Since Saturday’s debacle against Portugal, there has been naught but anguished Anglo wailing and blubbery Saxon weeping, with torrents of bitter tears shed into our pints of bitter. A nation mourns. Stiff upper lips have come perilously close to quavering. I have it on good authority that one of the Queen’s corgis even tried to take its own life.

But all is not lost. Lamenting limeys can take some satisfaction in our maintaining a proud tradition: namely, the English football team getting to the quarter or semi finals, going a man down thanks to a star player’s incredibly stupid foul (Beckham in 1998 vs. Argentina is a particularly fine example), playing pluckily against the odds and then proceeding to break our hearts by losing, again. Football will still be coming home of course; it just seems it’s going to be making a few more stops along the way.

What’s most galling about this latest defeat, however, is that it was clearly the result of subterfuge and skulduggery. The unholy alliance of Portugal and Voledom resorted to chicanery to reduce our lads to ten men. The tackling of a rival’s wedding tackle that got England’s star striker and friend of sex workers everywhere Wayne Rooney sent off can be seen above. And while on first glance Rooney’s foul on Portugal’s Ricardo Carvahlo might appear to be the worst football-related crotch-savaging since Pele inadvertently castrated Franz Beckenbauer with an errant bicycle kick in 1971’s infamous “Frankfurter Friendly,” closer inspection reveals our boy’s innocence. (Incidentally, this may be the first time in history that a tackle that was all ball was called as a foul.)

Other commentators have pointed out that Rooney’s use of Carvalho as a groin trampoline was obviously unintentional and that he himself was fouled multiple times as he scrambled for possession. But these observers overlook the clearly visible licks of flame emerging from Carvalho’s shorts. We can now discern that in a fit of misinterpreted sportsmanship Rooney was attempting to stamp out a rather nasty crotch fire that flared up in his opponent’s nether regions. No doubt this gonadal conflagration was set by a volish agent so as to trap Rooney into a brave but red-card inducing act of humanitarian testicle trampling. For shame!

The worst thing about Portugal’s villainous victory is that it forced us to root for France in the ensuing semi-final. France! Oh, the shame of it still stings. Nevertheless, we are grateful to our French brothers for humiliating the Portuguese in their match-up and eagerly await their being crushed by Italy in the final.

Explore posts in the same categories: Hooliganism

One Comment on “Nuts”

  1. Magistra Says:

    Can it be true? Would HW ever actually root for the French? I fear football has infected his fragile mind with terrible terrible things.

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