Portugal 2 Iran 0; Ghana 2 Czech Republic 0; Italy 1 USA1

Peeps de peeps,

Just came home not so long ago and I must say I had couple of drinks. My friend Philip from America entered into the fray this evening and obviously we watched Itay V USA match at a Fulham pub. The details of this evening will be explained in full later on, but I just want to share a very touchy and feely moment of the evening.

I was on the bus back home tonight and received a call from Taichi. If you have been reading this email, he’s the 19 year old Japanese kid who is 190cm tall and plays football with my team. In his defence, he is an up and coming artist and I’m looking forward to see more of his work in the future. So, he calls me up, obviously excited and perhaps a bit drunk. The conversation went something like this:

“Ryu-san, I just read that Nakamura signed with Celtics for another year and that means you’re going to be here for another year right?”
“That’s right. That means I will be around for another year here.”
“I’m really happy that you’re going to be in London for another year, you have to come and visit my new flat.”
“Of course, I will. Are you coming to football practice tomorrow?”
“Of course I am. I’ll see you there. Good night.”
“See you then. Good night.”

Sometimes you do have to not get so cynical about life in general. If you don’t pay attention, there will only be few moments in life when you truly appreciate the existence of your family, friends, and your partner. What Taichi reminded me tonight was that there will always be people who care about you much more than you think they do. You just need to peel you slitty eyes open, get your dumbo ears in full hearing-mode, and do your utmost best to enjoy the moment.

Soppy? This is just life imitating life.

Group D
Portugal 2
Iran 0

I actually do know someone Portuguese, but then I don’t know anyone Iranian. Actually, I did meet an Iranian dude at a party in Edinburgh, but he wasn’t interesting to be mentioned here.

Her name is Cristina and we’ve known each other for the past 4 years. Just as a background story, her husband John is a patissier and an excellent chef. They’re children Daniel and Shannon are 8 and 6 respectively. He’s Irish and she’s Portuguese. I have cunningly positioned myself into their family that there is an unwritten rule that the exchange of occasional babysitting for John’s yum yum food is deemed legal and healthy.

Like I said before, she’s Portuguese from Porto (oh, dear lord, she can’t be from Lisboa) and he no his non-Irish days support St. George’s flag. What I am interested is the allegiance in the family in terms of which country you are to support during the world cup. What if you’re mom is telling you to support the Portuguese, but in reality you actually don’t think Figo is all that? Would you tell that to your mom, even though she will give you a bollocking? What if your father believes that you are supporting the English, but in reality one of your many girlfriend is Welsh that you rather go for the sheep fuckers? Believe me, I would love to see Cristina recruiting her son to support the Portuguese and John begging his daughter to go English. Wouldn’t it be lovely if they meet somewhere in the tournament? Yes, I do love the occasional healthy confrontation within the family.

The match itself was the most boring out of the 3 matches today. Portugal was definitely lacking the final touch in the last third of the field (Bruce Arena Red Zone, aka BARZ) and the wide players unable to feed the “I think I watched way too many porn last night” Pauleta in the middle, the sexy midfield regime was off to a slow start. You’d think with DJ’s wet dream, Deco coming back that the Porto Win refinery will be chugging along just fine. Obviously the bitch slapping of the lousy (at that time, but not this evening) Americans might have raised the expectation bar ever so higher.

What worries me is the apparent lack of learning that is occurring in ex-acne boys head. There are moments of genius that I see in him, but the more frequent lack of common sense on the pitch is what worries me about this Man-U foolio. He is an equivalent to a Marbury, that being highly touted to become the cream of the crop of the next-gen point guard, all he has done thus far is stat masturbation and coach killing. Great in fantasy ball, Steph is by far the least team oriented dude out there in the league. The same applies to Cristiano. He’s so talented that it hurts my right testicles. But his talent isn’t necessary translating to team success. His showboating is sports centre but then at the same time hindering the overall flow of big Phil’s system. At some point, he needs to be less Lermin and more...fuck...who? That’s it, like me. I’m just kidding you, KLM.

Ronaldo is not the only culprit in the “it’s almost there, but it isn’t” ness of the sweet wine football. There red zone offense (or half court sets) is shit compared to that of Argentina. With no one around Hiromi Go (a famous Japanese singer who looks like Deco) when the ball crosses the midfield and the relative “whatever, I’ll go there later” ness of Maniche and Costinha, it is killing their efficiency when they need to go for goal.

1st goal came when the game was limping away to oblivion. With Mirzapour hot between the posts a la Michelle Hoeppner a la 1994, big Phil’s offence didn’t live up to the size of his ego. Sputtering, Decuito, comes to save the day. Nuno Valente’s dummy run on the right takes one of the Khomeini’s boys as the man with stud mark on his face races towards the outside centre of the box with his ball in tact. Luis releases a pass to the waiting wee-man and he launches a sweetener and manages to land on his ass and not look so cool.

2nd goal was created with the ex European football of the year darting into the box and being tripped up by Golmohammadi (way too long). Did you know that the Iranian president is banned from watching the cup from the stands? So, if you’re not honest with your nuclear armament you can’t watch the match. So if you’re George Bush...actually I have this nasty feeling that he probably doesn’t know that the world cup is going on right now. Anyhow, lollypop lover converts the ensuing penalty kick and the time runs out. Thank god, it’s over.

