Holiday Part 1 Day 2

Bier lovers,

I woke up, ate, shat, did my shit, played some basketball on my own, and forced myself to do some editing and everyone was playing Zwok. What is life without football, I ask you. As you might have guessed, it’s non-practically non-existent for me and I am salivating with the prospect of tomorrow’s football.

I’m sure you have got many things that needs to be done with your precious little life, so in honour of your precious self, I shall give you some of my precious. Yewwwwwww.

Charlie is still procrastinating and he wants to share his world view with his website he found:
http://www.pasecrets.com/?catid=22
It is actually funny and sad and lame, if you like to procrastinate like he does.

Today’s headlines:

“Lampard in ankle injury scare”
Oh I see. That’s the reason why he hasn’t scored yet.

“Blatter says England is spoiling World Cup”
Blatter says a lot of things. If you do remember, he did say that this is the best World Cup, ever.

“Thuram says we are Frenchmen”
If I’m really PC about this, he would be African Frenchman.

“Poll bows out of tournaments”
I’m sure he will be a great traffic controller, the lights will never be red.

“Figo believes Portuguese mental strength will prevail”
It’s killing me that all the players from the Portuguese team that are hyping their team up are the ones who will not be playing or the ones who almost didn’t.

“Italy pull together in face of adversity”
Although some of them may be out of a job when the season starts.

“Poland coach hands in resignation”
I guarantee that the Poles are weeping uncontrollably.

“Shearer says Roon’s ready”
He is a commentator not a doctor.

“Big Phil to be the next Real manager instead of Sven”
Real must be desperate to have considered the Swede.

“Hooray for Murray”
The Scot wins. Note: He’s British, but not English.

Ryu’s “What?” incident of the day. It has to be the fact that Kate spanked me for doing a keepy uppy in the flat. Sorry kate...I promise I’ll do it when you’re not around. Yeah, take that.

Tomorrow we will see if Wir fahren nach Berlin can overcome Don’t cry for me Diego and the Orange revolution take on the mass suiciders.

Watch it.

Holiday Part 1 Day 1

Just chillin' mun,

So, my first day without football is coming to an end. It was a truly a monumental day as I woke up late, kicked about with the ever so procrastinating Charlie, ate lunch with gay Chris, Swedish/German, HD incapacitator, and Charlie who was still procrastinating. Set up my new monitor, which is absolutely spantabulous and lend the old one to Charlie who wasn’t really working at that moment and eventually I made my way into town. There I met Paki boy and we commenced on our evening entertainment, Sake tasting at the Sri Lankan embassy. All crazy funny jokes aside, we were at the Jap embassy, drinking some quality Sake and getting completely wasted. We bitched about the lack of quality women (Rick says that they are all “embassy” people, so expecting anything out of these people is like wishing that Costa Rica will win a match in the next 23 world cups) and ended up chinking it up in C-town where we were waited by Danny look alike and sat next to a Kevin look alike and eventually ended up paying to a cashier who was Jackie look alike. We then decided that 2 over 30 year old men should shoot shit up and off we went to Trocadero to maim some home boy zombies. After slaying as many multicultural zombies as a 2 over 30 year old men can possibly do in 30 minutes, we bid adieu and I made my way back home. At home, Charlie was busy procrastinating and I got hooked on Zwok (fo’ real) and decided that my brothers need some football action.

Oops, but there is non. I shall list some headlines that sounded interesting:

“Blatter claims that this is the best World Cup ever.”
And Howard always slips on the cross over.

“Neville to start at right back.”
Good for you.

“Deco says that Portugal can cope without him.”
It’s easy for you to say, isn’t it?

“Henry says that he’s not a dude who cheats.”
You’re obviously not lying about wanting to go to Barca.

“Pessotto attempted suicide.”
He shouldn’t have cheated if he couldn’t live with the guilt.

“Ghana accuses referee bias.”
They also accused the ref for their misdirected shots.

“Huth says he’s not afraid of 10 goals scored by Argentina.”
Please remind me. How many minutes did you play for Chelski last season?

“New deal likely for Van Basten.”
Then that means that he would have become the prime minister if they had won the whole thing?

“Ivanov claims that it was the worst match he ever officiated.”
You certainly didn’t help by dishing out yellow cards like a cheap whore at Kings Cross.

“Eriksson passionately defends his management style.”
That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him being passionate about something.

“Spanish fans reignite racism row.”
It goes fiesta, siesta, and monkey chants.

“Japan will hire Ivica Osim as their new national team manager.”
I told you so.

I’m going to quit whilst I’m ahead.

Ryu’s “Ahhhhh” moment of the day. Waking up in the morning and not having to spend at least 4 hours staring at at screen. Instead, I ended up staring at the computer monitor for 6 hours.

Tomorrow, we’ll take you deep inside Ryu’s exciting freelance life as he takes on a monumental task of editing 800+ pictures before his stomach commits a hail mary. Gripping stuff.

Watch it (please don’t)

Brazil 3 Ghana 0; France 3 Spain 1

To the halcyon days,

So, it’s like the last day of the sweet 16. It sort of makes me look back to my sophomore year in HKIS when we just finished our exams and were getting ready for the limitless possibilities of endless mind numbing days, aka summer holiday. That is almost exactly what I’m feeling this evening as I type up this mail, but obviously my holiday will last two days as opposed to a normal human being under the age of 22 holiday which lasts between 2 and 2 and a half months.

But fear not, my beloved brethren. I will report on all the gossip surrounding the cup tomorrow and day after tomorrow. For the love of Allah and Vishnu, yes, I have got stuff to do on my “off” days, but I’m going to be giving a short news surrounding the world, that is the World Cup.

One fantastic match and one Englandesque match. If you have not read anything about those two matches, I bet you’ll guess wrong. No that I give two shits that you guess wrong, but it’s always to fun to lose on a 50-50 bet.

Before we go right into the match, I want to thanks our expert Filipino futbol correspondent, Mr. DJ. He has to say this:

“Ryu, the Aussie goalkeeper in the Croatia game was that tall, dude with the Croatian sounding last name - Kalac or something, not Schwarzer.”

Absolutely, correct. I did go back to see that my mistake was as such and it was. Thanks for the correction DJ. As for my gratitude towards your error finding ways (but you must admit that I haven’t had that many...right?), I have included female football people in the blog.

DJ, please don’t nut it in the office.

I would also like to thanks Stacie for writing in and commenting on how beautiful and wonderful my writing is. She did say nothing like that but I want to pretend that she did. Anyhow, she is trying to convince herself in becoming a true nutty gritty football aficionado, so if you’ve got any sort of tips and cheesy tricks to enrich her life in pure football bonanza, any suggestions will be welcome.

Right off we go.

Sweet 16
Brazil 3
Ghana 0

You’d think that Brazil would Brazilianize Ghana into a heap of canaries, didn’t you? Well, I did and I guessed wrong. As I watched this match, I was constantly thinking about what I should be cooking for dinner before the France V Spain match and how comfortable the cushions (or might I say several layers of soft cloths?) on my couch are.

Ghana was dominating possession throughout the match. You’d think the yellow people were wearing the white costume when they came on the pitch. Brazil looked as though they didn’t find any lookers in the stand and were already thinking about hitting the red lights in some major city in Germany. As Ghana finished all their quality possessions with either a shot directly into the care free loving arms of Dida or to the Brazilian female who pops her boobs out in all the major matches (I have also heard that she actually comes from a very wealthy family), I was beginning to think ponder if chicken should be included in my dinner. Although the possession computer indicates otherwise, Brazil looked as if they really gave two fucks about this match and here’s why.

1st goal came 5 minutes too early and this, was a brilliant and a historical goal. Fatty is hovering around what is the highest defensive line I have ever seen in this competition. The fact that the black stars were contemplating offside trapping the often mutli-dimensional attack by Pareira and co., were in my humble mind and looking at how disorganized the defence were, ridiculous to a point of sanity. Kaka, who perhaps is the only player in the magical square playing up to his ability, threads one for Fatty. When I saw this ball unleashed by shit man, all I could think is that the I didn’t have any chicken and I have to go and buy one. For some anti-newtonian reason, Fatty catches up with the ball and he completely rapes the goalies head by faking it rechts and then going izquierda, at the end of it making World Cup history. His lardness, with 15 goals scored in the competition becomes the all time leading scorer of the cup. Does he deserve it? As long as he can score goals like this one, he indeed does. A memorable goal for the Fatty that is Ronaldo.

2nd goal came from greedy Inter man, who almost immediately after the opener by Fatty decided to not give him a sitter but instead went all out for the glory hole. From a cross he score with his knee, which looked more like an intentional accidental goal. Not fun.

3rd goal came before the time was up and Ze Roberto, who probably has the 2nd longest hair in the squad, lifts one over the rapidly rabies stricken Kingston. I’m yawning and I can’t wait to eat my dinner.

So the black stars go home, but they showed a lot of promise with their organized and rather sexy ball movement. I bet the Brazilians were more than likely jealous, but that did not effect their play. As I have said before, the people’s republic of Ghana is a sweet talker and they know how to excite a woman. With slick passing, drooling dribbling, and feather induced touches, they always just had to go for the big’un. But like a 40 year old virgin, they came early all day long.

As for the Brazilians, the promise they have shown against Japan in the previous match was not to be found here. They did just enough to stay another night at a B&B in some sleepy German town. What I am worried about is the relative ineffectiveness of Ronaldinho. With shit man playing in tune with the oldest captain ever to captain a captain necessary football side, the combo of the thickest thighs in modern football history and Bucky is just not working. I believe that the World Football of the Year award came from Bucky playing for the Catalan club and not for the Cerezon. Would they ever find that gear they will need when they eventually go up against a quality side? My feeling is that they will leave this tournament before they find that gear.

