What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted?

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.", Martin Luther King, 1963

"The ultimate measure of a football blogger is not whether she posts in times of triumph, but the quality and frequency of her writing in times of trouble", Georgina Best, 2010

One of us managed to live up to our ideals......................

To be fair though, (as they say in footballing circles), I do have good reason to be miserable.

Like English fans everywhere, I am left feeling cheated and somewhat bewildered by our dismal performance. Which we watched here.

Which reminds me;

Q. What's the difference between a tea bag and the English football team?

A. A tea bag stays in the cup for longer

Boom Boom!

Then, woe is me!

Our beloved Nigel has deserted us.

It's all enough to break a girl's heart.

We Thought It Was All Over............................

Apologies for being absent for a few days.

For the first couple of days this week I found I just couldn't bear to dwell too long on our World Cup prospects.

I had to work yesterday afternoon so was not able to watch the match live. The truth is, though, I wasn't that sorry. I watched the match when I got home, in the safe knowledge that we won. I think the anxiety of watching it live would have been just too much!

My friend Sandy, despite being Scottish, has been very understanding and supportive of my pain.

Every day we discuss the recent matches, the England gossip and forthcoming ties.

He rang me immediately after yesterday's win.

"I think England will go on to win the World Cup now", he said.

Who am I to argue?

How Very Dare They

As I write this, I am somewhat distracted by the sight of Adebayor on my 42", looking very hot.

Surrounded by a very much less hot - indeed positively luke warm, Alan Shearer and Alan Hanson.

Talk about a rose between two thorns.

Emmanuel, the man who managed to do well at Manchester City, no less.

Unlike Robinho, who is clearly performing much better at international level.

And spare a thought for Kaka. Victim of an outrageous disgrace.

Talking of outrageous disgraces, how did Graham Taylor ever get to be manager of the England football team?

I heard him on the radio today.

The best he had to offer was a one-dimensional analysis of the England team's performance to date in the World Cup.

And then I hear the English FA have announced that they expect Capello to resign if we get knocked out at this first stage.

How very dare they?

Keeping Up Appearances

Is what GB and I have been doing since last night.

Regular readers will be aware GB has, at times of worry and stress, the capacity to think about other things. An almost obsessive compulsion to be cheerful, bury her head in other issues and to carry on. Very English indeed I'd say.

England, by common consent, were bloody awful? Off the pace, lacklustre and seemingly out of kilter with playing a team game. The consensus in this house? A team frightened to express itself and be creative. A team not willing to take risks, yet creating risk situations by very clunky football indeed.

After the match, GB and I just sat on the sofa a bit stunned. After a while she said to me, "I'm going upstairs to read my book.

Sat here, Saturday evening, watching the footy again, she's sat beside me, still ensconced with Stephanie. A radio show behind us this afternoon on Stroud FM has not dented her distraction.

The girl is not happy, dreading the next match, but (as always) keeping up appearances.

I feel the same. Sometimes, it's hard being an England football fan.

HL

Feeling Lucky?

I have a good feeling about the match tonight.

Why?

Well it all started this morning, when I went to the dentist.

I received a letter a few weeks ago, informing me the dentist I have been to for the last 25 years, has retired, and I would be seeing his replacement.

Anyway, I was very impressed when a very handsome man called me into his room.

I entered to find another man, equally handsome. And looking quite similar.

I was handed a pair of goggles, and put on a rather undignified blue plastic bib.

Then they worked together to give me a nice little polish.

And a tissue to wipe away the spit.

Not forgetting the mirror so I could see to wipe away the little bit of polish on my lips.

I think its going to feel a long six months until my next visit.

So, now you can see why today feels lucky.

I wonder why I'm still feeling scared too?

Out Foxed

Tonight, girls and boys, I have been taking part in a football tournament.
.
At an event entitled 'Nosh and Becks'.

An evening of lager, nibbles and a round robin table football competition.

My Lover and I only managed 1 win out of 5.

We were encouraged to wear our home strips.

Surprisingly, I was the only Leicester City fan there.

Anyway, there was a photographer there, and she gathered all those wearing footy shirts together for a photo.

A mass of red descended - two Liverpool fans and a Manure loving girl. Plus a Cheltenham Town fan, a Hereford supporter, and a man wearing a shirt with a picture of a rowing boat, suggesting he supported Crewe Alexandra (??).

"Leicester City?", said one of the Liverpool fans. "What have you ever won?".

He then proceeded to reel off a long list of trophies and championships won.

