tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73336885540517816352024-03-13T22:39:34.050-07:00World Cup 2006Peter Gouldinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13292063172122249202noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7333688554051781635.post-68199716106663718852007-08-22T11:30:00.000-07:002007-11-16T09:07:29.315-08:00World Cup 2006<div align="center"><br /><br />World Cup Warning<br /><br />You’re more than a thousand summers to me,<br />My morning, my noon and my night,<br />You stole in my chamber and set my heart free,<br />And put all my demons to flight.<br />You raise up my spirits when dark clouds approach,<br />You warm me when winter’s begun.<br />You warn the wild animals not to encroach,<br />And fire me with strength from the sun.<br />I think of you only when women flock round,<br />I dream of your sweet-smelling hair,<br />My love for you still is so pure and profound,<br />There’s no other girl can compare.<br />You’re there at my labours when muscles are sore,<br />You help me unwind and relax,<br />But wander in front of the telly once more,<br />And I’ll split you in two with an axe.<br /><br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day One</strong><br /><br />Germany 4 Costa Rica 2<br /><br />Traditionally, the opening game is pretty lousy fare,<br />The food on show is stodgy, specialities are rare.<br />But the international diners were all shouting out “Eureka!”<br />At the feast provided by the hosts, along with Costa Rica.<br />The Germans got a peach to leave the little minnows puffing,<br />But they were quite determined to avoid the dreaded stuffing.<br />Oh what a tasty dish to serve us at this lovely venue,<br />‘Twas hard to pick from all the appetisers on the menu.<br />A culinary treat, not the expexted bread and jam –<br />I was satisfied with Wanchope, but my partner fancied Lamm.<br /><br />Poland 0 Ecuador 2<br /><br />They were quaffing cerveza in Quito<br />Beneath equatorial skies.<br />They had come to the games incognito<br />But they gave the poor Poles a surprise.<br />They managed to keep a clean sheet – oh,<br />The Poles had the sun in their eyes,<br />And they bit like an angry mosquito,<br />And buzzed all around them like flies.<br /><br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Two<br /></strong><br />England 1 Paraguay 0<br /><br />Above the pitch, a big square spider<br />Cast his web upon the ground.<br />Despite a very quick decider,<br />English fans despaired.<br />Like an ambushed fly they struggled,<br />Beckham buzzed and Ferdy frowned,<br />And though poor Sven and Macca juggled,<br />England were ensnared.<br /><br />Sweden 0 Trinidad and Tobago 0<br /><br />Diddle diddle dumpling, Avery John,<br />From Longford to the Rubicon.<br />‘Twas the world stage you were on,<br />As the sun in splendour shone.<br /><br />Two bad tackles, you were gone,<br />Tragic as a dying swan,<br />Trooping off so woebegone,<br />Diddle diddle dumpling, Avery John.<br /><br />Argentina 2 Ivory Coast 1<br /><br />The Côte d’Ivoire at first seemed keener,<br />As they firmly grasped the nettle,<br />But though they seemed more fit and leaner,<br />They were not allowed to settle.<br />Land of silver – Argentina –<br />The Pampas boys were in fine fettle.<br />Like my father’s Ford Cortina,<br />Boy, they really showed their mettle.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Three</strong><br /><br />Netherlands 1 Serbia and Montenegro 0<br /><br />The liberal Dutch were not afraid<br />To play the S & M brigade.<br />They seemed to bond quite well together,<br />Putting shiny boot to leather.<br />Then “Pow!” “Kertangg!” a superhero<br />Put the Dutch ahead one – zero.<br />Clad in orange, this wide raider<br />Played the role of caped crusader.<br />Fightin evil, weavin’, bobbin’,<br />Who needs Batman when you’ve Robben?<br /><br />Mexico 3 Iran 1<br /><br />Mrs. Murphy clutched her pint of milk and loaf of bread.<br />“I thought that the Iranians were quite naïve,” she said.<br />“The back four left themselves exposed to through balls down the middle.<br />Why they didn’t shore that up is something of a riddle.”<br /><br />Mrs. Byrne reached forwards and picked up a tub of salt.<br />“Technically,” she said, “I didn’t think they were at fault.<br />Individual errors proved to be the lads’ undoing.<br />Their sloppiness of their defence made quite compulsive viewing.<br /><br />‘I do not think the Mexicans will prove to be a threat.<br />They do not have another Hugo Sanchez, don’t forget.”<br />And thus the conversation flowed for nearly half an hour,<br />With me behind them in the queue with one small bag of flour.<br /><br />Portugal 1 Angola 0<br /><br />Big Phil’s charges uninspired.<br />Me, too much to drink and tired.<br />Portugal defending deep.<br />Me, upon the bed asleep.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Four</strong><br /><br />Japan 1 Australia<br /><br />The Aussie lads had really got their heads inside the noose,<br />Their fans were quite disgruntled and were giving them abuse,<br />They tried their best to score a goal but ‘twasn’t any use,<br />It seemed as if the Japanese had cooked the Aussie goose.<br />But then the ageing Hiddinck let a young Tim Cahill loose<br />To make the Japanese defence look like a pregnant moose.<br />A draw? One all? The Japanese were suing for a truce,<br />But Cahill bagged another as the backs ran out of juice.<br />And when the third was slotted home, poor Zico’s face turned puce.<br />Fair dinkum to the Socceroos, as Sheila said to Bruce.<br /><br /><br /><br />Czech Republic 2 USA 0<br /><br />The Czechs know how to mark their man,<br />They do not bend or yield.<br />Nor do they practise hopeful punts<br />From one end of the field.<br />Their sterling work reaped dividends,<br />They had a yen for goals.<br />They played the game with lots of cents<br />Unlike the poor old Poles.<br />The hapless Yanks weren’t worth a dime,<br />They got a proper trouncing.<br />The joyous Czechs thus banked the points<br />To leave supporters bouncing.<br /><br /><br />Italy 2 Ghana 0<br /><br />They play with panache<br />And such free-flowing movement.<br />They sure cut a dash –<br />Not much room for improvement.<br />The Ghanaians tried –<br />The Azurri were stronger,<br />In full flowing tide<br />As the evening got longer.<br />Perhaps, just perhaps,<br />They could well end up winners<br />They make other chaps<br />Look like clumsy beginners.<br />If only they’d stop<br />All the messing and acting.<br />Give the diving the chop,<br />For it’s far too distracting.<br />When they go to ground<br />It eternally rankles<br />That they roll around<br />Clutching onto their ankles.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Five<br /></strong><br />South Korea 2 Togo 1<br /><br />And on Day Number Five<br />The World Cup sprang alive –<br />The build-up had been overbearing.<br />When they’d pulled out the balls,<br />There’d been whistles and calls<br />At the prospect of this perfect pairing.<br />They came from afar<br />To each tavern and bar<br />To each café and whisky-a-gogo,<br />And some chose to cheer<br />For the men from Korea,<br />Whilst the others were rooting for Togo.<br /><br />The ad-men were thrilled<br />And continued to build<br />Each expensive, ubiquitous hoarding.<br />Much more than Brazilians,<br />The audience of millions<br />Was doubtless supremely rewarding.<br />The battle was waged<br />And for months now had raged<br />On the choice of a corporate logo.<br />Oh, the ad-slots were dear<br />In this match where Korea<br />Faced the powerful warriors from Togo.<br /><br />Who needs a siesta?<br />This worldwide fiesta<br />Was better than people had painted.<br />And the Red Cross were busy<br />When people got dizzy<br />And six hundred thousand men fainted.<br />They were waltzing in Wales<br />In their top hats and tails<br />While in Poland they all did the pogo.<br />Yes the world gave a cheer<br />When the boys from Korea<br />Took the field ‘gainst the boyos from Togo.<br /><br />Well, the passions ran high,<br />And the roars ripped the sky<br />As the teams subsequently joined battle.<br />And every last fan,<br />Be they boy, girl or man<br />Got their hands on a klaxon or rattle.