I begin writing this with #England still having failed to score with two added minutes to go in the first half. Glen Hoddle is one of the commentators. As usual, irritated by our failure to score, I imagine myself as the great dictator stomping into the Football Association's headquarters flanked by two busty Libyan women, in camouflage bikinis sweating profusely, chewing cigars and wielding Kalashnikovs as I shout 'Bring me the head of Gareth Southgate'. No, that's a lie, I'd get the girls to make all the old goats that pretend to run the #FA for anyone's benefit other than their own, to stand against the wall and then I would give the girls the order to open fire.
No, I would demand Glen Hoddle be immediately installed as England manager, until 2026 when the world cup returns to a more sane playing environment somewhere in Europe, South America, North America or China, as opposed to a boiling dust death bowl, drowning in petrodollar laxatives.
They still haven't scored
It's half time now and it's still 0-0. I heard some boos from those loyal England fans who travelled to Malta to watch their stars, their idols, fall down in front of a motley crew of semi-professionals, Maltese window cleaners, accountants and car salesman wearing the national shirts of Malta. Are they still semi-professional? They were in my day. I should do some research.
Pundits Paul Ince, Ryan Giggs and Ian Wright discuss the first half shambles, all serious like.
I think someone said "in all fairness" trying to mitigate this pantomime. If someone says "there aren't any easy matches", I will drive a pickaxe through my forehead.
The second half is under way now. Wow, Malta nearly scored. Now might be a good time to inform my readers I have put money on a draw at 10-1 and win for Malta at 33-1.
Yep, that's an offer from the bookies of 33-1 in a two horse race. I could cash out.
They scored
Maybe I should have cashed out, Harry Kane has just scored in the fifty-second minute. OK, maybe I am a pint half empty kind of guy, but, really come on, if it takes a team full of millionaire football players fifty-two minutes to score against Malta, then ...
well ... really. You know we will qualify, you know we will crawl out of the group stages in Vladivostok or St Petersburg, or wherever we get sent to play our group games, but, hey, you also know someone will come along and give us a slap in the round of 16. Are we always doomed to fail on the big stage? I think so. So long as the FA remains unreformed we have as much chance of delivering winners as the Lawn Tennis Association's gang of Pimms quaffing elites have of producing a Wimbledon champion with all those millions they waste year on year.
I think Glen Hoddle just said, "there's no such thing as an easy game". I could pick up that pickaxe and drive it through my forehead. Maybe later. Ten minutes to go, I'm off to the Pillars of Hercules to shoot some Tequilas and share some cigars with the Libyans. Let me know what the final score is will you?
