fans. If I have to hear from one more person how this is "our year" to go all the way, because "we've got the strongest team ever" and all "the signs" are the same as in 1966 - like "Geoff Hurst's nan was 68 when we won... and this year Beckham's nan is 68" - then I'll have a nervous breakdown. Or at least get bit more wound up. The worst are the people who don't even like football, but suddenly become the game's biggest fan for the national tournaments and buy lots of merchandise and pretend they know what the fuck they're on about using all the jargon.

I even missed an eppy of Neighbours last week because of it. "Oooh I won't tape it, I'll be back for the repeat" - only to find some obscure match between two made up places taking the 5:35 edition's rightful place. This is unforgiveable. Nothing comes between me and Ramsay street.

I just hope we get knocked out soon, so that everyone can shut up about it. God forbid if we actually win. They're still going on about 40 years ago.

At least one good, no - brilliant - thing has come out of all this sorry business:



Wow. Best friends forever.


x


P.S. And don't get me started on fucking Wimbledon. Or this week's thing with the Queen and all the horses.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Ha ha ha.

I heard that Tweedy & Posh make an effort of not eating/shopping/sitting with any of the other footie wives. Wow indeedy.

You hate my beginning of summer thing dammit! I can understand why the world cup'd annoy you, but Wimby? I'm going to the men's final don't cha know? I wanted to go to the first week ones but I have flippin' exams. The men's final was my looking forward to thing.
Be as excited as me dammit.

Gareth said...

Hahaha @ "I heard that Tweedy & Posh make an effort of not eating".

Wimbledon is just dull dull dull. Everything from the monotony of the game to the British players make my yawns yawn. But it's still really exciting that you're at the fucking final. That's quite big, isn't it? It's just a major shame about having to watch Tennis. Unless Roddick is playing 'coz ee is well fitt.

I don't agree with putting cream or anything else on Strawberries, but I'm just being a moaney shite now.

x

Anonymous said...

Posh and Tweedy. I want to be in there gang. I hope Posh adviced her not to bother with any of that solo career nonsense.

This picture is making me feel happy in my warm place.

x

Gareth said...

Shhhh! I want a Tweedy solo career, but after The Aloud have died of natural causes. One hit single, followed by two flops and a barely released album would do me fine.

Anonymous said...

I love this picture: Click.