<br />They attempted to place<br />Giant flat screens in space,<br />But alas, it was deemed ‘twas a no-go.<br />Still, ‘twas patently clear<br />Half the world cheered Korea<br />While the other half all yelled for Togo.<br /><br />France 0 Switzerland 0<br /><br />If only we had qualified<br />Before the French or Swiss!<br />That could have been the Irish side<br />Out there in World Cup bliss.<br /><br />Lining out on this great day<br />The giant silver screen<br />Would have closed on John O’Shea,<br />Kilbane and Gary Breen.<br /><br />The stadium would be a sea<br />Of orange, green and white,<br />Heaving in mad ecstasy,<br />With stomach muscles tight.<br /><br />Back home, the day would come alive,<br />There’s nothing that could spoil it,<br />Except the constant need to dive<br />Into the downstairs toilet.<br /><br />In pubs from Cobh to Ballybay<br />The beer would flow like water.<br />Upon the tongue “Olé, Olé,”<br />Of every last supporter.<br /><br />Leprechauns would run around<br />With green and hairy faces,<br />And drunken bodies would abound<br />In most unlikely places.<br /><br />Perhaps its better we’re not there,<br />In Stuttgart and Westphalia,<br />At least this dull and stodgy fare<br />Did not cause organ failure.<br /><br />Brazil 1 Croatia 0<br /><br />All eyes on Ronaldinho<br />Every time he got the ball,<br />Waiting for that magic<br />To inspire and enthral.<br /><br />Waiting for that shimmy<br />Or that subtle little flick,<br />The dummy that bewilders<br />As he rides a clumsy kick.<br /><br />All eyes on Ronaldinho<br />And that grinning, toothy smile,<br />Waiting for another piece<br />Of skill to put on file.<br /><br />Waiting for an overstep,<br />A weaving, mazy dribble,<br />Inviting the poor full-back<br />To lunge in and have a nibble.<br /><br />All eyes on Ronaldinho<br />With that body lithe and slim,<br />He sure looked very odd with all<br />Those eyes glued onto him.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Six<br /></strong><br />Saudi Arabia 2 Tunisia 2<br /><br />The sun beat down upon the match<br />With masterful conceit,<br />But sadly, it was not a patch<br />Upon the desert’s heat.<br /><br />The players ran onto the ground<br />In twenty eight degrees,<br />But in their skimpy shorts, they found<br />It chilly on the knees.<br /><br />They shivered, huddled on the pitch,<br />For heat they stuck together.<br />This cold, they said, is such a bitch!<br />How come such chilly weather?<br /><br />It’s suited more to Nordic lands,<br />Americans and Britons –<br />How can we play with frozen hands?<br />We should have worn our mittens.<br /><br />Spain 4 Ukraine 0<br /><br />No Spain no gain!<br />Oh poor Ukraine<br />Were treated with utmost disdain.<br />Again! Again!<br />A hurricane!<br />Guess who will soon be on the plane!<br />Ukraine were slain,<br />Flushed down the drain,<br />Their star quite clearly on the wane.<br />Restrain this Spain?<br />You’ll try in vain<br />To match the pressure they maintain.<br />In sun or rain<br />Their Cup campaign<br />Looks set to bloom and entertain.<br />‘Tis plain their reign<br />On this terrain<br />Might soon uncork Madrid champagne.<br /><br />Germany 1 Poland 0<br /><br />It’s such a long way to commute now, it’s crazy,<br />There’s jams on each route to the city.<br />A day can be long when you’re just being lazy,<br />Though no-one will show you much pity.<br />It’s a long way to Tipp, and other far places,<br />It’s a long way from now to me dinner.<br />But not nearly as long as those poor Polish faces,<br />When Neuville slammed home that late winner.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Seven<br /><br /></strong>Ecuador Costa Rica 0<br /><br />The squads all went out shopping one fine morning,<br />And marched into a large department shop,<br />The lads from Ecuador admired an awning,<br />And bought some drapes with 48 inch drop.<br /><br />The Portuguese bought doilies for their lockers,<br />The lads from Togo bought Belisha beacons,<br />The Poles bought several heavy duty knockers,<br />But it was curtains for the Costa Ricans.<br /><br />England 2 Trinidad and Tobago 0<br /><br />I am very well aware<br />That it’s the height of immaturity,<br />I know we should have moved on long ago.<br />I think we all despair<br />Sometimes at our own immaturity<br />Towards the ancient, once-oppressive foe.<br /><br />Oh yes, they are our neighbours,<br />We should view the Brits with parity,<br />Different, yet more or less the same<br />But we snigger at their labours<br />And react with great hilarity<br />Whenever they are truly off their game.<br /><br />Our mocking, waspish humour<br />Just reflects our own banality.<br />What would we say if they mocked our affairs?<br />And it isn’t just a rumour<br />That our maudlin nationality<br />Is every bit as odious as theirs.<br /><br />It isn’t to our credit<br />That we lack such generosity,<br />When seeing them in trouble ‘gainst the sprats.<br />And I’m not the first who said it,<br />But reacting with ferocity<br />Would hardly qualify as cool for cats.<br /><br />But we loved to see them wriggling,<br />All frustrated at adversity,<br />For over eighty minutes of the game.<br />I bet they heard us giggling<br />With an uncontrolled perversity,<br />Before their lanky striker quenched the flame.<br /><br />Sweden 1 Paraguay 0<br /><br />Lungberg and Mellberg have kissed and made up,<br />All for the sake of the FIFA World Cup.<br />It isn’t a thought that springs easy to mind<br />Lungberg and Mellberg, contrite and entwined.<br />In fact, with the two of them fearsome and hairy<br />The image is patently fright’ningly scary.<br />It isn’t a vision to set the pulse racing,<br />Lungberg and Mellberg, overtly embracing.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Eight<br /></strong><br />Argentina 6 Serbia and Montenegro 0<br /><br />All of a sudden,<br />The others look wooden,<br />Their movement perceptibly static.<br />They don’t cut a dash,<br />Don’t attack with panache,<br />Their build-ups controlled, but phlegmatic.<br />But one team stands out,<br />For there isn’t a doubt<br />They look faster and fitter and leaner,<br />Its not S and M<br />(Six fine goals knocked past them!)<br />But the Candystripe boys Argentina.<br /><br />Those twenty four passes<br />Inspired the masses<br />And had all the panellists raving.<br />That goal will be shown<br />To kids not fully grown<br />With a football-perfectionist craving.<br />Yes, some have looked decent<br />In matches quite recent,<br />But none have looked sharper and keener<br />Than the yelling, trail-blazing<br />Exciting, amazing<br />Candystripe boys, Argentina.<br /><br />Netherlands 2 Ivory Coast 1<br /><br />Reared on Cruyff and Gullit,<br />Heroes of my youth,<br />The Dutch stick in my gullet,<br />To tell the honest truth.<br /><br />Where once we watch enraptured,<br />The skills and tricks and flicks,<br />Now television’s captured<br />All the nasty digs and kicks.<br /><br />The constant, skilful diving<br />Now sticks firmly in my craw,<br />The cruel, obsessive striving<br />To win yellow cards, and more.<br /><br />Oh, sure, they’re slick and skilful,<br />Of that there is no doubt,<br />But this cheating thing is wilful<br />And I hope they’re soon knocked out.<br /><br />I hope their tactics fail,<br />And they’re sent home in calumny –<br />It feels like a betrayal<br />Of what football ought to be.<br /><br /><br />Mexico 0 Angola 0<br /><br />When Lampard shoots wildly, the press yell “Bad luck!<br />At least he gets into position!”<br />When poor old Ronaldo cannot break his duck,<br />They call him a man on a mission.<br /><br />When Henry or Klose just fail to score,<br />The press find it hard to believe,<br />But when the boys from Angola waste chances galore,<br />It’s always because they’re “naïve.”<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Nine<br /><br /></strong>Portugal 2 Iran 0<br /><br />The Portuguese team was too poor for the stage,<br />So it stood forty years in the wings.<br />The reasons for this were not easy to gauge,<br />A combination of many strange things.<br />For years they had skill,<br />But they seemed to lack the will,<br />They could never quite carry out the plan,<br />But they pulled<br />That<br />Monkey off their back<br />When they beat Iran.