Italy 2 Germany 0

To the winners,

Corr, where should I start. I’ll be honest with you, the straight up from the gut feeling I’m feelin’ is pure semi-fluid undeterred sadness. Sad that our World Cup is over and done with and feed it to the dolphins with that skanky whore you popped two days ago. Sad that we were 2 minutes to penalties and all of you know that we would have won it if we had gotten there first. Sad that I won’t get that intermittently queasy, awfully beer inducing, fist clench and unclench exercising moments will be over. Sad that we have all woken up.

Let’s goto the match.

Final 4
Italy 2
Germany 0

It was one of those matches with minimal amount of shots, but so many end to end stuff. You would think a match of this calibre would be either 1) defensively exciting or 2) defensively boring. Tonight it was neither. Both teams decided the best way to kill one another was to go for the jugular and rip them throat into a bloody mess. This was especially evident with Kristen’s boys as they committed their often long dark haired mama’s boys in Grosso and Zambrotta bombing in every available opportunity, thus nullifying the light haired beer drinking boys in Lahm and Friedrich making their move up the river.

But what the noodle boys were doing, doing so well was the speed and absolute imagination on the ball. Once Camoronesi or Perrotta got the ball, they quickly feeted over to the ugly Milanese, who in turn placed the soul firmly in ex-long haired whore’s able football wits. Although his fitness was utterly suspect throughout the entire June, tonight his level of but his level of lethalness was around 8.5, aka Roma level. Totti was releasing the full backs and Toni left, right, up, down, southwest and north east all 1st half long.

On the other hand, Deutschland ueber all of you fuckers were just taking it defensively. The risky kinky Italians were releasing, but they were also caught in the favourite confusing part of the game in offsides. If Italy had to, for some odd reason, take a corner, Jens’ nasty sticky persistent mitts were tasking it up. With Jens getting that shit out of his house, the hosts were allow to trap the Italians quite high up field and that’s what it was in the first 45.

The 2nd half brought less of more as Italians kept on flying into the flanks and marionetting from the middle. Even steven kevin lam? Not so, my dear brothers not often in arms. When the big G gets the ball, they just didn’t have a)the side boys nor b) the ingenuity to break down a defence unquestionably brilliantly by Cannavaro. With Chelsea man dancing like he did against the Argies and Kehl, a poor man’s dude who got caught hitting an Argie not being able to distribute the ball quickly enough, everything stuttered. With guy who should definitely be adopted by Dirk and sneaky but not fast enough on the opposite side, there just wasn’t enough pace and creative juice flowing on the river D. Italy had their chances, but Germany was hanging on by a sausage.

Then came the extra time. If you have copious amounts of time in hand and your right and left ass cheeks have finally joined as one, and not two, you as a human being don’t see that many goals scored in extra time. 30 minutes after 45 isn’t for football, but more likely for a warm down in front
of 65,000 penalty hungry freaks.

Lippi, knowing that the mama’s boys area absolute dada when it comes to the 12 meter death match, rolls in Gilardino at 74, Iaquinta at 90, and the could have been best at 104. Two of these subs were made against a midfielder. Beginning of extra time, Gilardino’s squeeze hit the post and Zambrotta’s howler freaks the crossbar. With Pole number 2 showing his youth and not the clinical finish his elder had acquired through years of being Pole number 1, misses at least 3 clear chances. Just when my mind was going, “Penalty we win, Penalty we win, Penalty we win” came Mein Kampf.

1st one and the decisively deadliest unanswerable one came from a a corner kick that was struck well enough to elude Jen’s naughty mitts for the 2nd time the entire match. The ball bounced around, as it always does and finds his friend my enemy Pirlo, who decides that enough was enough and threads an absolute beauty to Grasso who returns the favor not to Pirlo, but to Jens with an abomination of a curler which causes Jens to grasp air. If we ought to lose, I’d rather lose to a goal like that (not really, but I have to make sense out of this whole evening).

2nd one came from the man who never scores for the national team, and what a chip it was. One timer that coasts over Jens in good time and sends the Germans out of the streets and into the tears soiled beds.

I do take my hats of to the mama’s boys. They were superb in every which way and I do wish them the best of luck in the finals, but then at this point, I fancy the frogs to win it all.

As for us? Well, if this cup wasn’t held in Deutschland, we would have gone out in the sweet 16. The momentum took us to don the cloak of invincibility, but at the end the emperor wasn’t wearing any clothes. We didn’t look foolish and we went out swinging...but missing. There will be more adventures for Klinsi and the boys and I look forward to the new born German team in the future.

Thank you for not waking us for 26 days.

Ryu’s “...” goal of the day. He bombed up and down, north and south Korea all day long. His left leg killed us off and it was a beauty. We give it to Grosso as well as the entire Italian national team. Hopefully most of you don’t have to look for another job this summer.

Tomorrow we bring you Cristina’s kids and Julien/Philippe’s Bleus.

Watch it.