Hell's patio, who would have thought England would reach the quarter-finals of London 2012, or whatever, only to lose on penalties to a far superior footballing nation? That scenario seemed as likely as Andy Murray reaching the semi-finals of Wimbledon 2012 before being defeated by Roger Nadalovic - but that is what happened last night. The (un)match resembled nothing so much as an episode of any ITV drama: gruelling for the viewer, far longer than necessary, and with a wholly predictable ending. Our valiant boys, courageous lads, and ineffectual blokes are on their way home.
We were warned beforehand that the Italians, and Andrea Pirlo in particular, indulged in what is known as 'passing the ball', so England countered this threat by allowing Pirlo enough time and space to spray the ball around the park at will for the whole game. In contrast, England's main playmaker, ex-Hollyoaks star, Stevie 'Steven' Gerrard, performed an impression of recently deceased Lonesome George, before apparently retiring from the game completely after about 48 minutes; he made a brief reappearance after about 72 minutes when he contrived to get cramp, despite having previously shown no signs of using any of his muscles. Wayne Rooney, too, finally put paid to the oft-intoned canard that he is a 'world-class footballer' - he is not. Rooney is a very good footballer who occasionally scores world-class goals for Manchester United but, on the international stage, he has never delivered when it mattered, apart from a very brief efflorescence in Euro 2004: his last World Cup campaign, for instance, was notable mainly for an ill-tempered outburst against the fans who were foolish enough to travel half way round the world to cheer him on. In fact, he often renders himself incapable of playing when it matters by wildly swinging his Scouse studs at foreign flesh and being summarily dismissed for his efforts.
The game was often saved from being merely torturous by the entertainment value of Mario Balotelli, permanently poised on the cusp of outright lunacy. Has anyone on a football field wore a facial expression so expressive of imminent savage violence/childish tantrum/sublime talent as this ridiculous specimen?
Joe Hart: "Smell my wrist, Balotelli, smell it! SMELL IT!"
The penalty shoot-out ran to script despite the fragile flame of hope engendered by England briefly taking the lead. Pirlo responded with a penalty of daring and delicacy, before Ashley Young tried to ensure the Euros moved further eastward by attempting to leather the ball into Moldova, the crossbar inconveniently interposing itself. Ashley Cole actually looked surly and indifferent before his attempt, as if resenting the fact that he actually had to prove he was obviously going to miss. Cue a return to the studio to a giggling Alan Hansen. Our abysmal record at penalties hides a more fundamental failure: at every tournament, the England players are completely knackered by half-time of the quarter-finals. There is no way we will ever win a major footballing tournament if you can barely drag yourself on to the field of play at the start of a match. Even Rooney, who had languished in the stands in the group stages, biting his skull and punching his teeth, looked shattered early on, the sweat glistening on his tuberous cranium.
Rooney's thorax and abdomen
This campaign has, though, marked a refreshing break from recent tournaments as it was accompanied by a welcome blast of hard-nosed realism about our chances of success; gone were the chest-beating, posturing nationalism, ludicrously over-hyped expectations, and bellicose, embarrassing and historically inaccurate blaring tabloid headlines ("ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY BLOKE TO GIVE SWEAT, MUCUS, AND......er.......FIGHT THEM ON THE PLATEAUS........LET'S SHOW THE NAZI ARGIES WHO REALLY WON THE BATTLE OF DUNKIRK......er........CHURCHILL"). Instead, most people were astonished England progressed beyond the group stage. Perhaps, ahead of our futile World Cup 2014 campaign, the red tops will go the opposite way entirely: "ENGLAND'S REJECT BENEFIT SCROUNGERS NOT FIT TO WEAR ADMIRAL CROMWELL'S FLIP-FLOPS". Our defeat, though, did have one avert one nightmare scenario, darkly hinted at by comic genius Gary Lineker when he signed off the BBC's coverage - what would the Germans have done to that team if we had won?
Showing posts with label Rooney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rooney. Show all posts
Monday, 25 June 2012
Sunday, 5 June 2011
Hairy Story
The Libyan imbroglio continues with British Apache helicopters being deployed in action for the first time. The helicopters instantly proved their lethality by destroying a cement mixer and the Tripoli branch of Clinton's Cards. On the same day, a member of Britain's feared SAS (Silly Arse Squadron), Lieutenant William Hague, owner of slightly less hair than a helicopter, parachuted under cover of broad daylight into rebel-held Benghazi. Billy of Benghazi, as nobody will call him, held talks on the conflict with the motley crowd of rebels but 'Mad Dog' Gaddafi was not best pleased. In a short 8 hour rant, Gaddafi first of all called for Admiral Hague to be evicted from Libya as he could not understand his 'incomprehensible accent':
"Is this silly little bald man a Geordie? I cannot understand a word he say - what is this 'ee ba gum' of which he speaks?.......Hague should not visit Benghazi as is city run by armed criminal gangs who spend whole day driving around shooting their weapons. Law and order has broken down completely. It is equivalent of me making visit to Manchester or Liverpool."
It is understood the rebels would like to position General Hague so the blazing North African sun reflects off his ridiculously shiny Tory head into the eyes of the oncoming Gaddafi forces.