<br /><br />Forty years without qualifying<br />(Tick tock, tick tock)<br />The time-span was stupefying<br />(Tick tock, tick tock)<br />But they pulled<br />That<br />Monkey off their back<br />When they beat Iran.<br /><br />Czech Republic 0 Ghana 2<br /><br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come, here come, here come Ghana.<br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come, here come, here come Ghana.<br /><br />Everybody needs a dream,<br />Follow some hopeful football team,<br />Some might take a stupid pill,<br />And back a team to beat Brazil,<br />Fans might marvel at the touch<br />Of the Germans and the Dutch,<br />Ecuador and South Korea,<br />All of football life lies here,<br />Argentina, USA,<br />Both put on a great display,<br />Sven’s men will get the boot,<br />Vitriol will be acute,<br />Togo, Croatia, Trinidad,<br />In colours of the rainbow clad,<br />Ukraine go from good to bad,<br />Scoring goals a passing fad,<br />There’s Socceroos from Oceania,<br />But now we’re shouting out for Ghana.<br /><br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come, here come, here come Ghana.<br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come, here come, here come Ghana.<br /><br />Say paternosters for the Poles,<br />Serbia conceding goals,<br />Costa Rica tried in vain,<br />Chile too back on the plane,<br />Cote d’Ivoire and poor Tunisia,<br />Ronaldinho makes them dizzier.<br />Hell, it seems, has little fury<br />Worse than that of the Azurri.<br />Powerhouse Puyol and Zidane,<br />Inamoto from Japan,<br />Hail the hopeful German fan,<br />Goodbye Saudis and Iran.<br />Drab Angola and the Swiss<br />Can’t maintain the pace like this,<br />Sweden’s hopes don’t seem too good,<br />S and M turned out a dud.<br />Back in downtown Lisdoonvarna,<br />They’ll be hollering for Ghana.<br /><br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come, here come, here come Ghana.<br />Oooooooooooooooohhhh, here come Ghana,<br />Here come, here come…<br /><br />Italy 1 USA 1<br /><br />The Americans were sent forth into battle,<br />No doubt with God quite firmly at their side.<br />The war-plan was undoubtedly to rattle<br />The sleek and fit Italians from their stride.<br />Guantanamo, this time, was not an option,<br />No prisoners were taken in this war.<br />And pacifists were shocked at the adoption<br />Of brutal tactics by the special corps.<br />Inevitably, some fell along the wayside,<br />Their bodies covered by a blood-stained sheet,<br />But heroes they! For helping such a grey side<br />Scrape a point from widely-tipped defeat.<br /><a href="http://www.clipsahoy.com/webgraphics2/as2167.htm"></a><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Ten<br /></strong><br />Croatia 0 Japan 0<br /><br />Am I feeling nauseous?<br />Is my forehead hot and red?<br />Did you notice that I gave a little shiver?<br />I know I’m being cautious,<br />But I think I’ll go to bed,<br />In case of an infection of the liver.<br /><br />My wife is very nervous,<br />And a worried frown is worn.<br />She always senses trouble in her man.<br />For it’s hardly normal service<br />When I said I’d mow the lawn<br />And not turn on Croatia and Japan.<br /><br />Brazil 2 Australia 0<br /><br />Ronaldo has got a weight problem,<br />The attention is driving him batty.<br />He’s finding it hard<br />Being called “Tub of Lard,”<br />On top of “Hey Sumo!” and “Fatty.”<br /><br />He claims he’s as sharp as a toothpick,<br />Performance suggests that’s not true.<br />And even on telly,<br />They point at his belly,<br />And ask him, how long till its due.<br /><br />When finally the coach calls his number,<br />The teeth pretty naturally clench.<br />But pity the guy<br />Who gets flung four feet high,<br />When Ronaldo sits down on the bench.<br /><br />France 1 South Korea 1<br /><br />They say that the French<br />Don’t have much on the bench,<br />That the team is too old and too wrinkled.<br />Their eyesight is fading,<br />Arthritis pervading,<br />And wintergreen liberally sprinkled.<br /><br />Their hair, which is thinning<br />Is slowly beginning<br />To turn a unique shade of grey<br />And the hair up their noses<br />Is trimmed, one supposes,<br />At least several times every day.<br /><br />For each plays the game<br />With an old zimmer frame,<br />Though some use a stick to help balance.<br />And their bodies are creaking,<br />And pacemakers shrieking<br />Despite their incredible talents.<br /><br />Those warriors of old,<br />Once so fearsome and bold,<br />Are now rendered feeble and toothless.<br />Domenech needs to mull<br />O’er the option to cull –<br />And should be quite brutal and ruthless<br /><a href="http://www.clipsahoy.com/webgraphics2/as2167.htm"></a><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Eleven</strong><br /><br />Switzerland 2 Togo 0<br /><br />Weaving, bending, now defending,<br />Searching for that goal.<br />Scared the pants off mundane France,<br />The Swiss were on a roll.<br /><br />Hakin Yakin kept on trackin’,<br />Frei was having fun.<br />Young Barnetta went one better,<br />Togo was undone.<br /><br />Understated, underrated,<br />Do not be remiss.<br />‘Twould be a blunder should you under-<br />-Estimate the Swiss.<br /><br />Ukraine 4 Saudi Arabia 0<br /><br />The Saudi coach could well explain<br />The 4-0 drubbing by Ukraine.<br />It wasn’t lack of football brain<br />Or fitness that had caused them pain.<br />Not for him the old refrain<br />That though they’d tried with might and main,<br />They found that they could not contain<br />This Eastern Europe express train.<br />The reason, he announced, was plain –<br />His players were not used to rain,<br />And hoped they’d see the sun again<br />When next they faced the mighty Spain.<br /><br />Spain 3 Tunisia 1<br /><br />The stands had gone quiet, though the seats were all full,<br />A silence hung over the place.<br />The Tunisian matador played with the bull,<br />An effortless smile on his face.<br /><br />Teasing and feigning, he waved his red cape,<br />The bull roared in terrible pain.<br />The matador looked for a means to escape<br />As the bull charged again and again.<br /><br />Then all of a sudden, the matador slipped,<br />While turning too fast in the mud.<br />The crowd gasped out loud, all instinctively gripped.<br />The bull looked around and smelled blood.<br /><br />Three times those sharp horns delivered their blows,<br />The matador fatally gored.<br />The bull trotted round on the tips of its toes,<br />The crowd had received its reward.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twelve<br /></strong><br />Germany 3 Ecuador 0<br /><br />When marking your man, you’re advised to mark tight,<br />To shadow him where he might wander.<br />Wrap your arms round him in case he takes flight,<br />Engulf him like some anaconda.<br /><br />The Ecuador lads have some lessons to learn,<br />And ended the much more moroser.<br />They left too much space for attackers to turn –<br />Their coach said they should have marked Klose.<br /><br />Poland 2 Costa Rica 1<br /><br />And then the fateful whistle blew.<br />The two teams took their final bow,<br />And wiped the sweat from off their brow,<br />For neither side had made it through.<br />The Costa Ricans left the pitch<br />Applauded for their gallant play,<br />And, as they left the arena, they<br />Could feel their lips begin to twitch.<br /><br />The Poles however were waylaid<br />By canvassers in pinstripe suits<br />Who asked them ‘bout their football boots<br />And where they’d had their shinpads made.<br />They quizzed them on their fav’rite goals,<br />And marked the answers on a sheet,<br />And thanked them when it was complete<br />For being helpful exit Poles.<br /><br /><br /><br />England 2 Sweden 2<br /><br />Into the garden, the English trooped proudly,<br />Chanting and waving and singing out loudly.<br />As one of the original footballing powers,<br />They claimed all the bushes, the plants and the flowers.<br />The sun was so tranquil, the ambience cosy,<br />And everything there in the garden was rosy.<br />But suddenly it became chilly and breezy,<br />Life, they soon learned, wasn’t always that easy.<br />Running for trees in undignified scrambles,<br />They found themselves tangled in hawthorn and brambles.