The Referee's a W@nker
It always happens to England doesn't it. Yet again we see a perfectly good goal disallowed by a home-decision referee. Mister Meier even over-ruled his assistant [linesman] who signalled the goal as valid. A dreadful piece of refereeing, and one that robbed England of their rightful place in the semi's. I'm gutted. Forget the penalties -- they are always a lottery and we shouldn't have been in that position.
If you'd like to send Urs Meier a message -- congratulating him on his great work in a Portugese shirt -- you'll find a handy feedback section. Bewarned that the page might not load first time: His server is probably seeing a lot more traffic than normal...
I'm getting tired of seeing England nearly make it.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Thursday, June 24, 2004
I Expect
The football is keeping my mind off my Gran's terminal condition. For this reason alone I'd like to England progress another round. Stories that 40,000 of the 65,000 capacity crowd will be English -- despite the fact is being played in the host's backyard stadium -- encourage wishful thinking that perhaps this time, more than any other time, England can go all the way.
I have £1 on England to win 3-1 in normal time.
The football is keeping my mind off my Gran's terminal condition. For this reason alone I'd like to England progress another round. Stories that 40,000 of the 65,000 capacity crowd will be English -- despite the fact is being played in the host's backyard stadium -- encourage wishful thinking that perhaps this time, more than any other time, England can go all the way.
I have £1 on England to win 3-1 in normal time.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Chow Italia
Vic seems to think that I'm xenophobic when it comes to football. She uses words like "hate" -- as in "Why do you hate the Germans / French / Italians [delete as appropriate] so much?"
Last night it was the turn of the Italian dream to crumble, and when I expressed my pleasure at seeing them go out of the tournament, Vic asked the above question. I'm not xenophobic of course, but football's a funny old game, and I do have some deep-seated, jingoistic, views on the above three nationalities when it comes to football (e.g. all three of the above teams have misplaced arrogance). But the bottom line is that there's nothing better than seeing the once mighty struck low. Who cannot appreciate the bitterness of seeing the celebrations of the Italians at their last-gasp winning goal being immediately cut short by the news that it was irrelevant and they were going home on the next plane out. They deserved it, just as Spain deserved it two nights before. A team of poncy reputations playing without respect for their opponents or the game --either playing for the draw or playing without drive or ambition. I'm pleased for Sweden and Denmark -- they deserved to progress, unlike the dire Italians. All the Italians can do is wave about wild accusations of collusion. It's got nothing to do with xenophobia -- it's all about merit.
However, I can't wait to see the TV coverage of the tomato-throwing Italian public welcoming their heroes home. Hopefully they'll have a crate ready for spitmeister Totti.
Vic seems to think that I'm xenophobic when it comes to football. She uses words like "hate" -- as in "Why do you hate the Germans / French / Italians [delete as appropriate] so much?"
Last night it was the turn of the Italian dream to crumble, and when I expressed my pleasure at seeing them go out of the tournament, Vic asked the above question. I'm not xenophobic of course, but football's a funny old game, and I do have some deep-seated, jingoistic, views on the above three nationalities when it comes to football (e.g. all three of the above teams have misplaced arrogance). But the bottom line is that there's nothing better than seeing the once mighty struck low. Who cannot appreciate the bitterness of seeing the celebrations of the Italians at their last-gasp winning goal being immediately cut short by the news that it was irrelevant and they were going home on the next plane out. They deserved it, just as Spain deserved it two nights before. A team of poncy reputations playing without respect for their opponents or the game --either playing for the draw or playing without drive or ambition. I'm pleased for Sweden and Denmark -- they deserved to progress, unlike the dire Italians. All the Italians can do is wave about wild accusations of collusion. It's got nothing to do with xenophobia -- it's all about merit.
However, I can't wait to see the TV coverage of the tomato-throwing Italian public welcoming their heroes home. Hopefully they'll have a crate ready for spitmeister Totti.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
So Hot
After the supreme disappointment of the France match, there was no getting away from the possibility that those fateful last two minutes would come back to haunt the England team. Thankfully, after two very professional performances, England have qualified for the knock-out stages.