(Legendary British commando Private Hague, code name 'Stupid Boy')
Hague's visit got his dander up and he immediately commandeered a Spitfire and flew straight to Germany where he crash-landed on a cucumber farm. Hague leapt from the cockpit and began to frenziedly gnaw and masticate upon the humble yet possibly fatal fruit. His jaw was a blur of activity as his right-wing teeth sliced through the epidermis and the fleshy, pulpy innards. He was last seen standing like the Statue of Liberty, half-eaten cucumber in his outstretched arm, humming the 'Dambusters' theme music.
Another hero, Wazza Rooney, has taken steps to cure himself of incipient baldness by having a hair transplant. Rooney tweeted the glad tidings: "Just to confirm to all my followers I have had a hair transplant. I was going bald at 25 why not?" There was a slight delay at the start of the operation when the surgeon, Dr Kojak Goodhew, was unable to distinguish between the front and back of Rooney's head. His head was said to be 'bruised and swollen', but what it was like after the operation is unclear.

(Rooney: "I'm well made up with me follicle unit transplantation.")
His betrayed wife, Coleen, tweeted that she was "pleased for him and it will look great", thereby revealing that she refers to her beloved adulterer as 'it'.
Entertainment news - The powerful music mogul, Barry Porpoise, the man behind the highly successful talent show, The Cleethorpes Factor, has had to drop one of the most popular judges, Bessie Clawhammer, due to her Geordie accent being impenetrable to the people of that opulent resort. Comments such as "Why aye man, you remind us of a young Raoul Moat, canny lad" and "Listen, pet, you haven't got the vocal range of James Bolam yet" have not gone down well. The talent show, held every year in the Cleethorpes Cheese Emporium, is one of North-East Lincolnshire's hottest tourist attractions (ahead of Mablethorpe's 'So You Think You Can Inbreed'), even though it is an updated version of Opportunity Knocks, with added pointless screaming and deeply tedious and unending publicity. Porpoise is believed to be concentrating on his other gaudy end-of-the-pier show, Wigan's Got Talent, fronted by the desperate dwarves, Not-Funny and Even-Unfunnier.
"Is this silly little bald man a Geordie? I cannot understand a word he say - what is this 'ee ba gum' of which he speaks?.......Hague should not visit Benghazi as is city run by armed criminal gangs who spend whole day driving around shooting their weapons. Law and order has broken down completely. It is equivalent of me making visit to Manchester or Liverpool."
It is understood the rebels would like to position General Hague so the blazing North African sun reflects off his ridiculously shiny Tory head into the eyes of the oncoming Gaddafi forces.

(Legendary British commando Private Hague, code name 'Stupid Boy')
Hague's visit got his dander up and he immediately commandeered a Spitfire and flew straight to Germany where he crash-landed on a cucumber farm. Hague leapt from the cockpit and began to frenziedly gnaw and masticate upon the humble yet possibly fatal fruit. His jaw was a blur of activity as his right-wing teeth sliced through the epidermis and the fleshy, pulpy innards. He was last seen standing like the Statue of Liberty, half-eaten cucumber in his outstretched arm, humming the 'Dambusters' theme music.
Another hero, Wazza Rooney, has taken steps to cure himself of incipient baldness by having a hair transplant. Rooney tweeted the glad tidings: "Just to confirm to all my followers I have had a hair transplant. I was going bald at 25 why not?" There was a slight delay at the start of the operation when the surgeon, Dr Kojak Goodhew, was unable to distinguish between the front and back of Rooney's head. His head was said to be 'bruised and swollen', but what it was like after the operation is unclear.