<br />The rain battered down, all the flowers lost their petals,<br />And up sprang a forest of overgrown nettles.<br />The manicured lawn became lep’rous and fungal,<br />As the Garden of Sweden turned into a jungle.<br /><br />Paraguay 2 Trinidad & Tobago 0<br /><br />Trinidad. Tobago.<br /><br />Two talismanic territories twinned together<br />To try to threaten the top teams.<br /><br />Tangling tautly, thrusting tempestuously,<br />Throwing themselves tirelessly<br />Towards thundering tackles.<br /><br />Their tactics temporarily thwarted<br />The toothless table toppers,<br />Till tiredness triumphed.<br /><br />Tall Thessalonians tell their tiny tots<br />That this team<br />Totally transcended the traditional tribal theocracy,<br />Tellingly transforming<br />Two traditional tourist treasures.<br /><br />To tell the truth,<br />‘Tis terrible that this thirty two team tournament’s<br />Thinned.<br /><br />Ta-raa, tigerish Trinidad.<br />Thanks, tenacious Tobago.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Thirteen</strong><br /><br />Portugal 2 Mexico 1<br /><br />It shaved the Hubble telescope<br />At near the speed of light,<br />A universal misanthrope<br />In most abnormal flight.<br />Astronomers around the world<br />All scratched their heads and blinked,<br />As into Outer Space it hurled<br />Till blurred and indistinct.<br />They checked the data they had gleaned<br />And drew conclusions from it,<br />And almost to a man, they leaned<br />To calling it a comet.<br />But later, it was proved to be<br />No comet, moon or star,<br />But rather, Bravo’s penalty<br />He blasted o’er the bar.<br /><br />Iran 1 Angola 1<br /><br />Oh blow on your trumpet and pluck your viola,<br />Raise up your wine or your whiskey and cola,<br />Quote Marcel Proust, Victor Hugo or Zola,<br />Flatten bad thoughts like a giant steamroller,<br />Emerge from the dark, like a blinking pot-holer,<br />Marshall your troops like an air-force controller,<br />Sing “Shang-a-lang” like a Bay City Roller,<br />Claim the best prize in the bottle tombola,<br />Rise like the waves of the seas circumpolar,<br />Wear a white rose in your top hat or bowler,<br />Cut a large wedge from a fresh gorgonzola,<br />And say fond farewells to the men from Angola.<br /><br />Argentina 1 Netherlands 1<br /><br />Oh God! What a bore<br />Between two marv’lous teams,<br />An absolute dearth of excitement.<br />What the world saw<br />Would not spark any dreams –<br />In itself quite a savage indictment.<br />Billed as a classic,<br />It never got moving,<br />Supporters were seen to be sleeping.<br />The football Jurassic,<br />The skills disimproving,<br />The purists were silently weeping.<br />Van Persie was moaning,<br />Young Kuyt kept on fouling,<br />Van Nistlerooy dived like a Jessie.<br />Riquelme was groaning,<br />Saviola was scowling,<br />And the orange defenders got Messi.<br /><br />Ivory Coast 3 Serbia and Montenegro 2<br /><br />A feast of flowing footie,<br />With incidents galore,<br />Defences soft as putty,<br />Just inviting teams to score.<br /><br />The Serbs appeared on fire<br />‘Ere their Montenegrin split,<br />Living on the wire,<br />They were champing at the bit.<br /><br />The masterful Ivorians<br />Were powerful and slick,<br />And footballing historians<br />Recorded every kick.<br /><br />The match between these nations,<br />Would have stirred the neutral fan,<br />But the television stations<br />All ignored it to a man.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Fourteen<br /></strong><br />Italy 2 Czech Republic 0<br /><br />At the World Cup hotel,<br />The Italians look swell,<br />Beneath the large chandelier lights.<br />A team in their prime,<br />They might stay for some time,<br />And they’ve booked up an extra few nights.<br />They chat to the barmen,<br />Sing snatches from “Carmen”<br />And generally swagger about,<br />And they peer o’er their drinks<br />With theatrical winks,<br />On seeing Nedved and co. Czeching out.<br /><br />Ghana 2 USA 1<br /><br />Two nations divided by such a wide gulf,<br />One runs like a lion, one plots like a wolf,<br />One’s free as a buffalo, cute as a fox,<br />The other is shackled and whipped like an ox,<br />One never goes hungry and always eats out,<br />The other will never grow chunky or stout,<br />One has more wealth than the other conceives,<br />The other relies on the aid it receives,<br />One stands like a meercat, surveying the land,<br />The other sits down with a bowl in its hand.<br />One’s high as a kite, while the other is grieving,<br />One’s facing Brazil, while the other is leaving.<br /><br />Brazil 4 Japan 1<br /><br />They said Ronaldo<br />Looked like Nick Faldo<br />They said his present heaviness was sad,<br />They took his photo<br />With Inamoto,<br />And told us it was like a slimming ad.<br />They said his belly<br />Was like a jelly<br />He was twice the man who played in South Korea.<br />Yes he was finished<br />His speed diminished,<br />The Brazilians had little cause to cheer.<br /><br />But now he’s turning, and he’s turning,<br />And he’s turning, and he’s turning<br />And he’s turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so.<br />Turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so.<br /><br />They called him Buddha,<br />The ground would shudder,<br />Whenever he would break into a trot.<br />They were complaining,<br />He lacked hard training,<br />And wondered if he should be dropped or not.<br />He once looked gawky,<br />Now he was porky,<br />They said he was an overweight racoon,<br />He was a goner<br />Like Maradonna<br />Looking like a hydrogen balloon.<br /><br />But now he’s turning, and he’s turning,<br />And he’s turning, and he’s turning<br />And he’s turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so.<br />Turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so.<br /><br />No pace, no drive, no zest, no vigour,<br />It’s sad the way he let his figure<br />Inflate.<br />Everyone around him seems so lithe and slender,<br />Everybody seems to be a great defender,<br />Everyone.<br /><br />But now he’s turning, and he’s turning,<br />And he’s turning, and he’s turning<br />And he’s turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so.<br />Turning Japanese,<br />Ronaldo’s turning Japanese<br />With clever jinks so….<br /><br />Australia 2 Croatia 2<br /><br />How many refs aren’t up to the grade,<br />And find all the pressure much too hard?<br />Yes, and how many wrong decisions can be made,<br />Before a match becomes marred?<br />Yes, and how many times can a yellow be displayed,<br />Before you’re given a red card?<br /><br />The answer is droll,<br />Its up to Graham Poll,<br />The answer is up to Graham Poll.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Fifteen<br /></strong><br />Spain 1 Saudi Arabia 0<br /><br />Fielding their second string team,<br />With one arm strapped tight to their side,<br />Not bothering to build up much steam,<br />Not caring if shots whistled wide,<br /><br />Not wanting to track back and tackle,<br />Just hoping to showboat their skill,<br />Devoid of all snap, pop or crackle,<br />Spain still beat the Saudis one nil.<br /><br /><br />Ukraine 1 Tunisia 0<br /><br />The miser Charon rests his oar,<br />And draws a sharp and rasping breath,<br />And you, with skin as pale as death,<br />Step fearful ‘pon the wretched shore.<br />The crimson sun drips blood-red pools<br />Upon the dark, unyielding rock,<br />While jagg’d stones conspire to mock<br />The timid tread of fearful fools.<br />And on you walk, past poplar spear’d,<br />And twisted bush and poison’d lake,<br />Hoping it is some mistake<br />That daylight’s somehow disappeared.<br />And then a noise to quake the brave,<br />A petrified, unearthly screech,<br />With timbre that descends to reach<br />And rouse the corpses from the grave.<br />Foul sirens they, with writhing hair,<br />And cloven hooves and blacken’d eyes,<br />Whose lamentations rent the skies,<br />And bid the wary soul beware.<br />And onward more, past baying hound<br />With frothing mouths and rotting teeth,<br />Chained to a massive rock beneath<br />The shadow’d mountain’s lava’d ground.<br />And at the centre of this land<br />Of scorchéd earth and nitr’d lake<br />And spectres howling at the stake,<br />Arises high a football stand.