"When did they last win something?", I asked, quietly.

"5 years ago", he responded, apparently expecting me to be impressed.

"Time for some Fox action", I thought.

The photographer gathered us together.

They decided I should go in the middle, being the only one in blue, and because I had a scarf.

And that's when Foxy struck.

I gave each end of the scarf to the two Liverpool fans, and they were forced to hold it in front of us stretched out.

And smile.

Leicester City 1 Liverpool 0

Game over.

This 'N' That

Someone sent me a great email today.

This is how it goes;

Ladies….Imagine you are in Primark, queuing in single file ,the girl in front of you doesn’t have her purse. To your dismay you then realise that you don’t have your’s either.

A solution is that your friend towards the back of the queue is offering to throw her purse to you. You can’t queue jump until the purse has been thrown to you….once the purse has been thrown, you can quickly dodge the lass in front then confront the assistant on the desk.

That’s right Girls……that’s THE OFFSIDE RULE in a language you understand….

Good huh?

I've got Brazil vs North Korea going on in front of me.

My lover by my side.

Oh and I'm pleased to report my tinnitus is better.

Drowned out by the vuvuzelas.

World Cup Fever!

My interest in football goes back to the late fifties. Liverpool were on the telly a lot and so I supported them. 1966 came and went. I was thrilled we won, but I was just a boy.

(it's HL tonight btw-She's out doing good works promoting young talent ? in the community)

Anyway, a boy who had a crippled Father. A crippled Father who, before his physical abilities left him, was a County standard footballer and cricketer.

So my attempts at joining in with other boys, were not always successful. Confidence in myself was not always high. My eyesight was poor. Measles caused it.

I joined the military, still supporting the reds. Lots of men played football but didn't really talk about it to me that much. My life was taken up by one of these for a while.

And, for nearly 15 years, my head was turned by blokes who did this.

Then

I left the boys in Airforce Blue behind and became a.........Probation Officer

Gradually, through being a bit cerebral now, I got to thinking about the idea that football is actually a really important sociological thing.

A way for people to come together in conflict (with rules) without killing each other.

About 4 years ago. GB and I, fell in love. She didn't know very much about football but a chance conversation about Theo Walcot confirmed she was interested in the soap opera side of it.

I filled in a some of the early gaps and now, 48 months on, she's made herself a reluctant expert on the modern game.

As I've said before on here. I'm glad now to proclaim Girl's can do football. I was wrong. GB has proved this so.

Meanwhile, and a few years on, I'm retired now. I'm basking is a new-found freedom from tyranny,and have enjoyed most of the games on our media system whilst GB slaves away being a CEO.

At half-time in one match, I changed channels and was fascinated to see this guy teaching people how to sell personal treasures for the most money they could get.

My personal treasure is the fact I have a girl who loves football, plays guitar like this and understands the importance of a well-cooked meal.

I wouldn't sell that for the world.

She's gonna be linked to a big site soon. Watch out for further news.


HL

The Many Heads Of A Football Fan

I've had a day wearing a number of heads.

This morning, donning overalls with My Lover, to take building rubble to the local reycling centre.

Then back home for beard-trimming, showers, plaiting hair with ribbons (My Lover's), and putting on makeup (mine).

Afternoon tea here, with the odd Knight and Dame of the realm.

Home to water the garden and sing a few tunes.

Moules and frites with our fingers at the dining room table.

And watching the Algeria Slovenia match we had the foresight to record earlier.

My favourite role?

Football fan, of course.

Letting Off Steam

It's a melange of emotions in our front room this evening.

Delight at My Lover's return.

Laughter at the ridiculous bunting and flags adorning our house.

Frustration and amazement that ITV managed to miss a second critical goal - this being the first.

Horror and compassion for Rob Green.

Pride in the way our team performed.

Stunned that their great display did not result in a win, which in my view they deserved.

Yes I know there were mistakes.

And I heaved a sign of relief when Heskey went off for Crouchy.

But overall I thought they did us proud.

What to do with all that emotion?

I need to think of a way to let of steam.

I'll see if My Lover has any ideas.

Faith, Hope And Hearing Clarity

I am bedecked!

The house is suitably festooned.

Our front room bears its own decorations.

We have flags. We have bunting. We have badges. I have my shirt (My Lover does not consider himself to be a football shirt wearer!).

I am ready.

Plans in place to have my hair done tomorrow morning, then collect My Lover from the airport, visit my father for his 70th birthday, then home to beer, bubbly and a night of passion.