Sweet 16
France 3
Spain 1

For this match, I had an option to go with Philippe or...not much else. Although the match up of him and Nadia would have been good, they have wisely parted ways this evening and in hindsight it was the best decision they have made as a couple.

The evening began in the warehouse 3 mega screen drink fest with 360 splayed 360. The air was blu tack and my thirst for beer was unquestionable. So it was me, Philippe, Karima, Sandy, and later on Ken chan, who I recently found out that he couldn’t write in Japanese. But then he is Japanese so it’s kind of like me being really shit in German. Good man.

My prediction for anything is almost always Nostradamus. But today, after Villa netting the 1st one to ready their Spanish inquisition on wine and cheese soil, I confidently but not abrasively told Philippe in Japanese: “Daijyoubu, kyouwa France ga katsukara”. Which basically meant that your girlfriend may possibly be the most popular woman in my blog and at the same time I have a non-swayable belief in France winning this match.

For one of the few moments in my prediction life, I came up on top.

Although the Damien was there from the previous French match. Without Zidane, the players seem to find their place in the squad. Va Va Voom was finding his spot in the left, Ribery was free to terrorize the opponent with his ugly faced dribbling, and most importantly, they were looking to score. So I was a bit worried that with the eternal number dix returning to the lineup, whatever confidence and balls they have grown from the previous match will be daisy cuttered.

I am here to say that I was wrong. I guess Zizou needed a siesta. Tonight, he was getting back to defend and reaching for the balls that was difficult to reach. His distribution was not accurate until the beginning of the 2nd half, but he came into the same team which had defeated Togo. He just made it taste better.

And for the Spaniards? They dominated possession, but they never looked like they were about to change their under achieving status. With bus loads of talented young players, they are one of the ultimate Pro Evo football team. But with the racist manager leading the squad, they couldn’t muster the extra somethin’ somethin’ to penetrate the Arc de Triomphe.

2nd goal which levelled this truly exciting display of mano a mano came from the ugliest man on the pitch. Vieira, who seemed to be doing nothing throughout the match decided that he should do something because otherwise he might have to do a lot more later on. He slips in a tidy one for ugly who does his counterfeited impression of Fatty and celebrates the goal by being even uglier.

3rd goal was the one that did it for the les Bleus. Zidane’s swerving freekick from the right is deflected by some Xabi Alonso. For some odd reason, Patrick is looking for 4 leaved clover at the back post all by himself. He thumps the ball towards the goal and with a kind and tacit deflection by Sergei Ramos, the goal is born.

4th goal then had to be the coup de grace from the balded genius himself. Wiltord and Zizou doe s a one and numero dix is on side. Inside the box, he goes droite to send the defender izquierda and unleashes a hot tamali the opposite way of Iker, who wished his Real team mate didn’t come out of retirement. Damn it, fuck his brother.

Wow. By far the best match of the sweet 16. Both teams were committing men forward, but in mirrored style. France favoured their wine to counterattack the opponents pallet, but Spain demanded that the paella was cooked with patiently with gradual build up. Since I didn’t see the Argentina V Mexico match, I really compare the two, but I am glad that I was on the winning side this evening.

Good bye to Spain and Nadia. The label of “over-rated” and “under-achiever” will be there at least another 2 years and by then they will wisen up and sack that despicable coach.

As for France, congratulations to Philippe, Julien, and Jacson. Now you have got a potentially boring date with the ultimately uninterested Brazil in the Elite 8. If Brazil play like they did today, they will be the one booking their flight to Sao Paolo on the 2nd of July.

Ryu’s “Zut Alors!” goal of the day. It’s very difficult but I have to go with Zizou’s, France’s 3rd goal. In typical Zidane style, he fools everyone including himself.

As a side note, Totti’s thumb sucking gesture after his goal last night is to welcome a new arrival into this world and not as what the population have meandered in him planting his Romanian seed for the nth time last month.

Well, the Elite 8 is looking like this:

Germany V Argentina

England V Portugal

Italy V Ukraine

Brazil V France

Tomorrow...I’m on holiday! Hooray! I can sleep before 3AM! But since you have read this far, I would to be the disappointer and therefore, like I said earlier, will bring some juicy hot football wives/girlfriends related news your way.

Watch it (or catch up on it)

Italy 1 Australia 0; Ukraine 0 Switzerland 0 (3-0) on penalties

Boring people,

Me, boring? Oh, no that was meant for you. Let me just get this off my chest. Although I’m secretly in love with Angelina, I’m actually having an affair with Claudia, but at the same time I’m also married to Keira. No, they’re not celebrities, rather Madagascar Long Arm Monkeys. Wow, that wasn’t funny.

I just finished watching 1 hour and 30 minutes (that’s 90 minutes for you math whores out there) of “World Cup Goals Galore.”

The description of this aptly named, producers wet hosiery is as follows:
Sit back and enjoy 90 solid minutes of World Cup goals, accompanied by a soundtrack featuring the coolest bands around. Hosted by Sean Lock. [S] Some strong language.

Aside from the strong language and not that cool bands as the BGM, there were total of 240 goals. That’s 2.6666666666667 goals per minute. No, I wasn’t that bored. Believe me, I’ve got life outside of the cup....no, not really, but I am trying. What I can admit is that both matches tonight were testicle crunchingly boring that I fell asleep in a pub for the first match and was happy to be cooking dinner at Taichi’s place for the second. The reason behind my insanity is that I needed some inspiration to write something interesting about this match, which is monkey sodomizingly difficult.

But we mustn’t forget that I’ve got two friends who are keen on the results, the frist one being Roberto the lost Italian, who always asks for directions every single time I’m at the bus stop and Serugie the violent who likes to hit me with a blunt object whenever I try to help Roberto.

If you have never seen where I currently trade my trade, you won’t be too surprised that these people probably do exist.

We must now go down on both knees and sing, “na na na na, na na na hey hey hey good bye” to Rick from Australia (half Pakistani, but he claims that his Aussies roots are true) and Guy from Switzerland who is a green card holder, but Swiss (just so you know, not the member of EU).

Two boys, two losses and two really really really realy boring games.

Sweet 16
Italy 1
Australia 0

Maybe there was an omen or two or another sequel in June 6, 2066. Albert, my secret closet conspicuous football lover sends me a text during the equally dull England V Ecuador match.
“Watching this really boring match?”
After I reply to this straightforward but bone chilling text message, he dutifully reconfirm his deepest and blackest feelings about this match with another text:
“So freaking boring”
I had no idea that Albert’s words and occasional sentences would resonate and crush all hopes for a good match the following day (which in case you’re not following is today, but not really as it’s already tomorrow so therefore it’s today). As he who shall not be named as his uncle and Endora as his step niece, Albert always had that misguided potential for evil sorcery. All hail to Chinky the Grey.

Thanks Charlie for taking my picture. He also wants to add that couple of minutes before last night’s England game, our top in-house football correspondent Kate was gingerly humming to “That’s the way I like it” and cooking her 4 inch thick beef steak with her vegetarian boyfriend. She suddenly rushes down to our tv room and shouts, “Is it okay that I turn the tele on for the football?” Although we did call an ambulance to treat Charlie’s brain aneurysm, which in no means was affected by Kate’s sudden burst of eager beaverness towards the football match, Charlies’ condition is serious yet stable.

If you substitute “in-house football correspondent” to “never watch football unless it’s an England match and I obviously don’t really fancy Michael Carrick as much as I fancy Sven” and “vegetarian boyfriend” to “Kate converted vegetarian boyfriend” and “brain aneurysm” to “severe confusion do to unexpected comments”, suddenly the entire episode is very different. Different and funny.

Italy seems to be clicking well in the first half. Hot attempts by Gilardino and Toni were stopped using the Schwartz by you know who. Aussies were also helped by the criminal finishing of those reatarded Italian ponies. At the end of the 1st half, you’d think that the party will get bumpin’ and the Kristen screaming for more hair on Totti’s scalp, but before this orgiastic hormonal explosion was to take place, Materazzi keeps the house clean by sweeping challenge which took out not one but two players, it didn’t help that he got feet instead of ball and the one set of feet was Bresciano (with name like that he should be Italian, but I’m sure he killed someone lately) and the other belonged to Cannavaro.

So the southern hemisphere convicts were keeping the ball and not hitting anything and at that point I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was the 94th minute and some Italian dude was dribbling towards the Socceroos goal (by the way, whomever came up with this fucking dumb name should choke to death with dog food made by roo meat) on the left flank. Later identified as Grosso, who probably was called Grosso by his friends and families when he was about 5, he unitalianly repels one tackle and once inside the box, he italianly dodges the second one from Neil and obviously rolls around as his kidneys were ripped to shreds inside his nostrils. Totti steps up and drills it home and the all the Walkabouts in central London were burnt to ashes. Thank you Italians.

Sorry Ricky. I’ll ease your pain by spanking your brown ass until you forget about this pain.

Italians don’t look all that. But with the next match being Ukraine or the mighty army knives, they’ve got it sorted. As for the inept pairing up front supported by Pirlo and Del Piero (they are surprisingly not related), I don’t know. I think Lippi reverting to the good ol’ days of catenaccio is a step backwards, but hey, they’re winning.

Sweet 16
Ukraine 0 (3-0 on penalties)
Switzerland 0

When I got home, I realized that I got an email from Guy. The subject was: AUSvITL. I had no idea what that meant until now, but when I saw it for the first time, it looked like some code. Immediately, I thought “Shit, he might be in trouble and maybe he’s asking for my help.” Although this sounded completely plausible, I was further convoluted by the message itself:
“What a garbage call for a penalty in injury time!!! I guess FIFA wants the Italians to move on. “
Guy
Now, I was really confused. What does this mean? A cryptic subject line, strange message when he perfectly knew that his country had lost. Did he lose his mind? Am I not reading between the lines? Are the Khazakstani mobs trying to hit him again? Although I have not taken the initiative to reply to this email at this very moment and after deciphering the subject line, I was still bemused that he hadn’t written anything about his team’s performance. But I can totally understand why.