<br />And, screaming out in anguish’d pain,<br />Ten millions souls vent agony,<br />Condemned eternally to see<br />Tunisia against Ukraine.<br /><br />Switzerland 2 South Korea 0<br /><br />Farewell to South Korea,<br />They may have lost the game,<br />But its absolutely clear<br />That their fans have brought them fame.<br /><br />They will sing and clap and dance<br />From the first kick to the last,<br />Whether fighting back ‘gainst France<br />Or when hope has long since passed.<br /><br />They would party through the night,<br />Having dreams to lift the Cup,<br />Then, before the morning light,<br />They would sweep their own mess up.<br /><br />Oh, the English, Irish, Dutch,<br />Could learn a lot from South Korea.<br />So thank you very, very much,<br />It was great to have you here.<br /><br />France 2 Togo 0<br /><br />Le ciel est bleu, le soleil brille,<br />Ensemble, on annonce “Oui, oui,<br />Ils ont le fortitude, les vieux,<br />Enfin, allez-y, les Bleus!”<br /><br />Dans la chambre, Antoinette<br />Plume la petite Alouette,<br />Demandant lentement á Dieu<br />De n’oublier jamais les Bleus.<br /><br />“Contre Togo, ils font bien,”<br />Dit la femme avec son chien,<br />“Domenech – j’adore ses yeux,<br />J’espère qu’il gagne avec les Bleus.”<br /><br />Sur la plage où dans le bâteau,<br />Dans chaque maisonette où château,<br />On sait bien qu’on peut faire mieux,<br />C’est l’inspiration pour les Bleus.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Sixteen</strong><br /><br />The Knockout Stages<br /><br />Knockout stages,<br />Dying breath,<br />Final pages,<br />Sudden death.<br /><br />Bad decisions,<br />No reprieve,<br />Shattered visions,<br />Left to grieve.<br /><br />Deep despair,<br />Last-gasp wins,<br />This is where<br />It all begins.<br /><br /><br />Germany 2 Sweden 0<br /><br /><br />Throughout his amazing career,<br />He’s the man that all centre backs fear.<br />He can kill a ball dead,<br />Burst the net with his head,<br />And seamlessly move up a gear.<br /><br />His goalscoring record is such<br />That defenders don’t trouble him much.<br />With a quick, sudden burst<br />He will reach the ball first<br />With a sure and a perfect first touch.<br /><br />And thus, ‘twas a natural plot,<br />When the ref pointed straight at the spot,<br />How the hardened heart bled,<br />When the ball hit Row Zed,<br />As poor Henrik miscued his last shot.<br /><br />Argentina 2 Mexico 1 (aet)<br /><br />They stood up to Argentina<br />And they marked them well,<br />Maybe even keener,<br />Though its hard to tell.<br />It took a wonder volley<br />To do them in,<br />And now they’re melancholy<br />For they thought they’d win.<br />And though they’re in pain,<br />Still the faces are brave,<br />From the window of the plane<br />Comes a Mexican wave.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Seventeen</strong><br /><br />England 1 Ecuador 0<br /><br />The Shamen knew their stuff in days of yore,<br />Now, they’re simply not as potent as before.<br />They proclaim it isn’t voodoo,<br />But you’re not sure what they do do,<br />Oh you cannot get good Shamen anymore.<br /><br />He said he would prevent an English score,<br />Cast a hex upon their flat back four,<br />But the English luck was in,<br />And they held on for a win,<br />And alas! Its Sayonara, Ecuador.<br /><br />He said that he had potent spells galore,<br />As he cavorted wildly round the floor,<br />But the complicated task<br />Turned out far too much to ask –<br />Results, I’m sad to say, were very poor.<br /><br />The match itself stuck firmly in the craw,<br />Actually, another crashing bore.<br />How we longed for Ashley Cole<br />To be turned into a vole,<br />Or Lampard to become a plumed macaw.<br /><br />But no sudden transformations were in store,<br />The English, let us say, were worth a draw.<br />Beckham bent another free,<br />Engerland – oh ecstasy!<br />Oh you cannot get good Shamen anymore.<br /><br /><br />Portugal 1 Netherlands 0<br /><br />At last, a decent World Cup game<br />To set the tempers flaring.<br />Petroleum poured on a flame<br />And even Granny’s swearing.<br /><br />Deco is a naughty boy<br />And so is Luis Figo,<br />Van Basten and Van Nistlerooy<br />Compete for biggest ego.<br /><br />Van Bommel’s the incipient<br />Of orange illegality,<br />Ronaldo the recipient<br />Of callous Dutch brutality.<br /><br />Coaches forced into a switch,<br />And everybody nettled,<br />Eighteen players on the pitch<br />When all the dust has settled.<br /><br />Doubtless, FIFA won’t approve<br />And actions will be taken,<br />But Mr. Chairman, I would move<br />Both teams brought home the bacon.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Eighteen</strong><br /><br />Italy 1 Australia 0<br /><br />Maserati was red-carded,<br />And Italian spirit fell.<br />Tactically quite guarded,<br />They were desperate as well.<br /><br />The forays were Viduka’s,<br />And young Cahill played with sense,<br />And another chap named Lucas<br />Played a stormer in defence.<br /><br />The ten men went defensive,<br />Closing midfield as a bunch.<br />The pressure was intensive<br />But the Aussies lacked real punch.<br /><br />They just squandered all their chances<br />And you felt for them because<br />You felt that circumstances<br />Militated against Oz.<br /><br />Harsh extra time was looming,<br />The ref’s whistle was in hand,<br />But a tackle big and booming<br />Meant things didn’t go as planned.<br /><br />In Melbourne and in Sidney<br />And in Brisbane and in Perth,<br />‘Twas a punch right in the kidney<br />From the far side of the earth.<br /><br />They’d been really going potty,<br />Scarce believing how they’d played,<br />Till a cool Francesco Totti<br />Left them gutted and dismayed.<br /><br />Ukraine 0 Switzerland 0 (3-0 pens)<br /><br />In dreadful games I’ve seen before,<br />I’ve watched as grown men weep.<br />But, janey, this was such a bore,<br />The whole crowd fell asleep.<br /><br />From all around the stadium<br />There came the sound of snoring,<br />While others, head in hand, looked glum,<br />Dismissing it as boring.<br /><br />The crowd performed a Mexican yawn<br />And then some slow hand-clapping,<br />And then, with faces long and drawn,<br />Resumed their fitful napping.<br /><br />Video evidence will condemn<br />The total lack of tension,<br />Only Wicki’s ball of phlegm<br />Being worthy of a mention.<br /><br />The penalties did not improve<br />The general air of boredom,<br />Serving sadly just to prove<br />The Swiss lads cannot score dem.<br /><br />Thank God tomorrow afternoon<br />It’s time for the Brazilians,<br />Else the telly viewers soon<br />Will turn off in their millions.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Nineteen</strong><br /><br />Brazil 3 Ghana 0<br /><br />Adriano was riding an exercise bike<br />With all of the power he could garner.<br />Juninho was reading about a mass strike<br />That happened one time in Botswana.<br />Lucio gave an oration on fruit,<br />With reference to plum and sultana,<br />While Kaka was being sized up for a suit<br />To wear at his daughter’s gymkhana.<br />Roberto Carlos was playing guitar,<br />A-strumming along to Nirvana.<br />Ze Roberto was reading about a soap star<br />Caught trying to sell marijuana.<br />Ronaldinho and Cafu were chatting ‘bout fish,<br />In particular Dida’s piranha,<br />And Emerson got his unusual wish<br />To paint an obese iguana.<br />Ronaldo was reading a book about crime,<br />While peeling an unripe banana.<br />But despite the distractions, Brazil still found time<br />To rattle three beauties past Ghana…<br /><br />Spain 1 France 2<br /><br />They faced the canvas, artists all,<br />With palettes poised and ready.<br />Marking with distinctive scrawl,<br />Their brushes stiff and steady.<br />The Spanish cubists drew their lines<br />With dark and bold abstraction.<br />A picture fraught with hidden signs,<br />Provoking a reaction.<br /><br />The old French masters slowed things down,<br />Yet made a great impression.<br />With skilful use of blue and brown<br />They underplayed discretion.<br />The experts were indeed amazed<br />And several of them fainted<br />When the French at last appraised<br />The masterpiece they’d painted.