Tuesday, June 20, 2006

There is nothing like a football match...

...to show up the true colours of a nation.  Now as anyone who is familiar with the genus 'homo englandus' knows, we are a fickle nationality, much given to whinging and whining, never illustrated better than when we are, or look like we might be, losing. 

On the other hand, John, an Australian buddy, was in full effect from the starting blocks at the RSC (that's Australian for Returned Servicemans Club I'm reliably informed, much like our own Foreign Legion clubs, and certainly NOT just a damn good excuse for blokes to get pissed club) during their first match of the World Cup, He and  his compardres were fully prepared for a major-league beer session, regardless of the outcome.  As it happened, their preparations were not in vain when in the last 16 seconds they scored 23 goals (or something, I'm not convinced the actual score is important, or by many attendees, in fact known). By contrast, I was amused to observe that the singing and chanting during our last (it must be said, outstanding) match against the Swedes, was at its zenith when we were on the back-foot.

Now many will attribute this to a desire to encourage our brave lads at the front, to transfer some enthusiasm and 'grit' to the troops, but actually, it had more of the 'wallowing'  about it...more that we're actually enjoying being the underdog. 

Now thats fine, each to their own, but the most iritating thing was the little Welsh bloke standing behind me.  I have absolutely nothing against the Welsh, or the Shorts, but the presence of this wee chap just reinforced my view that the Welsh have been bred for generations with one aim in mind: to be objective, analytical, even-handed and thoroughly, infuriatingly RIGHT.  Every comment and quip this Son of the Valleys came out with was accurate, dispassionate, and utterly without regard for the 200 hairy-arsed English bums around him.  And yet magically, he survived two of the most emotive halves of football we've seen in many a year.

I suspect that the Bible has been translated incorrectly, and that it is in fact the Welsh that will inherit the Earth, and that the sooner we give ourselves over to the fact, the better off we will all be.

Some of the best polititians have been Welsh (Lloyd George springs to mind) and so have some of the best fornicators (again, Lloyd George is up there, if you pardon the pun).  The best singers (Tom Jones), the best firemen (Sean Jones) and the the best captains of Question Of Sport (Emlyn Hughes)...all Welsh.  Is there nothing this race can't turn their hands to?

Oh yeah....apart from football.

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