All thanks to Wayne Rooney.
The boy done good. Or, as the heart-on-sleeve Ian "Wright, Wright" Wright said: "He's on fire... he's so hot, he needs an asbestos kit."
And that's what makes the BBC's TV coverage of the games so much better than ITV's:
Studio pundits like Gary Linekar and Ian Wright who genuinely care -- and are passionate about -- the England team. Unlike their counterparts on ITV -- Jamaica's Robbie Earle and Ireland's Andy Townsend -- Ian and Gary have played for England and know what it's all about.
Commentators who a) don't get over excited, b) understand the difference between a big match and a good match, and c) know the names of the English players (unlike Sir Bobby Robson).
No cutting away from the build-up for TV advertisements in the 30 second period between the end of the national anthems and the kick-off.
The quarterfinal against Portugal should be a cracker: The stadium should rock. After that, the semi's could throw up a clash with the lack-lustre Germany. Then France in the final. I can almost see David Beckham raising the trophy up in his hands, with a St. George's flag behind him with "Thame Boys" written on it.
After the supreme disappointment of the France match, there was no getting away from the possibility that those fateful last two minutes would come back to haunt the England team. Thankfully, after two very professional performances, England have qualified for the knock-out stages.
All thanks to Wayne Rooney.
The boy done good. Or, as the heart-on-sleeve Ian "Wright, Wright" Wright said: "He's on fire... he's so hot, he needs an asbestos kit."
And that's what makes the BBC's TV coverage of the games so much better than ITV's:
Studio pundits like Gary Linekar and Ian Wright who genuinely care -- and are passionate about -- the England team. Unlike their counterparts on ITV -- Jamaica's Robbie Earle and Ireland's Andy Townsend -- Ian and Gary have played for England and know what it's all about.
Commentators who a) don't get over excited, b) understand the difference between a big match and a good match, and c) know the names of the English players (unlike Sir Bobby Robson).
No cutting away from the build-up for TV advertisements in the 30 second period between the end of the national anthems and the kick-off.
The quarterfinal against Portugal should be a cracker: The stadium should rock. After that, the semi's could throw up a clash with the lack-lustre Germany. Then France in the final. I can almost see David Beckham raising the trophy up in his hands, with a St. George's flag behind him with "Thame Boys" written on it.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Dawn Chorus
I feel like a zombie. Brain freeze. India was awake at 02:20 this morning and decided she didn’t want to go back to sleep until 05:00. Having your 9 month old rapping the devil’s tattoo on your headboard, when you’ve got to go to work in two hours time, isn’t half as fun as she apparently thinks it is. To make matters worse India broke into a vivid dream I was having, one that was undoubtedly being used by my subconscious to deal with things bothering me:
I went to see my Gran in hospital yesterday – she was fine apart from a tube up her nose designed to stop her from choking to death on her own vomit. The dream featured me at her house doing jobs like tiding up the vast numbers of boxes of biscuits hidden in a carpeted dugout under the bed – a bit like a mechanics pit under a car. They were the sort of biscuits old people get given by distant relatives at Christmas and each brand of biscuit was neatly arranged in rows. I know that I was about to reach an important bit of the dream – and a release of pent-up subconscious chaos - when India kicked-off.
I feel like a zombie. Brain freeze. India was awake at 02:20 this morning and decided she didn’t want to go back to sleep until 05:00. Having your 9 month old rapping the devil’s tattoo on your headboard, when you’ve got to go to work in two hours time, isn’t half as fun as she apparently thinks it is. To make matters worse India broke into a vivid dream I was having, one that was undoubtedly being used by my subconscious to deal with things bothering me:
I went to see my Gran in hospital yesterday – she was fine apart from a tube up her nose designed to stop her from choking to death on her own vomit. The dream featured me at her house doing jobs like tiding up the vast numbers of boxes of biscuits hidden in a carpeted dugout under the bed – a bit like a mechanics pit under a car. They were the sort of biscuits old people get given by distant relatives at Christmas and each brand of biscuit was neatly arranged in rows. I know that I was about to reach an important bit of the dream – and a release of pent-up subconscious chaos - when India kicked-off.