<br /><a href="http://www.clipsahoy.com/webgraphics2/as2167.htm"></a><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty<br /></strong><br />Says She<br /><br />“No way” says she, and “Give it up!<br />Put down that Guinness tray,<br />There isn’t any oul’ World Cup<br />On RTE today.<br />Don’t give me all that ‘four year’ guff,<br />It doesn’t wash with me.<br />Is nineteen days not near enough<br />To satisfy?” says she.<br />“Let me introduce you to<br />Your darling son and daughter.<br />Children, say ‘How do you do?’<br />To this armchair supporter.<br />The lawn out back is now more like<br />The local forestry.<br />The gardener has gone on strike –<br />Get off yer bum,” says she.<br /><br />Nineteen days of washing up<br />Is sitting in the sink.<br />There’s not a single plate or cup<br />Inside the press, I think.<br />The dog passed on two weeks ago,<br />He’s still beneath the tree.<br />Would his Lordship kindly go<br />And bury him?” says she.<br /><br />“That dripping tap, you said you’d fix<br />Has now become a flood.<br />It’s seeping out between the bricks –<br />I don’t believe it should.<br />Friday is the quarter final,<br />Now you’ve two days free.<br />Oh yes, and there’s the blocked urinal –<br />On your feet!” says she.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty One<br /></strong><br />Stereotypes<br /><br />Oh, what a wonderful World Cup its been,<br />It’s lived up to all expectations.<br />The finest collection of teams ever seen<br />From thirty two myriad nations.<br /><br />But one thing has struck me when watching the games,<br />That in general has been disregarded –<br />The stereotypes have been shot down in flames,<br />The clichés have all been discarded.<br /><br />The Germans, you see, are no longer efficient,<br />They leave gaping holes at the back.<br />The players are not robots, ice-cool and proficient,<br />And marking is often quite slack.<br /><br />Brazil are assumed to be bubbly and buoyant,<br />Effulsive in back heels and flicks.<br />But up until now, they’ve been far from flamboyant,<br />With a dearth of those showboating flicks.<br /><br />The French – ah, les Bleus – have no swashbuckling style,<br />In fact they’ve been dull and defensive,<br />And the Portuguese lads haven’t shown too much guile,<br />Being nervous and quite apprehensive.<br /><br />The English are known to be boring and slow,<br />According to public perception,<br />But have they been slick and exciting? Umm, no,<br />As rules go, well, they’re the exception.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Two</strong><br /><br />Germany 1 Argentina 1<br /><br />Quite disgraceful scenes, they said,<br />With po-faced horror on their breath.<br />Look how Rodriguez lost the head<br />Just seconds after sudden death.<br />As if to emphasise the shame<br />That frightened schoolboys should not see,<br />(For it might draw the junior game<br />Into the mire of thuggery)<br />They highlighted the Argentine<br />Just like the kid with Ready Brek<br />And, bathed in this unnatural sheen,<br />They tracked his short but devious trek.<br />Slow-motion now, they gasped in shock<br />As he inflicted mortal pain,<br />And, open-mouthed, as we took stock,<br />They played it back. Again. Again.<br /><br />Five times he launched his vile attack<br />Armed with a fiery brandished fist,<br />Fuelled by thoughts insane and black<br />And penalties so dearly missed.<br />Quite disgraceful scenes, they said,<br />And FIFA should show no remorse<br />In smiting him about the head,<br />Metaphorically, of course.<br /><br />And we, at home, reviewed the melée,<br />Shaking heads and tutting gently,<br />Pointing loudly at the telly<br />To which we had been glued intently.<br /><br />Italy 3 Ukraine 0<br /><br />A long, long time ago<br />I can still remember when<br />The football used to make me wail.<br />And as I shouted exhortations<br />At the more less-fancied nations,<br />I’d be dreaming of a fairy tale.<br />But Canavaro made me shiver<br />With every tackle he’d deliver,<br />Lippi standing on the sideline,<br />Just inside the World Cup guideline.<br />And in this crazy German book,<br />Eastern Europe came unstuck,<br />Italians bathed in pools of luck<br />The day the Ukraine died<br /><br />And we were singing<br />Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,<br />Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy<br />But the Levee was dry,<br />And good old boys drank Venezia dry<br />Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,<br />This’ll be the day I get high.”<br /><br />Helter skelter, Zambrotta belter,<br />Shovkovski ducked and dived for shelter,<br />Italy were in the lead.<br />Totti strived, Gattuso strained,<br />Oleg Gusev looked quite drained,<br />As independents did concede.<br />And as King Paolo looked on down<br />Luca Toni stole his crown,<br />Hailed and worshipped by the jury<br />Of thirty thousand joyed Azzurri.<br />And Buffon, who I admire most,<br />Watched Gusin steam in like a ghost<br />And, saving, crashed into the post,<br />The day the Ukraine died.<br /><br />And we were singing<br />Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,<br />Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy<br />But the Levee was dry,<br />And good old boys drank Venezia dry<br />Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,<br />This’ll be the day I get high.”<br /><br />Will Blokhin bear the mental scar<br />Of looping headers off the bar,<br />And Zambrotta’s goal line save?<br />Will he regard Shevchenko’s free<br />With tantalising agony<br />And carry Toni’s winner to the grave?<br />For losing’s now the greatest crime –<br />Will he be there in four years time?<br />Dortmund nightmare never ending,<br />Must improve all-round defending.<br />Kalinichenko stooped in tears,<br />Tymoschuk rolled back the years,<br />But all they heard were Totti’s cheers<br />The day the Ukraine died.<br /><br />And we were singing<br />Bye bye Miss Ukrainian Pie,<br />Drove poor Shevvy for a bevvy<br />But the Levee was dry,<br />And good old boys drank Venezia dry<br />Singing “This’ll be the day I get high,<br />This’ll be the day I get high.”<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Three</strong><br /><br /><br />Portugal 0 England 0 (3-1 pens)<br /><br />We’d seen the mangey chimpanzees,<br />The wallabies and pumas,<br />We’d fed the hippo by degrees<br />With overripe satsumas.<br />Giraffes and seals, we’d seen them all,<br />And now the zoo was closing,<br />But then my son espied a stall<br />Wherein some beast was dozing.<br />“What is it, Dad?” he cried out loud,<br />His little finger pointing.<br />The beast stood up, quite well endowed,<br />Though somewhat disappointing.<br /><br />It had a turnip for a head,<br />Which seemed a mite amusing,<br />And with the hand of God, it fed<br />On titbits of its choosing.<br />While supine on the floor, it kicked<br />Its right leg with ill-feeling,<br />For, like a Swiss ref, it seemed strict<br />And visually unappealing.<br />It sported odd receding hair<br />And needed no relaxant<br />And when it spoke, it spoke with care,<br />Complete with Swedish accent.<br /><br />“A common sight in Engerland,”<br />I read with curiosity.<br />“The scapegoat’s resolutely panned<br />And hunted with ferocity.<br />Most widely seen around July<br />Whene’er the year is even,<br />In different forms, you’ll hear it cry<br />Self-pitying and grievin’.<br />The scapegoat lives its life alone<br />Inured to life’s surprises.<br />And studies of the beast have shown<br />It ‘s found in different guises.”<br />First a turnip, then a Swede,<br />A beast from Argentina,<br />Placed upon this earth to feed<br />The scavenging hyena.”<br /><br />And, watching this chameleon,<br />A sudden mist descended.<br />A sudden wink and it was gone,<br />Unloved and undefended.<br /><br /><br />Brazil 0 France 1<br /><br />“We deserved our fate<br />In ninety eight,<br />We were not at the races.<br />Zidane, Petit,<br />Ensured that we<br />Were buried without traces.<br />Our drab display<br />On that dark day,<br />Meant we were drubbed three nil –<br />Time for revenge!”<br />Cried the boys from Brazil.<br /><br />And so it seemed<br />Just as they’d dreamed,<br />A chance to drown the past.<br />No longer bold,<br />The French were old<br />And fading very fast.