The ball was never in the last third of the field. Almost all the plays ended in the middle third as both teams were playing not to lose. There is Frei up front supported by 4 Ukrainian defence personnel and on the opposite end Sheva is dancing some cowbell dance with 5 Swiss army neutralizing defence. Since both sides though that people paid money to see their teams win and not to be entertained, the game just went on and on and on and on. Most chances were created from set pieces, but the finish was poorer than me when I started freelancing. With neither teams committing more than their star strikers up front, any attempt to create any resemblance to an offence befuddled into a heap of yellow and blue/red and white trash.

So with 90 minutes ticked off and another 30 ticked off, we were in the first penalty shoot outs of the tournament. It had to get exciting. But with the Swiss accuracy being true even in the supposedly exciting shootout, they manage to keep their consistency and puked the first 3 attempts, thus gifting the victory to the Ukrainians before the 5th kick.

I’ve now ranked the boringest matches of the tournament thus far. 5th, 4th, 3rd, and 2nd are all England matches and you can swap them in any order if you like. But summer’s top hit for the most stupendously boringest match of the tournament goes to this match.

Sorry Guy. If you want your spanking, you have to wait till August.

As for Sheva’s team, I find them boring. A better team will pry them open and gut them senselessly.

Bracket (forgot yeseterday), looking like this:

Germany V Argentina

England V Portugal

Italy V Ukraine

Brazil V Ghana

Spain V France

Ryu’s “Have you ever done this before” moments of the day. The unrelenting misses by the Swiss penalty takers. I know you have an impeccable record of goals against (0), but you don’t have to do the same on the other end.

Tomorrow will hopefully be a better day with Nike pitted against the Black Stars, followed by Philippe against Nadia.

Watch it.

England 1 Ecuador 0; Portugal 1 Holland 0

To justice for all,

At some point in our lives, we wonder. We wonder why the sky is blue and greasy food cures hangovers. We also wonder why men are willing to give up their lives for a cause that they may not really be interested in. We wonder why we have such difficulties admitting to ourselves that we are not perfect.

Herein lies the problem. With record number of yellow cards and dismissals in this tournament thus far, the beautiful game is painted in yellow and red. Even with swoosh campaign in full swing, we still are seeing cheaters in every corner of the pitch and pitifully, they are left unpunished. If we had the referees in the world cup officiating the “real” world, we would all be sleeping with the enemy. Isn’t it obvious that something needs to be done so that the sinners are punished without prejudice?

Purists will argue that there is not a place for technology in this game. Yes, if we were all playing the way you lot played in the 70’s, that dude with no legs in the corner can rule the green. Do you not see that the players of the 21st century are faster, stronger, and will do anything to take advantage of the human referee? 2 lines men and 1 referee. That’s 6 eyes. Of which 2 can overrule the 4. 2 eyes. 2 measly human eyes. I don’t get it. How can you possibly spot all the fouls in the box, outside the box, near the touchline, off the centre circle, fucking everywhere? On the other hand I see them all the time. I see these acts of cowardice even if the refs don't see it. Blatter and Dubya best of friend? Quite possibly so.

So, why be a technology hata’? Are all refs technophobes? All of them got some fancy buy one get 4 free cordless walkie talkies, I’m sure they can handle a bit of a watch that shows the instant replays from every conceivable angle on his wrist watch? Then they can all check create their “best totties in the 2nd half” list as well as replaying the shit they missed. And why the fuck not. Why don’t they insert a sensor into the ball so we know if the ball crossed the line? I mean, come on, let’s just fucking get real here. We’re trying to put together a robot team to beat a human team by like year 2050 and us humans don’t want to use technology to officiate the game? You have to be goddamn fucking kidding me.

As my Powerbook G4 and Charlie who’s sitting and watching “Police Camera Action” as my witnesses, I declare that with 3 brain cells and some tech geeks, we will all be watching the true age of joga bonito techno version 1.2 soon. Hopefully soon...

If someone asks me that I would have to eat Blatter for breakfast so that we can start the geek revolution in football, I’ll do it in a heart skip. Yes, and you as my brothers will have to come and eat with me. Come on, it’s yum yum for a good cause.

Sweet 16
England 1
Ecuador

All England matches are boring. Its a fact and it’s not a statement. They are so boring that I was forced by my ideal football side of my brain to sleep most of the 2nd half. They are so boring that even after potato head decided that it’s worth risking his professional career to play for the St. George’s Cross, the remaining 10 players stick to their boring ways. Yes DJ, I agree that J Cole is finicky and spectacular and haircut is an inspiration to all 4-12 year council estate inhabitants out there, but he can’t pull it off all the time. This lacklustre, lifeless, english breakfast like performance must be ripping the gizzards of all them Engerland supporters out there and in here.

So Sven and company decided that to surprise their beloved supporters with a class performance will be un-Swedish. So the long ball continues unabated and over and over and over and over and over the ball goes to Roo (not me, give me a bit more credit here) he takes it and whips it to the rest of the boring Englanders.

1st goal came when the boredom was at its peak. Becks, with Mrs. Becks looking down from the ex-unsuccessful portion of the stands and her vision partially obscured by the two obscenely round objects, steps up for the only thing he does absolutely best in the world. No, it’s not making boys, but it’s doubly strange that this man has not brewed the strange Beck’s special in over 4 years. That’s more than 3 years. Anyhow, the ball is set like 30 some yards out and he aims and he fires with grace that can only come from a father of 3. His bender chose not to blend in with the wall but instead goes over it and at the last moment sinks like a SFF. The beauty of it all is that since the ball is going over the wall, the only place left for the ball to snuggle was the absolute left lower corner and the captain bollocks does it again.

Yeah yeah yeah, Ecuador had their chance in the 1st half which came from Terry’s dodgey header which was cuddled sweetly by Carlos Tenario and as he was about to take his shot, from absolutely nowhere comes the Chris Rock and the little bit blocked shot goes a little bit high and hits the bar. That’s pretty much it.

Really, I have got nothing to say, but if this side wins the cup, it will be as unsexy as the Greeks eating their souvlakis 2 years ago.

Let’s see which hottie gets to date this ugly duckling in the elite 8.

Sweet 16
Portugal 1
Holland 0

Perhaps the matchup of the sweet 16. The prospect of a revenge must be so sweet and sour pork for the Dutch pancakes as the memory of Maniche’s stupendous goal in Euro 2002 have haunted them at least 3 times for the past 2 years. For the Red and Green, they want to book their ticket to the elite 8 for the 1st time in 40 years. That’s 10 years more than Kevin, I mean 9 years more.

But the protagonist of this dream combo decided that he wanted this match deserved to be smeared with his excrement of an ego. It was shat on, dismembered with a pizza cutter, doused in sesame oil, and cooked slowly over 90 minutes and when the number of players were reduced to his liking, dumped the content into his greedy arsehole.

Ladies and gentle small people, please welcome half drunk, quarter out of control, quarter definitely Russian, the one and the perhaps there are many others out there, the only man to disintegrate 4 men in a matter of 5400 seconds, give it up for the cure of all good, Ivanov the Terrible and the blind.

Doesn’t matter that Maniche scored a good goal to rev up the engine of this classic match up. Doesn’t matter that Ruud was getting some Ruud treatment from his young boss, who could definitely get some if he wore something more to show a bit more tenderness. Doesn’t matter that C Fatty will not make the elite 8. Nothing matter more than Ivan taking centre stage and making this match his piece de resistance. It’s title can only be: 16 yellows 4 red.

1st sending off came just before the end of the half. With no fouls hard enough for Ivanov, he’s looking for his first victim. With Constinha already on the book with a silly tackle from behind, Ivanov senses his opportunity. Costinha’s lazy defence ends up being really lazy as his strange dance routine is interrupted when his hand hits the ball. It is intentional and Ivanov did not miss this platinum opportunity. His knobby hands dives right into the pocket and out comes the yellow one. With movement a master cock nugget will practice on a daily basis, in a flash we’re seeing red. He’s just warming up, lads.

2nd sending off took some time, but you know the Russian hates disappointing the 41,000 at the match. Moments earlier, Figo had successfully imprinted his forehead into van Bommel’s a face only his immediate family can love. Moments later, he’s at it again and this time it’s a Emmy award winning dive invited by Boulahrouz. No, man, no. You know my man Ivanov doesn’t miss shit like that. The moment we all have been waiting for. It’s the 2nd yellow for the Dutch defender and he’s off to play fo fish with Costinha.

3rd sending off was a beauty. I know I’ll be telling my great grand children about this one. Deco goes concord on Hettinga’s ass and he gets bummed instead. After this silly show of affection, he is refusing to let go off his balls. I mean the ball. Ivanov comes running, cheeks red and filled with blood. Oh, he’s so adorable as his right hand goes up for the 3rd time and we are coming to expect him to be a prime time playa’. Off goes Deco and the boys can now form a trio. I shall christen them as the “Sent Offs”. They’ll make their millions with their number one single, “Say it ain’t me, ref.” Yes, I’m allowed to fantasize in my own mail.

4th sending off immortalized the titanic performance by Ivanov. Clock is ticking ever so quickly, but the action on the pitch is a crawling babe. He knows he’s one sending off away from the world record. His palm is damp with nerves and his forehead showing signs of feigned fatigue. It’s so close, but so far. Then he sees it. The longest stoppage time in history (6) is gracefully ended by the most minor of infractions. Van Bronckhorst is seeing a conceded free kick, but Ivanov is seeing red and it’s definitely not a Ferrari. His face screwed and contorted in joy as he victoriously faces the latest member of the “Sent Offs.” His joy is oozing out of his clogged pores and the record is completed. The 4th red is there and the crowd cheers with deafening boos. History is born and we hate it.

