I’d Love It If We Beat Them, Just Love It

First of all, a confession. Bless me Father but I was at the races last night and missed the mighty Brazil’s convincing 1-0 win over the Croutons. Always loved those dried fried bread pieces in cup-a-soup and I’m delighted they have finally secured the international recognition their taste deserves. Anyone ever had them in a Caesar’s sald? MMmmm…..tasty.

Back to the game I didn’t watch and the mighty boys did the bizz as expected. Was there a samba beat? a Brazilian brilliance? a performance to drive you nuts? Who knows, who cares? All anyone is talking about is the wonder goal by the ironically named Caca, he sure isn’t that caca, if you follow my Partridgesque drift.  The other talking point is the fatness of the fallen hero. Ronaldo has been at the old piesy-wiseys hasn’t he? Good Lord he’s like the side of a bright yellow house. All podge and no panache by all accounts. His manager insists he isn’t past it. Bollocks! He’s not just fat and slow, he just doesn’t care, an international disgrace. Good job the World Cup is in Europe, if it was back in Japan the blighters would have shot him and sold him off as blubber. My lad, Tom, still insists he’s good enough though. However he is talking through his pocket as he’s backed the fat fella to be the top scorer. I’ve done Shev, a juicy 30/1 in a very bad group. Come on the Ukraine.

Nina managed only fifth on a truly woeful nag. She did smile at me though as I hollered “Go on Nina my love” as she cantered down to the start. I’d had a few.

Phew, what a scorcher! In an unbelievably ironic twist I find myself writing about England underneath a samba beat headline. Maybe it will be a bit parky for Brazil’s first game and we can giggle away at such headlines as Let it Snow or It’s raining men.

Anyway, back to the action. Bloody hot out there I thought, not enough knotted hankies for the lads, beer too cold, no Walkers crisps, Hasselhoff songs the only choice on the karaoke. Is it any wonder we became a bit jaded?

Great by line in yesterday’s paper….Crouch, half man half ladder. Sums up our new super hero, let me add half demi-God to that by jove. I like Crouchy, always at it, head never down, toothy grin and flailing limbs. Kind of reminds me of me in my pomp, all raw talent and modesty to boot.

The game went by in a flash, tension dissipated early doors as Becky Loos’ ex wings in a beauty that the Paraguayan skipper nods past his own keeper.

The first half was mostly all England and the second half we lost our way. Owen still , palpably, not match fit. All eyes on Wayners for the future games, I think he’ll play a part against the Swedes and we’ll bomb on like a nest of tables from Ikea. Rickety, but good enough for the job in hand.

Plus points yesterday were Neville Neville’s lad, Rio the Prankster, Stevie and the Gee-gees, Becky Loos’ squeeze and the Crouchster.

Ashley Cole had a game from hell and I nearly pissed myself when they gave mom to Lamps. Jeepers creepers, he was very bad. The boy hid for the first eighty.

All in all, three points gained, top of the group, recuperate from the old dehydration with a few cold ones and then bring on the Trinidadian and T posse.

In other news, Chester have pulled off their greatest ever (name) signing…. Jermaine MacSporran, I kid you not sports fans.

In horse racing please note the lovely Nina is going to Chester for one ride on Tuesday night in the 915. Sound familiar??