Holiday Part 3 Day 1

To the 26 hours party people,

Well, as is the case with my holiday away from the cup, I got up, dozed, took shower, played some ball whilst these black teenagers were smoking spliffs around me, didn’t join them, went to Massala Zone for dinner, celebrated Chris’ birthday at the Narrow boat whilst he conspicuously jammed with his fellow music peeps, came home and decided to goto bed.

I think I know what I’m currently suffering from. It’s the post elite 8 world cup fatigue syndrome. As you may well be aware, elite 8 days are the days where you got your two-a-days. You get at least two matches to keep you going. Even if you miss one (most likely the one at 3PM), you will still feel proud and lucky that your night cap with your work colleague will always feature football. Oh, those were the days..., but I would be happy to not go back to writing about 3 matches per day. That was the strangest mixture of heaven and hell.

So it’s France V Italy. Apparently the bookies were dancing the streets of Vegas as well as Guadalajara because both teams were one of the teams least likely to win the whole shibang. If you are a gambling man like da Beast is (youngest), you get better odds with les Bleus, but still I think the Azuri will like win or something.

As for the 3rd place match, I somehow don’t really give a shit. This is not the Olympics when the peeps are screaming with media imposed joy when you get that highly coveted and worthy of a bronze medal. The only colour that really counts is obviously black, I mean, gold. The rest is worthless. That’s why I have no idea why in the world of silly cock and balls that they would even contemplate giving the 3rd and the 4th people something to put in their sock drawer and forget about. “Oh wow, Michael. You got the bronze medal from the 2006 FIFA World Cup! That’s so great and cool and I’m so proud of you!”

Seriously, who gives a fuck.

All that is remaining is the final. There apparently is a talk of a possible 3rd and 4th place match in Saturday, but I’m hoping it will get rained out.

Well, off to the races:

“Eizondo chosen as Cup final ref”
You know he’s going to be good when he sent Roo home for early supper with Col.

“Lippi salutes Zidane renaissance”
Apparently, he also did the same for Mussolini.

“Domenech keeps faith in veterans”
Sicnce that’s all he’s got, he better be kowtowing to them and simultaneously sucking on their toes.

“Klose’s priority is bronze medal”
How sad is that.

“Zidane is running for Golden Ball”
I just pictured him running after a golden ball. Ace.

“Beckham PR refutes Magpies link”
I just pictured him eating and throwing up a magpie. ???

“Owen needs extra operation”
He also needs a smaller head. Really, he does.

“Capello cautious over Ronaldo”
I think he’s afriad that fatty will accidentally eat him.

“Injured Nesta ruled out of final”
Oh, it’s that guy who never really played.

“Del Piero puts his name into frame”
And sends it to his mother for an Easter gift.

“Cannavaro hopes for crowning glory”
Somehow there is nothing funny in this sentence. Great defender, shame about the height.

“Change or fail again: UEFA boss Lennart Johansson has called for a limit on foreign players”
Might be easier if, Lennart invents a time machine and assassinate Bosman.

“Podolski bags young player award”
Thank you for missing.

Ryu’s “Happy Birthday” moment of yesterday. My flatemate Chris is now at the ripe old age of 28. It’s good to know that he is, that you know, like he’s 28. Hooray.

Today will bring you more excitement from my life as well as a review of the movie X-Men: directed by an idiot.

Extra: Found a very engaging yet ruefully funny article about smoking and sports:
http://football.guardian.co.uk/News_Story/0,,1814675,00.html

Watch it (Don’t know what, but you know, you probably can find something)