This feeling is not a new feeling. I have accepted that Scotland will never qualify for a major competition again. We are in some sort of football limbo or purgatory and until they devise some other, heartbreaking and unbelievable, way of not qualifying from the group stage then we will remain there.
I picture us qualifying and then in the last group game having to beat Papa New Guinea by 20 goals. We score the 20 but with a few minutes left a drunken Scots pitch invasion sees a kilted, sweaty, inebriated Tartan Army member swing on the crossbar, setting off the new Hawkeye goal line technology that has been introduced, awarding Papa New Guinea a goal. As per FIFA’s directive Hawkeyes calls must be obeyed and the goal stands, sending us home again.
Still, I do look forward to these tournaments without having the baggage of emotional attachment but I still get the overwhelming feeling of nausea, what might have been and what never will be when the Tv station start their OTT build ups and the advertisers treat the fans like fools.
The BBC are going all Rainbow Nation on us. Like a hippy that has took the wrong turn on the way to Glastonbury. From the moment that distant hum of what sounds like Vuvuzela remixed by the Black Eyed Peas starts up we are thrown down a lift shaft full of bright colours with added lions and sharks.
ITV are going for the James Corden overkill. If he isn’t appearing on New Faces Version 2.0 dressed as a 13 year old fat kid at school who had picked up his brothers gym bag by mistake and as punishment they make him sing so he sounds like a donkey braying into a bucket.
He is setting back the larger peoples rights movement more than a couple of thousand Geordies with their kits off. Look, there he is on a small bike with a large England helmet on. Oh, he’s cuddling Adrian Chiles who looks like he has had a fight in a fake bake factory, he’s rugby tackling a guy in lion suit and look…he can jump and dance.
He’s a complete package.
The advertisers don’t fare much better. We have Mars who try and sell ghetto blasters and cassette tapes to the Ipod Generation. John Barnes slides almost to Ian Wright level as he does a shuffle usually only seen in boardrooms up and down the country when they open his CV. As he ‘recreates’ the World In Motion rap and someone from Mars thought that getting the extras from Shaun of the dead in for a bit of a dance would be a great way to round it off.
Ahhh, Kit Kat. Let’s go for the Little Englander angle. Brass, trains and terraced houses and some fortune cookie wisdom about crossing your fingers. There’s a spotty oink crossing his fingers at the mouth of tunnel. When one of his heroes high fives him, he hugs in friend and gives a massive “C’mon”. which really should be saved for him watching girl on girl action on the internet. I fear a life of virginity for that one.
Though, anyone who thinks that crossing their fingers will mean “no penalties” then you really do deserve all that get. Hopefully it will be a swift kick.
That aside, I look forward to getting more memories. Unlike most Scotsman England losing don’t register as great memories of the beautiful game. You see I like teams and players that entertain and England never have done that for me.
Toto Schillaci, Baggio, Pat Bonner, Maradona, the South Koreans, Cameroon, Ronaldo (the fat one), Bergkamp, Socrates, Joshimar, Zico, Gordon Strachan and Zidane all spring to mind when I think about the World Cup.
All have provided, theatre, entertainment and humour to a sometime dull competition.
I’m out for the country for the first week of the tournament. Thankfully, that means I will miss most of associated crap that goes on outwith the games. I’m sure that I will see a few Billy Bulldogs and Una Union Jacks next Saturday and I wish them well.
With Emile Heskey threatening to play they’ll need to do more than cross their fingers and pray to James Corden.
Article kindly supplied by Lord Of The Wing, The World’s No#1 Celtic blogger.
He does not sell white cotton socks.
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