Portugal’s did book their place in the elite 8 and they will be bringing back the clock one more time as the two have met in Euro 2004 and obviously England lost. A team devoid of Deco, Ronaldo, and in the worst case Figo (FIFA is reviewing his rather unconventional sweat wiping technique on van Bommel) isn’t what we want to see, but for all the Engerland Engerland Engerland fans out there, it’s Christmas and Easter and Ramadan coming together as one.

What a shame.

Ryu’s “Have we really lost it?” incident of the day. Ivanov should die.

Tomorrow we bring you the the boot duking it out with the Roos (not many potatoes) and Guy takes on the best Princess Leia impersonator as a prime minister ever.

Watch it.

Germany 2 Sweden 0; Argentina 2 Mexico 1

To the love that is football,

What a day. Two matches of apocalyptic proportions. The goals, the saves, the misses, the heat, the cards, the everything that is the beginning of sweet 16.

And where was I? That’s right, daddy’s gotta go and bake some bread for Juanita and her two kids (both not mine). Yes, I was at work. Yes, I missed both games. If you look at my blog, you will only see one picture today. I am distraught that I have missed my country’s crude performance and this feeling of nausea was made incrementally worse by the BBC pundit who called the other match, “the game of the tournament.” But ladies and gentlemen, I am a photographer first and an emailer/blogger second. But oh my, what matches I have missed today.

If you have avoided the World Cup to this point, this is when the shit really hits the fan and this is when you will see performances of a life time. Compare to the 2002 version which had Germany, Paraguay, Denmark, England, Sweden, Senegal, Mexico, USA, Brazil, Belgium, Japan, Turkey, South Korea, and Italy, this year is inundated with the traditional powerhouses of football. Also the level of play and the quality of goals have been absolutely superb. From now on, this is the survival of the miracles, battles of wits and feet will be waged between 16 nations where passion, grit, and a moments of absolute zero down your spine as its only currency. And on July 9th, witness the greatest show on Gaia. The end will see the chosen 11 and the defeated will cast their eyes of honour in one eye, jealousy in the other.

Just got the chills.

Right, let’s get right into it.

Sweet 16
Germany 2
Sweden 0

Prior to this match, Germany have scored 8 goals. Of which 4 were scored by Pole number 1 and 1 from Pole number 2. Sort of like Michael Schumacher and Rubens Barrichello. 5 goals by the tandem.

Right, let’s go back to when Germany (“West Germany) won it all in Italia 1990. After 3 games of the group stage, Klinsi had scored 2 and the porn star had scored 3. 5 goals by the now legendary duo. This pair is more Olsen twins than Itchy and Scratchy.

Interesting...

To have almost all your goals coming from your strikers up front is a rarity in this day and age of long range bombers. This is particularly obvious in the England team of Gerrard and Lampard with 20 goals plus per Brit. Let’s break it down a little winsey bit more. At this juncture, no other strike partners have been more efficient than the Deutschland ueber alles of the two Poles. What makes matters more interesting is that Klose’s wife is sleeping with Podorski’s girlfriend’s mother. Apparently, this has been confirmed by the Bild Zeitung, but the important thing is that, as I have said earlier, that they were like, yeah, but, no, but, yeah, not talking to each other. Later on Klose being the elderly statesman decided to defuse the chamber of hate by claiming that they are “best friends”.

Well, if this love can overcome some randomly generated love affair between two women of utmost nonimportance, then we can look forward to the totally dynamic duo that may equal the one from 16 years ago. Are the two ready to become one, a la Son-Goten and trunks via fusion, but since only Albert can understand my so-called joke, I’ll stop it right here.

1st goal came from a great link up play. You must be thinking about your date that was set up a week ago, but you really don’t remember her name as you ponder the next question to me: “Ryu, you puss filled hole. You haven’t mentioned no nothing about the little Kaiser. I mean, he like is soooo cool and he’s going to score so many 3 pointers and touchdowns that I should put it in my fantasy golf team.” If your name is not Tom who is going to raise his child as a Rangers fan, you are unambiguously correct. During this match, he took at least 4 million shots and if it wasn’t for the Kawaguchi like performance by Isaksson, he would have opened his account (sound of Albert and Kevin bouncing off the floor). A fly ball to centre edge of the box is headed with a wee bit of strength to Luckas. A bit of a “where’s the fucking ball?” is played with about two swede and a Pole. Eventually the Pole comes out victorious and knocks it back to the petit kaiser. Ballack knocks it one time to Klose who splits the defence like Costner’s samurai sword, but the HGH induced Isakkson attack foils any attempt at goal, but then it’s Luckas’s show and you ain’t gonna leave without a goal. Struck it hard and Leipzig is in flames.

2nd goal came from a pass to Klose at around the edge of the right box. He didn’t score, but wait until you read what happens next. This is like a good murder mystery without any murder. Well, there was a killer pass, but fortunately no one was killed, except for the spirit of the Abba nation. Klose dribbles across the box and drags not one, not even two my boy, but three idiots with him. When he saw that his cologne was attracting more men than women, he releases a killer to the waiting Podolski, who nails it home. Sick shit. Two goals. In 11 minutes.

Before the end of the half, well, way before the end of the half, well, about 10 minutes before the end of the half, Lucic who is Swedish by naughty by nature gets his 2nd yellow for what looks like a minimalist version of a shirt grab. Shouldn’t have been a sending off, but then he’s Swedish and right now I am not really into Swedes and that’s alright with me. Just so you are clear on the technicality of this call, it was a shit call. German hail Hitler hand gestures to bring on this atrocious call? Most definitely. Sweden, hard done.

2nd half brings more shots from Ballack and they either go wide or Isakkson is punching and fisting and chopping and doing whatever to make the bad man go away. With each missed shot, the litlte kaiser is acting more like the little emperor on stilts. I’d pay just to watch that.

Sweden had their chance but blew it like it ain’t PG 13. Another shit call by the ref for a penalty, but upon further highlight watching, it’s a shit tackle by one of the “M” defender on Larsson. The dude who used to sport an awful dreadlock was about to make Swedish goal scoring history and at exactly the same exact moment, he would also give Sweden another breath to sing Waterloo. He Baggio’s it and it’s pretty much went downhill from there.

We’re through, we’re through, we’re mother fucking through.

Someone always say the Germans are like a well oiled machine. I never really thought like because it sounds too greasy. But we’re all greased up and ready to take on anyone.
Bring it on, bitch!

Hope I don’t have to eat any of those above words on the 30th.

By the way, we bid farewell to those happy Swedes. Thank you for the music.

Sweet 16
Argentina 2
Mexico 1

The supposed, best game of the tournament. The highlights did say that it was and I’m still crying.
I’m just going to go for it.

1st goal was a hard and technical one (true) from the brown tortilla (lie), who got this nickname from one of his 3 out of marriage children (possible) Before it reached its final destination, the so-called “ball” was struck rather nicely by Senor Mendes which was then flickety flick flak by Senor Pardo and half volleyed it straight into Maradona’s god like a grande chalupa. After the goal, he shows his love to two of his 3 out of marriage children by sucking his thumb. Stupid, but the kids dig it.

2nd goal came 5 minutes later from the man who plays for Bolton as much as Nakata does. Riquelme hits the corner with his favourite 4 iron, which seeks out Crespo’s feet but accidentally hits Spaghetti’s. Shock horror for the chimichangas, hooray for Diego’s fat farm employees.

My favourite name team have clawed, bitten, scrapped, and took the game to the Argies for 90 minutes. But if you can bring in the boy wonder with bad hair, an ex-boy wonder who still isn’t too bad, and the top scorer of the Brazilian league as your substitutes, you’ve got problems.

3rd and final instalment of this match was what could possibly be the goal of the tournament. It’s like Jordan’s ankle brace warranty voiding shot that was immortalised until he decided to play for the Wizards. Silly man. So it’s like the 98th minute. The clock is obviously ticking. Sorin gets the ball on the left flank, approximately 15 metres into Alamo territory. He unleashes a whipped one to Maxi Rodriguez on the other side of the pitch and from where he was placed, no one expected what happened next. No Danny, he didn’t join the Knicks, but instead he bounces the long one from the bad haircut man from Villarreal chest and as the ball comes down he volleys it and the rest is World Cup history. When you hit a ball square and flush on your laces, you just don’t feel the ball. It’s hard to describe it if you’ve never played football, but the ball is weightless as you uncork it out of your feet. What also happens in this instance is that there is a bit of a Tai-chi-wai moment, as the ball drops at the end of its trajectory. This is difficult to do when you’re playing HKIS ball, but probably more when you’re playing in the sweet 16 of the cup. The ball zooms straight out of his feet and even Menon’s finger wouldn’t have prevented that strike. It drills into the right side netting and if this was 8 years ago, the match would have been over, but since it’s a silver goal, the match went on and it was time up for the Mexican Waves.

But what a strike. You have to see it to believe it.

I will really really really miss you. People were talking behind your backs that you were there to play it like a matador, but you proved us wrong with your gallant performance. But I will mostly miss you for the epidermal performance you have given me in nickname generating. With utmost respect, I give it up to them Mexicans. Hasta la vista, Baby.

So, you know it’s like Argentina against Germany. I’m getting sore goose pimples.

The bracket now looks like this:

Germany V Argentina

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Italy V Australia

Switzerland V Ukraine

Brazil V Ghana

Spain V France

Ryu’s “I cant’ believe it’s butter” goal of the day. Two words. Me tired. I mean, Maxi Rodriguez.

Tomorrow my adopted home country gets their feet wet with some place called Quito and the evening blockbuster pits the Orange against the sexy midfielders.

Watch it.