Football passion I mean, of course.

Oh and I have been back to see my hearing clinician, whose equipment, I am pleased to report, is now working.

So I now have nicely balanced, (if slightly pointed), ears to listen to all that wonderful commentary.

And the Match of the Day team.

Which means I have all the time in the world now to concentrate on the only thing that matters for the next few days or weeks.

It's like I said to a work colleague today; I am so excited - so looking forward to it. Even though I know it is almost certain my heart is going to get broken sometime in the next 4 weeks.

Just imagine that pain lying ahead.

Where does the pain come ?

It's a bereavement of course.

A death.

The death of Hope.

A test of Faith.

But we are not there yet.

We are watching those two seedlings grow and flourish.

Every game won will be food to their roots.

So I think it's time to water those plants with a couple of beers.

And put me feet up to watch France struggle against Uruguay.

Have a nice evening!

Don't Look Ethel

Something odd and unexpected has happened since the installation of our super duper, encased cables, up the wall, big screen and Sky affair.

As expected, watching football and all things associated forms a large portion of our viewing.

But that is closely followed by a surprising number of cooking programmes.

Not really your Gordon Ramsays and your Jamie Olivers.

More your Master Chef and Come Dine With Me.

Both hideous in their own ways.

Both utterly compelling.

With Master Chef, its like living a ground hog day every time the judges taste the food.

Not content with offering their wisdom within a limited vocabulary, resulting in the same or similar phrases being repeated ad nauseam, the most revolting sight imaginable has to be them tasting the food.

And yet I can't take my eyes off them.

Come Dine With Me, on the other hand, never ceases to amaze me.

I mean, I can understand the first few contestants getting involved without realising how ridiculous they would end up looking.

And yet, we all know now what it is about and it seems to be on all the time.

Celebrities. The weird and wacky. The faux-posh and the sadly deluded.

And tonight, a bunch of ex-England football players.

Frank Worthington. Someone called Razza, who walked around wearing only an apron, Fashanu and Carlton Parker (who won).

I won't go into detail - but glamorous it was not, ladies and gentlemen.

Here We Go, Here We Go, Here We Go

I've been away for a couple of days.

Although you already know that of course, having had a visit from My Lover in my absence.

Thanks to him then for keeping the show on the road.

A class act - like Billy Elliott, which I would thoroughly recommend by the way.

And talking of class - lets get back to the matter in hand.

The serious business of learning about football.

I heard a helpful discussion on Talk Sport today.

In amongst the dross and Alan Brazil's irritating, anti-social views.

They were making the point that although we have injury-related difficulties, which have reduced the quality of the raw materials we are starting with, other teams are facing set backs too.

They are even talking about the French being surprise fallers in the first round.

I feel as if Saturday is galloping towards me.

I can't wait.

And Saturday will be wonderful for another reason.

My Lover returns to the warmth of my bosom.

Here we go! Here we go! Here we go!

Hasta La Vista Baby

Is a phrase used over here of course. Over here, being Tarifa.

GB is in London with Mum. She's gone to see this little thing. So I've hi-jacked her blog tonight and just want to say the following.

1 Happy about Rafa
2 Think Rio's departure is a blessing in disguise
3 Think Frank will do a great job as Vice Capt

Finally...... I liked this.........not a lot....good old Guardian....always there ready to put the boot in.

Luton Andy. That ones for you.

Normal service resumed shortly. I'll see ya!

HL

Reach For The Stars

......and another one bites the dust!

Or several actually if you look wider than the England team.

I feel sorry for Ferdinand himself of course.

And we will feel his absence at the back, even though I don't believe he is in particularly good form.

But I do think Gerrard will make a better Captain.

As long as his heart is in it.

And who to select as Vice-Captain?

Tricky.

It won't be Terry for sure.

King perhaps? James, if he is the favoured goalkeeper, although I think that may prove to be Joe Hart?

It's like the most wonderful drama unfolding before our eyes.

And nobody yet knows the script.

I feel as if my heads are going through the clouds to gaze at the stars beyond.

Something To Tickle His Fancy

I'm home alone.

The Bear is travelling.

Well, he's gone to Teriffa for 11 days.

And nights.

I am delighted he is going to have a lovely holiday.

Although I hope he does not neglect his studies whilst away.

This would be of interest to him, for example.

And knowing how much we both experience the jaded Match of the Day format as tortuous, I'm confident this will draw a nod of approval.

His reward for such diligence?

A gift from his daughter.