This means that sexy midfield joins the other fools in the sweet 16. 3 Musketeers of Bundesliga plus other people with unnecessary long names are taking the early flight home.

Group E
Ghana 2
Czech Republic 0

Upset? Not really. If you have seen the match (which I have), the fake Pele boys were stronger on the ball, always first to the ball, out muscling the frail and pale republicans, closing down the czechs whenever they had the ball, and simply out atheliticising them. I guess the loss of Koller and Barros is more painful than a zit on your lips, as the Czechs impotented to an abysmal defeat.

Nedved looks like he could take his early retirement and become a stud in a nice big farm. Poborsky’s got the superior Asian genes, but he is older than my grandparents grand daughters. Lacking speed and muscle, they were more suited to be playing with the old folks in a home. The generation that gave me constant “holy shits” seem to be closing down for renovation.

1st goal came from Gyan (more “jyan” than “gyan”, if you know what I mean) and served eloquently by Appiah. A through ball from Appiah beats the crap offside trap by the boys of Charles bridge. Gyan gathers his thoughts and the hotties he could be bagging if he scores, nails one passed the about to be traumatized Petr Cech.

With pretty much being old an useless, Czech’s go for goal, but the superior (and I really mean superior) athleticism of the Ghanans kill of any attack. Drama was mamma when Ujfalusi (tonight is the night of weird names) of the republic busts out his hit man boots and takes down Amoah in the box. It’s a penalty and obviously they miss it. By all means, it was the 2nd penalty as the 1st one was called off because mr. precious was busy dishing out his 741st yellow card of the day.

From this point on, Petr Cech had work out even Jane would be proud. Being assaulted into every conceivable orifice, Cech stayed virginal for remainder of the match until Muntari blasts one up high. Glove side. Strangely, one Ghanananana dude takes an Israeli flag and does a bit of TO.

This group has now become the real group of death. With Czech Republic dancing with their 3 points and the Pimpong (one of Ghana’s late substitute) and sons level with 3, no one is yet to be invited to the sweet 16.

Group E
Italy 1
USA 1

The WWE plus The Thin Red Line divided by “what if” match of the evening.

As I have mentioned before, Philip is an Italian stallion from Crooklyn. What I didn’t know is that his heart and soul has now belong to Bush and co. I was interested to know which team he would go for, but against my popular instinct, he went Yankee on my ass (by the way, he’s a Mets fan). In some ways, I was disappointed, but in others, sort of relieved. With so many Americans claiming that they are “Italian” “Irish” “Kazakhstani” when they’ve only had pizza, drank a Guinness and saw one of the “stans” in some cheap British documentary, he is staying true to his red white and blue. This, ladies and gentleladies is patriotism and I certainly wish that people of Japan will learn something from this. Although I must say his patriotism was intermittent, due to the relative high number of attracting 16 year old at the bar.

1st goal the boot country. A Pirlo free kick is met head on by the skidding and diving Gillardino to start the supposed annihilation of “what? Soccer? That’s a girls sport.”
Just to really knock on the Italians: the goal was blatantly offside and you can only be forgiven if you all agree to go “Del Piero 2006 World Cup Edition” haircut on yourself. Although this will really upset Kristen and other female Italian fans, but I’m ready to take the risk.

2nd goal was justice served. Zaccardo’s wild left foot accidentally touched the ball and it unintentionally left the 16 people watching this match in the US very happy.

Moments later, something happened which should never ever happen followed by something that cold usually never ever happen. Piece of mother fucking fuck hole of a player, De “my mother is a whore’s mother” Rossi goes up for a header with the American ace B McBride (thanks for fixing, DJ). As they both goes up in the air, the man who shall be hit Al Capone style winds up his right elbow and shazaaaaammmm!!!! This sent Donnie down and Donnie fans were puking in the stands as blood spilled everywhere and gave the pitch red highlights. But McBride doesn't play in the toughest league in Europe for nothing. He gets a bit of patch up on the side lines and comes back a la Beckenbauer in the 74’ final (not quite, but equally dramatic). De Rossi is subsequently sent to OZ to get his rear end inspected by Bubba. Powerplay to the Americanos.

A bit later, the “Yuu Ess Ayight!” Maestroni is sent of for a tackle from behind. In my non-biased X-men vision, this was undeserved. Do the math. It’s 10 V 10. This all happened in the 1st half.

In the 2nd half, Pope challenged Gillardino for a duel, but since he did it from behind and he didn’t learn his lesson from the 1st half, he was off for an early shower. Now, it’s 9 V 10.

The onslaught that should have commenced with the advantage by the Azzurris never materialized. Keller did his best Cech impression to keep the deep blues at bay and the Americans, really hard done by retarded decisions and serious pay offs by the refs by FIFA to take home the 1 point.

Going into the 3rd match of the group, the Italians are at the top with 4 points and the Americans are hanging on by a thread with 1. This will be the group to watch next week.

Ryu’s “You are a disgrace to the beautiful game” play of the day: Obviously goes to De Rossi and if I were FIFA, I would ban him Ben Johnson style.

Tomorrow is the do or die match for the 7/8th of me and the Suker’s boys, followed by the Samba kids and the fuckers who beat us silly, capping it off with the stale wine and cheese dancing with Chelsea’s sponsor.

Watch it.