Ukraine 1 Tunisia 0; Spain 1 Saudi Arabia 0; France 2 Togo 0; Switzerland 2 Korea Republic 0

Sleepers,

Good morning. It's 9:21AM and I'm writing this mail. It's awful that I failed to do it last night, but besides the previous comment being a sexual innuendo, I had to sleep. I know you don’t want to hear my sob story, but really, you should. It’s been 13 days, since I slept before 3AM. Yes, I do understand that Anup sleeps at 7AM pretty much everyday and yes, he’s drunk most of the time. I understand that. But I’m old and feeble and can’t take my liquor. The body is slowly degenerating and after 13 days (did I mention that it’s 13 days) of nightly alcohol abuse and lack of sleep, I decided that it was time.

It was time for me to write this mail in the morning. You may think that this is poohoo and it ain’t all that and all that Utah. But my body simply gave in. After a night of drinking and partying with me friends of ex-Mitsu and after meeting this dude at a bus stop who was a really nice guy but he was also in jail at some point during his career as a bum (he did call himself a bum, fo’ real), it was time for me to sleep.

“So, fuck for brains, did you have any integrity left in your sallow yellow skin of yours to admit that you didn’t watch any of the matches yesterday?”

Well, I did watch the 2nd half of the France V Togo match, but more on that later. For the early afternoon match, I was outside under the grey sun of london, venting my frustration on the hapless Brazilian (later found out that he was French) on a brown grass pitch in Hyde Park, being laughed at by the restless Jamaicans for being Japanese (told them that I’m German, but I wasn’t too happy), and eating a good portion of shrimp fried rice made by a chef off duty.

T’was a good day.

Now, back to the football and don’t forget that pie.

Group H
Ukraine 1
Tunisia 0

The most important match of the group. Well, if you’re a Saudi royal and you are bank rolling your national squad, you might possibly slightly be more intrigued by the match on the other side, but other than that this match was it. At the beginning of this tournament, we decided that Sheva and co were the joint favourties to come out of this relatively weak group. Don’t know if Uki Uki Ukis heard this prediction, but their initial fall to the conquistadores seemed like a damien fort things to come. But the rest, as Michael Jackson once said, is my shitty album nobody bought.

Match looked quite dull with both teams not hitting the target. If Tunisia manage to do get a George Bush, they would be rocking the cradle with the rest of the fools, but if they didn’t, you know, you ‘re like a loser or something. The “na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, good bye” of Jaziri towards the bitter end of the 1st half was sapped all the good stuff out of the Tunisians (I’m glad that they’re leaving because I can’t think of any radical nicknames for these kids, really, all teams should be like Mehico). 10 men Tunisia had to endure a 45 minute powerplay by the Orange Revolution and you know what happens when you have that long to put one measly goal and celebrate with cheap bubbly at the end of the match?

The only goal came at the 71st minute, when a dodgy penalty call (video replay, anyone?) gave the Ukraines’s a dubious chance to go ahead. Obviously Sheva nails it softly but Chelsily and it’s party time.

The match itself seemed (yes, because I’m concluding all this from legal match reports and legal highlights) to be fought evenly and with much gusto from both sides. Shame that full match with full 11 sides could have produced something hotter, but the man who recently decided to bring back to the hottest prime minister back to the cabinet will be singing in the shower this morning.

What did you really expect from a team that drew against the 2nd worst team in the tournament?

Welcome to the sweet 16, Sheva.

Group H
Spain 1
Saudi Arabia 0

Consequence unrelated match of the day. Little Juan heads a beautiful cross from the Arsenal man with a Audrey on his right arm in Japanese.

All the cogs and levers are clickety click clicking for you, Spain. Is this going to be the tournament which will take you from being the “Spain, dude, they always let your shit down, man” to “Spain, they’re the bestest”? Are you going to make Nadia bounce up and down, side to side for many games to come?

We’ll see.

Oh, good by Saudi Arabia and Tunisia. Better luck next time.

It finished like this:

1. Spain 3 7 9
2. Ukraine 3 1 6
3. Tunisia 3 -3 1
4. Saudia Arabia 3 -5 1

Brackets looking like:

Germany V Sweden

Argentina V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Italy V Australia

Winner G V Ukraine

Brazil V Ghana

Spain V Runner up G

Group G
France 2
Togo 0

Sorry Julien, but if I did say that I wanted France to qualify for the sweet 16, I’d be liar with a nice pair of balls. I wanted them to fail. I mean, come on. They had their time in the Phoenix and the average age of the team is higher than my steroid count. And I sort of liked the fact that numero dix came off as a sub towards the end of the match all looking dejected, sliced, and not really diced. The fact that he wasn’t going to play in this match, made the fall of les Bleus even more, might I say, French?

I’d like to get into the “If Korea wins and if France loses then...” portion to make it interesting, but I want to ruin all your Hawking delight by telling you how the goals ruled the match.

1st goal came in the 2nd half from the ex-Arsenal, soon to be playing in Serie B and voila, it was also his birthday. Kevin, send him a nice one. Having missed two sitters, he decided to ask another person to take the shot. Skipping and bopping to perhaps to Right said Fred, he sexily goes into the box and with a slight shimmy passes his responsibility to the old and crust filled Viera. He turns an blasts one top right net next to the camera and the les Bleus are in command.

2nd goal came from the real Arsenal man himself. Va Va Voom he goes and he does it for the 2nd time in deux matches. A neat flick on from the guy who scored first is brilliantly subdued by the SHHHHH. He turns and gives no chance for the Togolese goalie who for once goes the opposite direction to the ball and whose name is currently escaping me and I can’t be bothered to check.

Les Bleus better without Zidane? It’s hard to tell. Against a behemoth of a side in Togo, you should win with or without the balded geinus, but to my eyes they looked much smoother without him in the line up. Because of his lack of mobility, Zizou cannot be involved in a fast breaks, unless he’s initiating it. Without him, I saw the French breaking more efficiently and to my not so surprise, Henry hogging the ball creates more chances. It’s a tough call and we’ll see how they sex it up against...Spain.

Bon chance France and welcome to the sweet 16.

Togo, are you still there. The door is to your left.

Group G
Switzerland 2
Korea 0

It’s official. Arsenal is the best team in the world. I don’t know why I just said that but if these 4 matches were any indication of the genius of Wanker as well as the possibilities that lie ahead of the coming season, we’re pretty much screwed. Not really, but this has been an Arsenal day.

1st goal came bright and early for everyone, especially the ugliest goal keeper of the tournament. A fantasmagoria of a delivery was struck by the man who doesn’t sound remotely Swiss. Since everyone in Korea is slightly smaller than the Japs, the header by the Arsenal boy (I’m not making this up) is struck with such force that it goes into the net. He comes out of this header with a bloody nose, but the male species looks cool with blood on some part of our body. Chick dig it, but his face is the only face a mother can dig.

Koreans had their chances, but really at the level Korea is up against and the level they are currently at, the level of skill needed to level the match wasn’t there.

2nd one was wacky. A pass from some Swiss dude is gathered by Alexander the Frei. Flag goes up indicating that there was an offside. Frei shots anyway and the ball goes in and Swiss are throwing fondue bowls at one another in joy. But the referee ignores the offside and gives the goal to the Swiss. The replay did show that the pass from some Swiss dude was tampered by a left leg of some Korean and I really don’t know if that is offside or not. Must check later, but a strange goal and strange officiating.

So it’s official. None of the Asian teams made it to the sweet 16. None, zero, nada. I mean, it’s pathetic. Koreans seemed like they played with their intestines on their sleeves, the Saudis were useless and so were the Japanese. Iran didn’t and couldn’t showcase their Bundes talents. This could also mean that the available spots given to the Asian region could be reduced. Probably not, but at this level of football, it’s best to give the other slot to a European side. Really, we suck as a continent and someone better do something about this.

Fuck.

Congratulations Guy. It’s Swiss in the swiiiit 16 (you knew I was going to do that).

Korea? Go and gorge on that hot and spicy and delicious Kimchi. I’ll bring in the sushi.

The final group finished like so:

1. Switzerland 3 4 7
2. France 3 2 5
3. Korea Republic 3 -1 4
4. Togo 3 -5 0

The real battle starting like this:

Germany V Sweden

Argentina V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Italy V Australia

Switzerland V Ukraine

Brazil V Ghana

Spain V France

Ryu’s “Welcome to the club, birthday boy” goal of the day. Has to be Patrick whom I respect and quite glad that we sold him for 12 million squids.

That’s it. No more 3 games or 4 games days. Maximum games played per day (MGPPD) will be 2. Thank god, I mean, dude, what the fuck?! This is where the contenders will face the pretending fakers and the boys will be separated from older boys and the hot totties will be really baring their boobs and ass (limited release for all Brazilian matches).

Today we bring you my country versus blond country for starters and later the blue hot favourites take on my favourite country to make fun of.

Watch it.

Italy 2 Czech Republic 0; Ghana 2 USA 1; Brazil 4 Japan 1; Australia 2 Croatia 2

To the horny bisexual person in an orgy,

Where to start? Who to begin with?

Did the “real” group of death provide enough entertainment so that the hot nubile babysitter will watch the match on my lap whilst my wife is away Amexing their savings away?

Was there miracle in Dortmund or a mayhem in Stuttgart?

Or did Ryu come home feeling slightly more than dreadful and shitty combined and slowly divided by “why bother?”

Is he okay?

I guess it’s time to find out (hooray!).

Group E
Italy2
Czech Republic 0

Group E
Ghana 2
USA 1

I thought I do the two matches little bit live/simultaneously. Although the excitement was a 40 year old virgin with a whore, the two of them were matches made in football heaven.

Oh, it’s a bit 24ish.

(music please)

4:00PM BT (Bratwurst Time)
Two matches kick off almost simultaneously, with the the Ghana V USA match starting a wee bit slower. Doesn’t make this match less important, but it was just a bit slower to start. No Davinci Code here.

4:22PM ST (Schinken Time)
Ghana strikes first and foremost. By the way, Ghana was missing 2 of their mildly hot playa’ hata’ in Gyan and Muntari. Nevertheless, Dramani robs the white and black from the absent minded Reyna and whilst in action decides that he needs an early shower. Crumpled Reyna in his rear view mirror, he thumps one past the unintentionally hairless premiership goalie. As a bonus, Reyna goes home early.
At this point, Ghana in and Italy in.