(Rooney: "I'm well made up with me follicle unit transplantation.")
His betrayed wife, Coleen, tweeted that she was "pleased for him and it will look great", thereby revealing that she refers to her beloved adulterer as 'it'.
Entertainment news - The powerful music mogul, Barry Porpoise, the man behind the highly successful talent show, The Cleethorpes Factor, has had to drop one of the most popular judges, Bessie Clawhammer, due to her Geordie accent being impenetrable to the people of that opulent resort. Comments such as "Why aye man, you remind us of a young Raoul Moat, canny lad" and "Listen, pet, you haven't got the vocal range of James Bolam yet" have not gone down well. The talent show, held every year in the Cleethorpes Cheese Emporium, is one of North-East Lincolnshire's hottest tourist attractions (ahead of Mablethorpe's 'So You Think You Can Inbreed'), even though it is an updated version of Opportunity Knocks, with added pointless screaming and deeply tedious and unending publicity. Porpoise is believed to be concentrating on his other gaudy end-of-the-pier show, Wigan's Got Talent, fronted by the desperate dwarves, Not-Funny and Even-Unfunnier.
Friday, 20 May 2011
Queen on Tour
It has been, we are repeatedly told, a truly historic visit. Not only historic but deeply symbolic too. In fact, it has been a historically symbolic and symbolically historic visit. This is, of course, Lizzie Windsor and Phil the Greek's jaunt to the Emerald Isle, so it is. As soon as the plane landed at Dublin airport, it was announced that the Queen was now eligible to play football for the Republic of Ireland, as well as Germany. It is thought unlikely she will be picked, though, as she has suffered a dramatic loss of form since she did her Achilles in at William's wedding.
Lizzie dutifully performed various memorial and ceremonial duties before she got down to the real reason for her visit - a trip to the Irish National Stud, or Colin Farrell as it is affectionately known. The Queen's vacant, dead eyes lit up when various gleaming stallions were paraded in front of her; she laid a wreath in memory of the Republican horses brutally murdered by the British in 1916; and she patted lots of wizened, tiny jockeys on their funny little heads. There was an embarrassing moment, however, when Lizzie mistook one of the horses for her daughter, Princess Anne. This was a ridiculous mistake to make as Anne was running in the 3.30pm at Kempton Park at the time.

(Wooden, clapped-out, unrealistic old nag views a demonstration of jockey skills)
Elsewhere, it has been a unrelenting litany of men behaving badly: Huhne, Laws, Fred the Shred, Schwarzenegger, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Ken Clarke, and Rooney. The latter caused a Twitter rumpus when he responded to abusive tweets by threatening his interlocutor:'I'll put u asleep within 10 seconds'. One can imagine the fierce look of concentration on his primitive features - the furrowed overhanging brow; the tongue jutting from betwixt his baboonish incisors; sweat gleaming on his potato skull - as his huge Scouse paws bashed out his reponse.

(Rooney: "Hey, Coleen, how do you spell 'u', our kid?")
It is thought Rooney aimed to carry out this threat by ambushing his abuser and forcing him to read his pisspoor autobiography.
Lizzie dutifully performed various memorial and ceremonial duties before she got down to the real reason for her visit - a trip to the Irish National Stud, or Colin Farrell as it is affectionately known. The Queen's vacant, dead eyes lit up when various gleaming stallions were paraded in front of her; she laid a wreath in memory of the Republican horses brutally murdered by the British in 1916; and she patted lots of wizened, tiny jockeys on their funny little heads. There was an embarrassing moment, however, when Lizzie mistook one of the horses for her daughter, Princess Anne. This was a ridiculous mistake to make as Anne was running in the 3.30pm at Kempton Park at the time.

(Wooden, clapped-out, unrealistic old nag views a demonstration of jockey skills)
Elsewhere, it has been a unrelenting litany of men behaving badly: Huhne, Laws, Fred the Shred, Schwarzenegger, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Ken Clarke, and Rooney. The latter caused a Twitter rumpus when he responded to abusive tweets by threatening his interlocutor:'I'll put u asleep within 10 seconds'. One can imagine the fierce look of concentration on his primitive features - the furrowed overhanging brow; the tongue jutting from betwixt his baboonish incisors; sweat gleaming on his potato skull - as his huge Scouse paws bashed out his reponse.

(Rooney: "Hey, Coleen, how do you spell 'u', our kid?")
It is thought Rooney aimed to carry out this threat by ambushing his abuser and forcing him to read his pisspoor autobiography.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)

