People My Friend Mark Looks Like #1

And Phil thinks so too.

Ain't That a Kick In The Nuts?

Euurgh. I can't really be bothered writing about this. I refer you instead to Sean's excellent analysis in the comments to my last entry. Football is dead. And like Sean, since last Saturday I have run the full gamut of emotions associated with the grieving process. In fact, I realise now that I had actually been in the denial stage for most of the tournament, buoyed by the return of Rooney and believing as I had those empty promises that performances were set to improve. Denial departed in the instant pictured top left, when the irresistible sense of history repeating suddenly crunched home like a - well, like a boot in the groin. The anger phase then reigned for the rest of the weekend before I finally heeded Beckham's pre-match exhortation to Say No To Racism and refused to blame Ronaldo or the Argentine ref for our failure. Since then I have been through Despair - England will never ever win a World Cup ever again! And now we have Steve McClaren for four years and all our best players will be too old by the time we sack him! And of course Apathy - Well I don't care, I prefer cricket anyway, not that we have any chance of retaining the Ashes this winter.

And finally, I have come to a philosophical acceptance which goes something like this. Knowing that Wayne Rooney's feet represent the truly (and only) eloquent part of his being, I have come to view the crushing of the Carvalhian crotch as an exquisite expression of what english football is all about. To whit - of England's five games at this tournament, I did not enjoy watching any of them. The same goes for the last World Cup, the one before that and the Euro Championships in between. The qualifiers, of course, are even worse. Put simply, it is never ever pleasurable to watch England play. Yet every tournament knockout, inevitable though it is, is still a bludgeoning shock and a numbing agony. Supporting England is essentially the same as being kicked in the nuts.

I am truly grateful to Rooney for this revelation - a tournament-defining incident certainly, but more than that - a powerful exercise in symbolics which has left on me an impression as indelible as the one he left on Carvalho's scrotum.

Well done for France and Italy for making it to the final, even though I'm really not that excited about it. I suppose I have to take back my words about Italy being over-rated - see what happens when you actually bother to go forward, even if it takes fear of penalties to make you do it? Good thing you're as bad at them as we are...

The Biggie

It's big but will it be clever? By the time you read this it will most likely all be over - Eriksson v Scolari round three. The first two rounds have gone with Big Phil, but can it be that Sven will have the last laugh? Or even the last understated smirk?

England expects: another gut-wrenching rollercoaster where our honest endeavour will most likely be undermined by an untimely lapse of concentration and no doubt a hideous call from the Argentinian ref who will secretly want England to lose as badly as I wanted Argentina to lose last night. Cheering for Germany, honestly - whatever next?

Despite their lack of form so far, England will be glad that at the absence through ill-discipline of "Antan" Deco and Costinha "a place in the semis". How badly Portugal will miss the creative spark offered by Barcelona's John Cusack lookalike remains to be seen. By rights they should also be without the services of Figo, or F***o as I have now dubbed him after his performance against Holland. But FIFA of course decided against further discipline for his headbutt on Van Bommel (who in turn fell to the ground after careful consideration) as that would make the match referee (4 red cards, 16 yellow) look incompetent. Pause for derision.

A final word for the residents of Gelsenkirchen should Portugal be awarded a dodgy penalty in the dying seconds of the game a la Australia. Sorry for the mess...