4:26PM BT (come on, Bier Time)
Nesta, the rock of Berlusconi’s pet, is out with some mysterious disease. I’m sure he was busy pre-celebrating with a half woman, half not so good woman. The tower of power comes in and his second touch is Midas. Although his primary job is to keep the house clean, a Totti left corner kick is met with delicate decisiveness beyond the greedy mitts of Chelski’s numero uno. Why the Czech defence decided to not put a player each on the post will forever be a Bermuda to me, but hey, they must know what they’re doing.
At this point, Ghana still in and Italy definitely in.

4:43ET (Eisbein Time)
Baros looks forlorn and lonely as if he was not allowed to play in a game of “you’re not fit enough to score and we won’t support you anyway.” Why he remained up front on his own and why Rosicky was fucking almost in front of the back four and...oh sorry, it’s time for the “yuu ess ayight”. Before the American heroics a katana like pass from another Chelski man catapults my favourite name of the tournament in Pimpong. He shoots wide. End of story, but not for the super duper Americanos. Beasley rams in a la “the Bus” into a small heap of Ghana defence. There’s something lost in translation and they give the ball back to Beasley. He carries forward and unleashes a speedy yet slightly offside grounder to the fast approaching Dempsey. Not Jack but Clint, but not Eastwood. He cannons a blinder and 1/1,000,000th of the state population cannot hide their excitement.
At this point, Ghana still in (again) and Italy also still in.

4:45ST (Schade Time)
Two events occurred as if the small evil men with the whistles have synchronized their watches prior to the start of their respective matches. As the 1st half draws to a close, the World Police is having a inappropriately difficult time getting the ball out of their area. American right full back skies the ball and Onyewu confronts my man Pimpong inside the box. A normal confrontation without the brandishing of high voltage gadgetry or sharp edged blunt objects. Believe me, I’ve seen much much worse in my 30 year life in the box than what Herr Merk saw. A penalty.

Meanwhile the Viagra less Czech Republic offence searches for an equaliser, but just as the oldest manager of the World Cup is thinking “Why didn’t I think about putting two strikers up front and supporting them with couple of midfielders, damn, I’m a fucking genius”, tragedy strikes. Already on thin yellow ice, Polak (I checked, he’s not Polish) decides to guarantee some type of self-inflicted retribution when he goes home tomorrow. A irresponsible teenage angst of a tackle delivers the second yellow and the already desperate Czech are down to 10 men.

Appiah shoots, Appiah scores.
At this point, Ghana in (really?) and Italy easily in.

The second half was devoid of any back hair rasing action and try as they try and tried, both the states and republic could not find any more fuel in their fuselage. Italy adds another one with the most self-indulgent football family in Italy capping his 50th cap with a sneaky goal.

As for the Czechs, the sending off did hurt, but losing the bald giant in the 1st match, losing a prominent defender in Ujfalusi in the 2nd match, and having a Detroitesque bench did not help matters. We say goodbye and get a haircut and of course, miss you badly to the man who made Czech Republic known for its football rather than the small headed hot women and the tasty blond beer. Thanks for the memory, Pavel, but we won’t miss your hair.

And the Americans? Over hyped for no good reason. Yes, it was a difficult group and yes, they were unlucky in several occasions. But definitely NO in their overall performance. Got to work much harder to earn some respect for your number 5 spot. Hey, football season’s on its way.

Italians are looking less than spectacular, but with the ability to do a so so job and getting so so results, they may be going so so where.

Last but not least, please give it up to the first and perhaps the last African nation to make it into the sweet 16. Although their next foe is, well, you know, at least they can happily intoxicate themselves with the sweet nectar of victory, you know, until next Tuesday around 7:00PM local time. With the youngest squad in this tournament, (BTW, Essien will be out next match with one too many jaundice), I’d like to see the Black Stars again in South Africa.

The group finished like so:

1. Italy 3 4 7
2. Ghana 3 1 6
3. Czech Republic 3 -1 3
4. USA 3 -4 1

Brackets looking like:

Germany V Sweden

Argentina V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Italy V Runner up F

Winner G V Runner up H

Winner F V Ghana

Winner H V Runner up G

Group F
Brazil 4
Japan 1

Group F
Croatia 2
Australia 2

This group went on to have the same drama for the mama as its neighbour and its only fitting to see it through in the same catwalk sans the elaborate time naming.

9:03PM
“Why aren’t you being cute with your time, Ryu?” Because this is do the miracle or go home in the bus and having Brazilian or Aussie onlookers making you think that they are sniggering at you behind your helpless and pitiful and loser back. Or it could be that the time thing wasn’t as funny as I originally thought it would be. Moving gingerly on.

Croatia strikes first into the land of the triple B (beer, beach, and...ask Anup), with a delightful free kick. The man who gave Kawaguchi a chance to be a mini-hero thinks he’s got a better chance of scoring if he is located outside the box and a wall of roos standing slightly agitated. The curler beats the wall and gets sucked into the top right corner. By the way, no matter what Bautz and Jackie get up to in their spare time away from 360, Brazil are going to the sweet 16. These two matches are here to decide who gets to curl themselves in a sea of penne.
Croatia in.

9:33PM
Hope is a wild and quirky Menon. At times it cuddles up to you like a soft fluffy bunny like substance (no red eyes) and moments later it will tear you apart and leave you with a dime in a dirty Styrofoam cup. It’s what we want and it’s what we hate. But if you had a choice, you want it because when you are full of hope, nothing in this world created by carbon is impossible.
With Takahara and twat with no left leg getting the sack from the worst possible Japanese manager of all time, Maki who is brilliantly coached by Ivica Osim (one of the top 5 managers of all time, a great man, be sure to Wikipedia him) and Tamada who I think is as useless as the other two who got the pink slip spear head the offence. With Kawaguchi born again as Cerberus, shots after shots from the magnificent 10 (Dida isn’t that good) were laid to waste one after the other.

Then it happened. Alex, who made a smart move of becoming Japanese when he knew that he would never make it into the “real” national team, streaks across the Brazilian box (man, this pattern always sounds kinky) and slips a coy one to Tamada who finishes emphatically and as you can imagine, Japan cums. Hope is born.
Croatia in.

9:39PM
For some odd reason, Tomas of Croatia tries out his hand of god routine inside his own box. Obviously Moore sinks the ensuing penalty to rejoice the birth of their own hope
Australia in.

9:45PM
Overrated or overweight? Well whatever I say or you say or your mom says, say no more. Only a second remaining before the hafl, Bucky’s cross is spot on for Real’s future right back. His header is neat and tidy, which is immediately laid claim but who else, Fatty. With Fatty imitating Orpheus, bullet time arrives in haste and the ball delicately glides passed the sleeping Cerberus.
Hope has eaten after midnight and you know you should never do that.
Australia in.

9:53PM
Gilberto gives it up to Juninho and the rocket screams through the hands of Kawaguchi. Hope decides to call it a day.
Australia in.

9:56PM
Kovac sends a astonishingly normal shot to the Aussie goal and Schwarzer being the drama queen, let’s it go in. Australia’s Hope seems grumpy.
Croatia in.

9:59PM
Wit no one around Gilberto just shoots and the ball goes in. Japan finally realizes that they are in the world cup and they are playing against the defending world champion.
Croatia in.

9:79PM
A Bresciano cross is bobbled teasingly in front of the goal by another anonymous Australian and Potter sends a Patronus into the goal, but then it didn’t look like a horse.
Hope just needed some attention.
Australia in.

9:81PM
A history is smeared with lard. Juan decides that he too wants a piece of sushi as he one-twos his way into the danger zone. Japan’s origami defence is no match for Juan’s desire to be mentioned in my blog and the final link up of this gorgeous link up crescendo’s with Fatty’s 14th goal of the world cup. This is like Bonds tying Aaron and Fatty is joint top with Bomber Mueller.
Australia in.

10:00PM
Time up and with some sort of Aboriginal mumbo jumbo, Hope turns into a ticket for the Aussie’s first ever sweet 16. Japan and Croatia set off for their undeserving summer holiday.

You might be curious as to why the latter part of this mail has suddenly become, how to say this, less passionate. Well, my dear friend it’s 3:11AM and I’m tired and in a way I’m glad we’re not going to the sweet 16. No sour dough, but this may have been the only way for Japan to realize that we actually suck. Goodbye Zico, we won’t miss you.

I’m sure you want to know about Brazil. Since they had basically “whatevered” this match, it’s really hard to gauge their level of play. But this match against Japan might be the kick in the buttocks they craved for. With Fatty seeming to find his greasy feet, let’s see if they can slip and slide their way past the black stars.

Group looks like:

1. Brazil 3 6 9
2. Australia 3 0 4
3. Croatia 3 -1 2
4. Japan 3 -5 1

For the bracketologist:

Brackets looking like:

Germany V Sweden

Argentina V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Italy V Australia

Winner G V Runner up H

Brazil V Ghana

Winner H V Runner up G

Ryu’s “Congratulations...fuckers” goal of the day: I have to give it to our next door neighbour from next year. Kewell’s tying goal to seal the Roos path to the sweet 16 is sweet.

Tomorrow brings us the last day of the group stage as the sort of Orange revolution take on the people who are going home and at the same time, towel heads are eating paella with some sangria.
The evening takes you on a ride with fondue and kimchi, topped up with the togo go go a go and the team desperate to do something productive before everyone in the country decides that the rugby team is better.

Watch it.

Portugal 2 Mexico 1; Angola 1 Iran 1; Argentina 0 Holland 0; Ivory Coast 3 Serbia-Montenegro 2

Party People,

Two stuffs.

