Those Euro 2012 excuses in full
England are a shambles.
But then, I would say that. I support Wales, for a start, so I’m clearly biased. Plus, I write about football on the internet, and so must hate the England team, hate all the England players, and hate the English game for not being as technically satisfying as Moldovan futsal. Further to that, I’m middle-class, despite not really liking hummus, and so part of the great anti-working class conspiracy to deprive them, the other, the plebs, the lumpenproles of their sport and their nation, a conspiracy that may so far appear to be limited to the occasional snarky comment piece about John Terry, but will soon flourish into real and savage violence, albeit only until three in the afternoon, upon which most of the middle-class shock troops will have to lay down their organic rifles to take Tabitha to choir. And on top of that, I’m ever-so-slightly inclined to the left of things [note his two earrings - Ed], politically, which means that I come out in a rash at the very sight of a St. George’s Cross, knowing as I do that anybody expresses even a scintilla of pride in their country, the oppressed peoples of the occupied territories of Wales, Scotland, Kernow, the Malvinas and Palestine aside, is not only a slavering racist, but a likely opponent of my secret masterplan to hand over the whole shebang, crown jewels, fish and chips, stiff upper lip and all, to the gay secular Islamists.
This is all true, obviously, so I will personfully attempt to put my own imperfectness to one side. Goodbye, predilection for cheese-on-toast; farewell, keyboard-snobbery; adieu, social chains and bonds of birth; ta-ra, Karl Marx. I am now in a state of grace, untroubled and unbiased and veiled in ignorance of myself. Let’s have a look at that again, shall we?
England are a shambles.
See. Told you. But for once, it doesn’t matter. England, in Poland and Ukraine, are about to embark on that rarest of things: a major tournament from which they will emerge, as a collective, relatively unharmed whatever the outcome. Such is the blessing of the shambles: if you limp in, nobody minds too much if you fall on your arse. And even better, this time, England come armed with a whacking great multitool of an excuse, an excuse with the prongs and tines to remove even the most awkward of figurative stones from the most recalcitrant of metaphorical horses. Let’s look into the possible futures, and see just how they’re going to get away with it.
England lose all three games.
It’s clear that Don Fabio’s decision to base the team in Krakow was fundamentally flawed. Not only did the thousands of miles of travel sap the energy from the legs of the team, but the incident in PLACE IN KRAKOW enraged the whole nation, two major international animal rights groups, and Michelle Obama. It’s clear that the idea of basing the team in a city notorious for having a few bars was utterly nonsensical. Half the squad return to sympathy; the other half all retire before they get back, and the venom is drawn with promises of the future. Phil Jones is made captain.
England lose one, win one, and draw one, before losing out in the quarter-finals.
While England tried their best, that they were beaten by a settled team was no surprise. The resignation of Fabio Capello robbed the team of the momentum that they had taken from the successful qualifying campaign and the victory over Spain, and there was little time for his replacement to impose any coherent style on the team. The squad return to mild and limited opprobrium, quickly tempered by a couple of retirements and a new kit with purple bits on. Phil Jones is made captain.
England progress to the semi-finals or final.
Freed from the dictatorial martinet’s designer Italian jackboot, England rediscovered themselves. Gone was the oppressive atmosphere of Rustenburg; instead, a relaxed and convivial England side came that close to the trophy. And if it hadn’t been for Steven Gerrard’s loose backpass in the 94th minute, who knows what extra-time might have brought? The squad return as heroes, and a number of high-profile players retire on a high, while the FA commission Rush to write a light opera called 2012 to commemorate the tournament. Phil Jones is made captain.
England win.
Well. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *breathe* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *breathe* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *breathe* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *breathe* HAHAHA *breathe* HAHAHAHA *breathe* HA *faint*
Ahem.
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