<br />Domenech’s<br />Arthritic trek<br />Was struggling on the hill.<br />“Victory is ours!”<br />Cried the boys from Brazil.<br /><br />But, old and tired,<br />The French, inspired,<br />Refused to play their part.<br />Revitalised,<br />They scarce disguised<br />The hunger in their heart.<br />With yells and whoops,<br />The ageing troops<br />Went boldly for the kill.<br />“It’s not in the script!”<br />Cried the boys from Brazil.<br /><br /><br />Shocked and stunned,<br />Outfought, outgunned,<br />Brazil could not reply.<br />Melancholy,<br />Henri’s volley<br />Made them want to cry.<br />Zidane seemed more<br />Like twenty four,<br />Infused with iron will.<br />“Qu’est-ce que c’est ça?”<br />Cried the boys from Brazil.<br /><br />Across the park,<br />The truth was stark,<br />Brazil could not compete.<br />The Marsellaise<br />Rang out in praise<br />And drowned the samba beat.<br />The French were back<br />On World Cup track,<br />The whistle sounded shrill.<br />“Madame Guillotine?”<br />Cried the boys from Brazil.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Four</strong><br /><br />Owen Hargreaves<br /><br />Lampooned and mocked in acid prose<br />By scribes who’ve never kicked a ball,<br />Competing, straining to compose<br />The sourest diatribe of all.<br />“What right has he to share a stage<br />With Lampard, Gerrard, Becks and Cole?”<br />Screamed headlines on the printed page,<br />Describing him as “Sven’s Own Goal.”<br />The coach has made a grave mistake.<br />He is no asset to the team.<br />A total waste of time to make<br />This journeyman play with the cream.<br /><br />And so it passed, this tousled man<br />Eclipsed the likes of Becks and Lamps,<br />Instrumental to the plan<br />To turn the English into champs.<br />Beneath the burning German sun,<br />While others wilted in the heat,<br />He’d tackle, surge, inspire and run<br />When other men could not compete.<br />The English spirit exemplified<br />By one who was not English-born,<br />He single-handed turned the tide<br />To heroes all, where once was scorn.<br /><br />And will those self same scribes heap praise<br />And willingly hyperbolise<br />His masterful world-class displays<br />To try and win the master prize?<br />With contrite pen, will they admit<br />Their savage prose was off the mark?<br />Or, like a preening budgie, flit<br />To this new hero of the park?<br /><br />Maniche Haiku<br /><br />Twin of Slade’s Dave Hill,<br />My Friend Man-iche plucks the strings.<br />Cum on feel the noiz.<br /><a href="http://www.clipsahoy.com/webgraphics2/as2167.htm"></a><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Five</strong><br /><br />Can you hear the drums, Ronaldo?<br /><br />Cristiano, can you hear the drums a-beating?<br />Can you feel the latent menace they convey?<br />The media’s decided you were cheating,<br />And that, Seňor, is not the British way.<br /><br />From savage Lindisfarne to wild Goonhilly,<br />The natives spit whene’er they hear your name.<br />Young Wayne might be impetuous and silly,<br />But at least he plays the spirit of the game.<br /><br />Owens’ blatant dives ‘gainst Argentina,<br />Gary Neville poleaxed by fresh air,<br />Lampard wailing like a sick hyena –<br />These are all legitimate and fair.<br /><br />Sure, Rooney was a little bit frustrated,<br />And yes, he’s shown a soupçon of remorse,<br />But he was forced to play a role outdated<br />(By another foreigner, of course)<br /><br />Stamping on the groin of a defender<br />Is part and parcel of this robust sport.<br />If contact is removed from the agenda,<br />There wouldn’t be much passion to report.<br /><br />Canavaro’s histrionics were disgraceful,<br />You’d think he was convulsed by mortal pain.<br />But giving that poor referee a face full<br />Is symptomatic of a sleazy brain.<br /><br />Prepare yourself for hell now, Cristiano,<br />You’re chosen as the scapegoat for defeat.<br />A pinch of salt, or even oregano,<br />Won’t save you when the press turn up the heat.<br /><br />They booed the greatest football player ever,<br />While playing in a charity event.<br />Twenty years too long for grudges? Never!<br />The wave of hatred never will relent.<br /><br />For bullying the ref, and then for winking,<br />Your effigy will be strung up and burnt.<br />Your prospects of a future there are shrinking.<br />A salutary lesson must be learnt.<br /><br />Frings<br /><br />Semi-final’s all he had to cling to (cling to)<br />Now he must endure a one-match ban.<br />It’s a game his missus would bring bling to (bling to)<br />Now she knows she will not see her man.<br /><br />Thinking ‘bout<br />Frings – who must step aside,<br />Frings – who will be denied<br />Frings – his teeth will clench<br />Watching sadly from the bench,<br />Frings – oh he can’t appear,<br />Frings – he might shed a tear,<br />Thinking ‘bout the Frings I used to know.<br /><br />Punches – how he rues he had to fling two (fling two)<br />When the time got sorely out of joint.<br />When Herr Klinsmann called, how he would spring to, (spring to)<br />Now he wonders if there’s any point.<br /><br />Thinking ‘bout<br />Frings – who’s a tad irate,<br />Frings – who will just spectate<br />Frings – his fate was tough<br />When Sepp Blatter called enough.<br />Frings – no biting tackles,<br />Frings – to raise the hackles,<br />Thinking ‘bout the Frings I used to know.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Six<br /></strong><br />Germany O Italy 2 (aet)<br /><br />It surged unexpected from out the vast ocean<br />And swelled sleepy rivers and gurgling streams.<br />Wave after wave of Teutonic emotion<br />That dared not envisage improbable schemes<br />Now drowned the whole land in impossible dreams.<br /><br />The viaducts shuddered and loosed their foundations,<br />Unable to hinder or stifle the surge.<br />Awash with false hope and devout incantations<br />At junctions where highways and rivers converge<br />This staid man of Europe was brought to the verge.<br /><br />From Hamburg to Freiburg, from Dortmund to Gera,<br />The flood of excitement submerged one and all.<br />The currents grew strong as the waters grew clearer,<br />Whipped up by a sudden, unnatural squall<br />Till it came up against an Italian wall.<br /><br />It crashed ‘gainst this barrier with fury and vigour<br />Just as it had done to all others before.<br />But this time the wall appeared stronger and bigger,<br />Withstanding the might of the fluvial roar,<br />Through lack of a droplet-sized structural flaw.<br /><br />The tide could not breach the Italian defences,<br />Although it was backed by a northerly gale.<br />And at last it abated, abandoned pretences,<br />The waters retreated down gorges and vale,<br />Knowing full well they were destined to fail.<br /><br />Auf Wiedersehen Pet<br /><br />Auf Wiedersehen Pet,<br />We will always remember<br />The way that you followed the brave Klinsmann muse.<br />Let’s hope when we’ve met<br />In the coming September,<br />You’ll still be entangled in post World Cup blues!<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Seven<br /></strong><br />France 1 Portugal 0<br /><br />Through my life, I have spouted,<br />Universally touted,<br />My mantra on footballing viewing:<br /><br /><br /><br />The armchair supporter<br />Sits drinking his porter,<br />Enjoying the things that he’s doing.<br /><br />He shouts at the telly<br />And gives it real welly<br />And vents his opinions robustly,<br />And he roars when his side<br />Shoots so narrowly wide,<br />And complains when pulled up quite unjustly.<br /><br />The real fan however<br />Will always endeavour<br />To see a live game if he can.<br />The excitement is greater<br />As a paying spectator,<br />Whether Shelbourne or AC Milan.<br /><br />Thus I came home quite weary,<br />From a day dull and dreary,<br />And I found the front door on the latch.<br />And my wife said, “Your stew<br />Is here waiting for you,<br />‘Cos you’ll want to go out to the match.”<br /><br />Tarnation! Hells Bells!<br />‘Twas Finn Harps against Shels!<br />It had slipped through my memory subtlely.<br />What, with World Cup and stress,<br />My whole head was a mess –<br />No wonder it skipped my mind utterly.<br /><br />But then, what happened next<br />Left me later perplexed,<br />And I still cannot rightly believe it.