One is that people are wondering where my blog is. It’s here, down there:
http://ryuscupramble.blogspot.com
Do pass it onto your hot female colleague who recently split up with her girlfriend.

Second, Michael Owen has gone back to Tyneside. His World Cup is over and the sensuous Swede is left with 3 strikers, of which one is younger than the youngest girl that I had sex with, the other looks like a potato on wings and not really match fit and the other is tall enough to be taken down by Godzilla. We need a miracle here, England.

Would like to take this place and time to say congratulation to the Heat fans out there. Didn’t think they would do it, but hey, I always root for the white boy. I am proud to say (not really at all) that I did not see a single NBA game this season. Not even one. It’s sad as this is my de facto number DOS (not a computer lingo) sports in my sleepy yet fulfilling life. There has been mumbles and jumbles that this “World Cup” business is taking over some of the floor space in the MTBA and what not, but please be rest assured. This only comes once every 4 years. Oh, but then I might do the same thing for the Euros... :)

On that note, what is with America? I know your country sucks at football, but are the majority of the yankee doodle dandies not interested in it at all? How come Phil Mickelson’s collapse (as with Monty’s) take front page over Ukraine’s decapitation of the towel heads and the conquistadores narrow escape from the Tunisian...al Qaeda attack (that doesn’t really work, but hey, I did try a bit)? I just don’t get you guys and I have now basically given up my quest as to how and why American’s live their lives without the beautiful game.

Is it the 45 minutes? Is that too long? Must a sport have a 2 minute break ever 5 minutes so that the sponsors can pump senseless ads into your lovely children Peter and Mary-Jane’s fructose powered brains?

Is it the lack of stats? How about this, from now on we’ll make sure to calculate how many touches each player gets per 90 minutes with each part of your body. The total of all the touches will be divided by the different regions of your body and this result will give us a accurate measure of how efficient each player is using parts of his body during a match. We’ll call it WGF, yes, who gives a fuck.

Is it the lack of cheerleaders? Open them eyes, and look them around. In every world cup match, there is one camera man who’s life (and job) is dedicated to finding the hottest and the most sizzling girlies in the stands. And trust me, most of them look million times attainable than the Laker Girls (aka Plastic Girls) or Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders (Dude, these girls only exist on calendars).

Is it because you think it’s a girl’s game? Or is it because the girls have won it and the boys haven’t? Or is it really maybe that you guys suck and can’t bear the fact that your dubyaness lurking inside you won’t settle for anything but the best?

Is it?

The American players deserve much more love from their own countrymen. They are playing their hearts out in the biggest sport event in the world. If you are an American and if you are not supporting your boys of summer for whatever ridiculous reason (too busy with work, too busy shagging, too busy watching NBA/NHL final, too busy playing X360, too busy telling your wife that you got more pressing matters than watching pansies playing a girl’s game) ,you should be ashamed. Really really ashamed.

They are fighting for America to be recognized as a proper football nation and you should be there to support them. I mean, if you’re supporting the troops, what’s the difference if they’re fighting with guns or feet?

Group D
Angola 1
Iran 1

Angola had to win by two clear goals to have any chance of advancing to the sweet 16. Since they didn’t, I’m not really bothered about them. Off you go, Angolans. Have a nice trip to your war torn home land (I’m feeling the “insensitive” card being pulled out of the PC people out there) and as for you, Iran, I am sure Khatani will congratulate you by putting each of you into his nuclear war heads. Anyhow, you lot enjoy the rest of your summer.

Group D
Portugal 2
Mexico 1

Since Portugese were dancing in the streets of Algarve for making it to the sweet 16, it was guacamoles job to make sure they stay ahead of those feisty crazy nutty Angolans. Big Fil (by the way, I have been making a mistake in calling him “Phil” but it’s actually “Fil”) decided to pamper his starters by sitting down all the players who had been pasted with yellow cards during this Asian happy tournament thus far. C Ronaldo, Deco, Pauleta, Costinha, and Valente were checking out the sweet stuff in the stands in their civilian outfits as the “B” team took to the field.

For the Lucha Libres, they had much more to lose in this game than Spain’s neighbour. To be sure, the losers of Alamo had to draw, which would take them to 5 points. At that point, no matter what the crazy cats of Angola did, they would qualify. If they were to lose, well, they had to make sure that they didn’t lose by a lot, as the Angolans can move out of this cozy group and move into a very nice house with 16 bed rooms.

So more at stake for one, not so much for the other. To my humble yet naughty eyes, Portugal looked much smoother without the Lermin’s 2nd coming, the slimmer Ronaldo. The width of the pitch was used to its max by Figo and Simao, Tiago and the semi-come back kid in Maniche bossed the midfield. They were so smooth and silky that it reminded me of Stanley fake silk boxers. They were nice and so were the Portuguese attack in the first 45 minutes. Adding kerosene to a burning Aztec pyramid, crazy la Volpe’s (I shouldn’t say this because he looks like he can kill a bull by sniffing at it) decision to play Marquez in front of the back 3 as a midfielder shook the defence stirred the collective Mexican confidence.

1st goal came with ultimate haste around the 6 minute mark. Simao decides that he need some highlight reels and skips past couple of dumb founded sombreros down the left. He finds himself surrounded by the 3 amigos, but then notices that a semi-failed Chelsea experiment is charging down the middle a la the Bus. Simao slips a exquisite one to his colleague and he blasts it top shelf beating the badly en fuego Mexican goalie.

2nd goal came when the slick haired porn star (start the typical 80’s porn music, now!) decided that he can be Diego in his own box. This obviously is hand ball and it is obviously converted into another goal by the deserving Simao.

At this juncture everything seems to be not going for Mexico. Losing by two goals and no hope in hell for shortening the ever widening gap.

3rd goal came from the bad boy of Mexican football. Perhaps slightly confused and “Ah, that’s so nice” by the expressive manly love by Cantera and Ricardo after a big save few minutes earlier, the Big Fil’s little defence wasn’t awake when Fonseca glanced a corner kick from Pardo with his cabeza to pull within a goal.

After deciding that the dude who plays defence for Barca should probably be playing defence for the national team, the people’s team of Mexico started to play less caliente from the 2nd half. This seemed to work as the midfielders, unshackled by the unnecessary defensive duty from the 2nd half, found the much needed ignition to fire up the green engine.

But when it’s not your day, it’s really not your day. With a legitimate Miguel handball in the Portuguese hot box, it was penalty time for the muchachos. So kicked Bravo, so he Baggioed it. Great opportunity squandered by the worst penalty shot of the entire tournament. If they had lost the spot for the sweet 16 because of his inadequate and highly unsexy spot kick, you know he would have been a victim of a Colombian.

Mexico was later reduced to diez men, but kept on pushing the ball for an equaliser. To no avail and with Angola being equalized by towel heads, it was the men of cheap labour and NAFTA to join hands and sing kumbayah with destiny.

Is Portugal good? I’m not convinced. Its basically the same team that went onto the Euro 2004 final, but the lack of an out-and-out striker(s), their only source of goals is from their pearl, emerald, and diamond. If they fail to shine and the defence that’s slightly more suspect than the top teams, they will be going home to Jose’s homeland earlier than people would want them to.

And the geen people eater? It will all depend on whether they can keep their concentration for full 90 minutes and not siestaing in the first 20 and the last 20. Also the return of Spaghetti, wouldn’t hurt. I expect them to leave earlier than Portugal.

Why? Because these two teams will either take on the people of “van” or the people of “o”.

The group finished like so:

1. Portugal 3 4 9
2. Mexico 3 1 4
3. Angola 3 -1 2
4. Iran 3 -4 1

And brackets like that:

Germany V Sweden

Winner C V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Runner up C

Winner E V Runner up F

Winner G V Runner up H

Winner F V Runner up E

Winner H V Runner up G

Group C
Ivory Coast 3
Serbia-Montenegro 2

An Exciting match full of sending off, retaking of penalties, and national pride. Since they are going home, I just want to dismiss them, but there was one incident that etched into my sweet brain of mine. On the 86th minute mark, Ivory Coast wins a penalty. Kalou, with rain pouring over and under him, with an expression of tension and pain written all over his face, walks up to the penalty spot. At the other side of the pitch, Ivory Coast goalie Barry is on his knees facing the left post and praying to someone and no one. He cannot bear to watch his team mate take the kick which will, for the first time in their country’s history, earn them a “W” in the World Cup. Kalou looks up at the goalie one last time and starts his run towards a dream that may never be. The moment after the ball is struck and the moment after the cheer erupts for the orange elephants. At the other end of the pitch, with his fist pumping under the grey drizzly sky and the sound of honour and glory spilling out of his mouth, Barry is in a world of bliss. His joy is drowned by an even more ferocious cheer coming out of the fans and all this is what the world cup is all about.

Group C
Argentina 0
Holland 0

Eva Peron (aka Evita) and Rembrandt are hiccupping in their graves. Since both of these teams have taken out all their crown jewels, the crowns that were left were spectacular yet lacking in the sparkles. A dull game to say the least and there really isn’t any conclusion that can be drawn from this. With both teams already qualified for the sweet 16, there really wasn’t anything to fight for. So the game went and the game ended. Happy? I even went out of my way to watch this match at an Argentinian restaurant/bar. Whatever.

What’s with Argentina? They are good, but they showed today that against a quality team, they will have difficult time moving the ball. Spaces that were bountiful in their first 2 matches have been wiped clean by Marco and his minions. Let’s see if they can turn the heat up against the 52nd state of America.

And the dutch? You have to give it up for Marco and his tactics. By going man-man (not one of them moves, Albert) on the Argies, they reduced them to making them make the plays rather than having the plays come to them. They forced countless turnovers and the defence looked solid. Same here. I need to see them in full strength, peppered with urgency. Bye bye Portugal?