<br /><br /><br />For I shook my fat head<br />And with great fatigue said,<br />“I think that for once I might leave it.<br /><br />‘Sure, its just the League Cup,<br />And no crowd will turn up,<br />And I’d sooner watch slow-growing scallions.<br />And well, I might throw a glance<br />At old Portugal – France,<br />As they battle to face the Italians.”<br /><br />My wife felt my brow,<br />But then shrugged anyhow<br />And said, “Okay, if that’s your decision.”<br />So I stayed in all night<br />Watching football so trite<br />On my sixteen inch Busch television,<br /><br />What a grave, grave mistake<br />I’d decided to make,<br />For the football from Munich was numbing.<br />In the meantime, Shels shone,<br />Beat the Harpies four – one,<br />To leave loyal supporters all humming.<br /><br />I must go for a session<br />At Saturday’s confession,<br />And confide this to Fr. Maloney,<br />And he’ll really let rip,<br />Tear me off quite a strip<br />For succumbing to square – eyed boloney.<br /><br />Yes I’m bowed with contrition<br />For my stupid decision<br />To Welch on my strongest conviction.<br />Forever now thought a<br />Mere armchair supporter,<br />Condemned for this gross dereliction.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Eight</strong><br /><br />If<br /><br />If we’d have overcome the Swiss<br />Instead of merely drawing,<br />Would we be thanking God like this,<br />Or would they call us boring?<br /><br />Would everybody hail our play,<br />Our football free and flowing?<br />Or would they jump back with dismay<br />At where the game was going?<br /><br />Would journalists write reams of prose<br />To praise our contribution?<br />Or would they nearly come to blows,<br />Demanding retribution?<br /><br />Would Kilbane, Hartey, John O’Shea<br />Be idolised by millions?<br />Worshipped for that sacred day<br />They scuppered the Brazilians?<br /><br />Would peace descend on Johnny Giles?<br />Would Brady be delighted?<br />Would Eamonn’s face dissolve in smiles,<br />His love at last requited?<br /><br />Would neutral fans be on our side<br />And will us on to glory?<br />Would we be borne upon the tide<br />To finish off the story?<br /><br />Would our panache make millions wince?<br />Would breaths be truly bated?<br />Or would we have crashed out long since,<br />Unloved, unmourned, outdated?<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Twenty Nine<br /></strong><br />How was it for you, dear?<br /><br />So how was it for you, dear?<br />Did you hear the angels sing?<br />Did Crouch and Owen<br />Get you goin’?<br />Did Luis Figo<br />Stroke your ego?<br />Oh tell me, sweetest thing,<br />Did the angels truly sing?<br /><br />Did you feel the mountains move, love?<br />Did the planets alter course?<br />When Klinsmann danced,<br />Were you entranced?<br />When Tebez called,<br />Were you enthralled?<br />Oh, did your throat go hoarse<br />When the planets altered course?<br /><br />Did you feel a little shiver?<br />Did your toes begin to curl?<br />Did little Dwight<br />Light up your night?<br />Did dark Zambrotta<br />Make you hotter?<br />Was your mind a World Cup whirl,<br />When your toes began to curl?<br /><br />Did you feel a sudden surge, love?<br />A strange exciting flush?<br />Did Ali Karimi<br />Turn you steamy?<br />Alex Frei<br />Just make you sigh?<br />Oh did you get that rush,<br />That intense, exciting flush?<br /><br />Do you still cry out for more, dear?<br />Are you not yet satisfied?<br />Does Van de Saar<br />Bring you too far?<br />Camaronesi<br />Drive you crazy?<br />With Love right at your side<br />Would you not be satisfied?<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Thirty<br /></strong><br />Third Place Playoff – Germany 3 Portugal 1<br /><br />For Oliver Kahn and Luis Figo<br /><br />The final turning of the page<br />For two great heroes of our age.<br />The final bow upon the stage,<br />As far as we can rightly gauge.<br /><br />Final whistle, they embraced,<br />Reality so squarely faced,<br />Memories entombed, encased<br />Within the sport these masters graced.<br /><br />From Reykjavik to sunny Perth,<br />These two colossi strode the earth.<br />The final score had little worth<br />Amid the sorrow and the mirth.<br /><br />So football takes another twist,<br />Another two crossed off the list.<br />And though great hopes and dreams exist,<br />Oh yes, they will be sorely missed.<br /><br />The Worst Centre Forward of the Tournament?<br /><br />They say Big Phil’s a decent coach,<br />A master of direct approach.<br />So it’s quite puzzling how he’d let a<br />Team be led by poor Pauleta.<br /><br />His record’s actually quite good,<br />So his inclusion’s understood.<br />But in Germany, you never met a<br />Worse lone striker than Pauleta.<br /><br />This feller had no ball control,<br />And could not play with back to goal.<br />No wonder he could only net a<br />Single goal, could poor Pauleta.<br /><br />The Portuguese made boring viewing,<br />Lack of goals was their undoing.<br />Big Phil should have had a tête-á-<br />Tête with out-of-form Pauleta.<br /><br />Defenders and midfielders, they<br />Are blessed with hundreds every day,<br />But surely Portugal could get a<br />Better striker than Pauleta?<br /><br />Every ball he miscontrolled,<br />One hundred and eight, I’m told.<br />Sure the team would be much better<br />Off with Granny, than Pauleta.<br /><br />Nuno Gomez kicked his heels,<br />While half the population kneels.<br />On the bench, this cool goal-getter<br />Must have wondered ‘bout Pauleta.<br /><br /><strong>World Cup 2006 Day Thirty One<br /></strong><br />WC Final Italy 1 France 1 (5-3 pens)<br /><br />(i)<br /><br />Italian teeth flashed in the dark,<br />The fireworks gushed in streams of praise,<br />As all around the light-bathed park,<br />Those blue-clad athletes danced on baize.<br />His team-mates, crying and distraught,<br />Slumped to the ground in weariness,<br />Sad victims of a cruel sport<br />That gives complete reward for less.<br />But in amongst the two extremes,<br />One figure cast a shadow tall,<br />Head crumpled by those shattered dreams,<br />Although he was not there at all.<br />Macbeth and Hamlet raised a glass<br />And toasted his heroic frame,<br />Now rent forever ‘pon the grass<br />Whereon he speared the greatest shame.<br /><br />Was this how it was meant to end –<br />A vicious thrust from wounded bull?<br />That final walk without a friend,<br />Senses mangled, numbed and dull.<br />In horror, millions on TV<br />Gaped open-mouthed at his assault<br />As, like a Roman tragedy,<br />He came undone through one slight fault.<br />The memories of ninety eight,<br />The Arc de Triomphe bathed in light,<br />Perceptibly did dissipate<br />Into the storm-rent Berlin night.<br /><br />And how will we remember him<br />When many moons have come and gone?<br />As fleet of foot and sure of limb,<br />A star that in sheer brilliance shone?<br />Or will we evermore recall<br />The picture of that sudden lunge,<br />The moment of his total fall<br />That even time cannot expunge.<br /><br />(ii)<br /><br />Like the games that went before it,<br />The defenders were on top.<br />As many people saw it,<br />The attackers were a flop.<br />Oh where was Gerdy Muller,<br />Paolo Rossi, Just Fontaine<br />To add a little colour<br />To a midfield-led campaign?<br />To finish with conviction<br />Is the hardest skill of all,<br />And they all had the affliction<br />Of misjudging the new ball.<br />The Italians, worthy winners,<br />Had no forwards who could score,<br />Like amateurish beginners<br />Who could not complete the chore.<br />Let’s hope some hidden talents<br />Will come forth to pay our debt,<br />With precision, skill and balance<br />And a radar to the net. </div><div align="center">.</div><div align="center">Post-Mortem</div><div align="center">.</div><div align="center">Zinedine yelled excitedly –<br />“When viewed unpressurised,<br />The sarcastic remarks,<br />Querulously pitched,<br />Ordained nothing.<br />My lightheadedness keeps jumping in,<br />However.<br />Great final, eh,<br />Despite callous butting attack?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Peter Gouldinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13292063172122249202noreply@blogger.com1