The group finished like this:

1. Argentina 3 7 7
2. Holland 3 2 7
3. Ivory Coast 3 -1 3
4. Serbia-Montenegro 3 -8 0

And brackets now look like this:

Germany V Sweden

Argentina V Mexico

England V Ecuador

Portugal V Holland

Winner E V Runner up F

Winner G V Runner up H

Winner F V Runner up E

Winner H V Runner up G

Ryu’s “I got dust in my eyes” goal of the day. Had to be Kalou’s spot kick to give Ivory Coast some pride to take home as souvenir as well as the reaction to the goal itself. Look out for them in their home World Cup.

Tomorrow we get sexy with Kristen’s boys and the Kafka’s shadows, at the same time the Dubyas will fight to their death with the last of the African hopefuls. The evening will bring 7/8th of myself to dance the forbidden dance with the samba boys, meanwhile socceroos will make history with Milosevic’s sons.

Watch it.

Germany 3 Ecuador 0; Poland 2 Costa Rica 1; Paraguay 2 T&T 0; Sweden 2 England 2

Working people,

As I have mentioned modestly last night, today is where the weak goes home crying to their aunt Reta and the strong continue their masochistic journey.

I just want to get the unimportant game out of the way:

Group A
Poland 2
Costa Rica 1

Who cares? Bosacki scores deuce and Gomez scores one.
Good bye Poland, see you in the EU in some distant future. Good bye Costa Rica. I’m sure we’ll see you in....we’ll see you somewhere.

Group A
Germany 3
Ecuador 0

The score doesn’t tell the story. Yeah, we scored 3, but this was against the viagra less Ecuadorian team who have taken out most of their studs and instead inserted some duds. Apparently Mr. “Don’t touch me, coz I’ll fuck you up good” Suarez’s main objective was to make the sweet 16 and they probably didn’t give a shit whether the next foe was fish and chips or their neighbour.

With Hail Merkel’s current major tournament form against reserve teams being absolutely miserable (loss to Czech Republic in Euro 2004 and Portugal in World Cup 2002), the armpit stains and hair were prevalent and visible within the German faithfuls. Since we haven’t got a clue who would be our next victim in the sweet 16, knowing that Golden Bombers popularity is at stake, and having to play this match in front of 74,000 at the Olympic stadium in Berlin (a beautiful stadium, I might add), all we had to do was win.

And in sweet socks on Birkenstocks fashion we did.

1st goal came from Mr. I score when it doesn’t count. The right footed left back goes a wee bit down the left and sends it to the man I think might be slightly older than my father. He crosses it whilst falling gracefully on the grass to no man on the other side. Acne boy appears relatively out of nowhere and skilfully yet ungracefully pulls it back for the top scorer of the tournament. He slings a stellar one into the net. One up, ho’s down.

You can hear the collective German sigh echoing in the stadium and the “dude, take as many goals as you want, I could give a shit” attitude of the Ecuadorians seemingly energized and at the same time relieved the Sauer Krauts of their typical German like stress. So, one of the most one-sided match of the tournament goes on without any protest from the 73,992 fans in the stadium.

2nd goal came from, surprise, surprise, the ex-Pole does it again. I may be wrong, but I’m probably correct in saying that he only scores in matches which means absolute shit. The trick he pulled in Saudi Arabia as well as this match. I have also heard that the last competitive victory against a top tier team in the world by Germany came 6 years ago in now defunct and money guzzling Wembley. If you want some gossip, he’s fallen out with his strike partner and a fellow ex-Pole. I’m sure it was something to do with who’s more Polish than the other. What else would they be bitching about?
Oh yes, the goal. A absolutely fantastically definitely superb chip from the 30 million ex-Eastern German cruises above two bright eyed Ecuadorians. I mean, you have to see how exquisite this pass was. This is equivalent to a John Stockton bounce pass rather than a J-will wrap around. The ex-Pole (the 1st one) traps it with his thigh, which subsequently dodges the befuddled Ecuadorian goalie and slot it calmly for a 2 nil.

3rd goal is what Klinsi was really waiting for. The 2nd ex-Pole opens his account with a rather sweet one. A fast break opportunity was seized by its thick neck by Zit face as he sends a decisive one down for the grandpa. He pushes himself with his walker and all and looks up to see the young ex-Pole bleary eyed and dying for some spot light time. Old Skool, flashes one across the box and Podolski slides in a la Andruw Jones and makes a sweet but difficult contact with the ball.

Finito.

So, are the Germans fo’ real? Well, that’s a bit premature. Our hobbies include beating up old people and children under the age of 4, but when we have to pick on kids our own size...let’s just say we haven’t had much success. If we progress in this tournament from our current position, we will probably meet the Argies in the quarters. I’m cringing.

The Group ended like this:

1. Germany 3 6 9
2. Ecuador 3 2 6
3. Poland 3 -2 3
4. Costa Rica 3 -6 0

*1st column is games played, 2nd column is goal difference, 3rd column is points (Win=3, Draw=1, Loss=0)

If you are a bracketologist, so far it looks like this

Germany V Runner up B

Winner C V Runner up D

Winner B V Ecuador

Winner D V Runner up C

Winner E V Runner up F

Winner G V Runner up H

Winner F V Runner up E

Winner H V Runner up G

Group B
Paraguay 2
T&T 0

These teams were already going home so really, who cares? Playing for pride? Whatever.
Sancho Pancho to score his first ever World Cup own goal, followed nicely by a goal by Jose Cuervo.
Good bye you two. Have a nice summer.

Group B
Sweden 2
England 2

If you haven not realized, I live in England. Which means that I tend to see English people in and out of my life. The English are perhaps the most cynical as well as pessimistic breed on earth. I opine that this has rooted from their pathetic performance in the World Cup. Every time they do well, they lose with Hollywood tragedy fashion and even if they are doing well, some calamity Jane events are around the corner. The country’s hobby is to gather as many chips their pale white shoulder. So with Roo Roo coming back and somehow everything clicking into its nice English tea party (albeit very slowly), the English were truly enjoying their often short lived summer. Perhaps this is the year they can actually claim that they are a champion of a sport that everyone cares (Trust me, no one cares about Rugby or Cricket outside of this grey island. Darts? Curling? We are talking about real sports here) about. I can hear feel the anger of Englishmen, “You fucking cunt, then what is a “real” sport in your fucking language? Pwoah, american football with them pads on?” I knew some village idiot will ask me that question and I’m going to answer this as gentle as I possibly can. The only world sport that matters is football, period. End of story. Not basketball, not baseball, not hockey, not american football, and definitely not NASCAR.

Before the beginning of this match, sexual harassment and co knew that they wanted to avoid us at all costs. Why? Because they are pansies and they can’t take admit that 5-1 was a fluke (I wish). Rather, tactically speaking, it is best to avoid the host nation all together until the semis or the final. So all the English had to do was to draw the match. Although the results is what they wanted, they paid for it dearly with the early exit by the ex-sub of Real going out with a twisted right knee. This team is cursed, I tell you.

1st goal came from the coming out party crasher and his name is Joe. I must admit that the only player who is really on the testicle is Joe Cole (yes, his brother is Ashley Cole and no, they come from two different mothers). A Mr. Posh free kick is pumped back into the box by Albert’s white cousin and soon to be sacked Chelsea man heads it which is then blocked by the blond goalie and headed straight out by a blond defender to Mr. Cole. The ball bounces once, bounces off his chest and he volleys a wicked arcing shot passed the helpless (and I really mean helpless) Isaksson.

You’d think they’ll be in control after this.

2nd goal came from a corner kick by Linderoth, not to be mistaken by an ex-Flyer. Alback skims the ball with is blond head and scores the 200th World Cup goal. Wow that’s a lot of goals. Scored tied at unos. Around this time, snoop dogg look alike is taken out with some mysterious injury. I’m sure he missed another drug test.

3rd goal came from Liverpool’s mighty diaper dandy of a skipper. Joe Joe English’s corner from the right is met far side by Gerrard. England momentarily explodes. 2-1.

4th goal came when you thought it’s time for a celebration pint. A ball flogged into the box from the left like an unwanted Brangelina’s child, dances on the pitch avoiding the wild swinging Campbell and finally reaches its destination at the ex-Celt’s foot. The softest of all goals in the world and the one that took all the joy out of the English.

The group finished like this:

1. England 3 3 7
2. Sweden 3 1 5
3. Paraguay 3 0 3
4. T&T 3 -4 1

*1st column is games played, 2nd column is goal difference, 3rd column is points (Win=3, Draw=1, Loss=0)

It’s bracketing like so:

Germany V Sweden

Winner C V Runner up D

England V Ecuador

Winner D V Runner up C

Winner E V Runner up F

Winner G V Runner up H

Winner F V Runner up E

Winner H V Runner up G

First of all, Sweden won’t go far. They’ve drawn the host and let’s just get ready to bid adieu to them this weekend.

And the English? I don’t know. All I can say is that if Potato head isn’t match fit, razor sharp, shagging a 60 year old prostitute, they got a chance in hell in advancing. As for the next round, they should beat the Ecuadorians, but the loss of their wee top scorer is much bigger than Prescott having an affair for the 52nd time this year. Why didn’t the horny Swede take more strikers than 3 strikers? (Waldo doesn’t count as he just doesn’t) Beats the fuck out of me. This rush of injuries may be the strip of jewel encrusted bandage that broke the Queen’s back. The cynicism and the pessimism will continue to rule this country with its flimsy fists for the unforeseen future. Great.

Ryu’s “You gonna let him play next year or what, Jose?” goal of the day. It looks flukey but the boy has proven over and over and over and mother fucking over that he can play. Man, Jose’s got a lot of unleashing to do after this tournament.

Tomorrow we sort of sex it up with the sexy trio and the salsa boys and the same time ayatollah towel heads meet up with Angola (thank god, they’re both leaving) and in the evening the group of death comes to a crescendo with the two names taking on used to be two names but will be two separate names and crème de la crème is a sexy duel with the orange taking on the sky blue.

Watch it.