And so, here, in a very real sense, we go. Worked through lunch -
stayed in the office and hinted that I was earning an early departure
- and nicked off just after 4.00. In between bouts of copious
vomiting, Mr Nobby had rung in the morning to say he was too ill to
drag his stricken body out of bed to attend the opening ceremony. A
nasty dose of salmonella courtesy of some dodgy chicken cooked by the
'missus', (I'd better not say anymore). I got in touch with Glenn
Hoddle and he sent a nice home-made get well soon card.
Ended up in a packed King of Corsica on Berwick Street (a stone's
throw from the scene of Gazza's legendary 2 am kebab and chips
incident a few weeks ago) in time for national anthems and bigwig
speeches before the first ball was kicked. Raised my glass (a
reasonably priced double rum and coke) in tribute to France 98.
Started off by not caring who won as long as it was a good game but
quickly realised I desperately wanted Scotland to win after Sampaio
scored after 4 minutes. Danger of Scotland being overwhelmed averted
as they composed themselves and when Collins scored a penalty the
place erupted.
Heard two people today refer to the Scots as 'sweaties' which
confused me, but then I remembered it must be rhyming slang: sweaty
socks = jocks. Ho ho. Also remembered that watching football in pubs
exposes one to loudmouthed idiots who know nothing. A group of
lagered up goons arguing over the nationality of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer
(whose name I can spell without looking it up and I can also say it
properly and someone said I look like him but I don't). Was he
Swedish and therefore not in the World Cup? Nah, he's Danish like
Schmeichel. It was finally agreed he is Norwegian and therefore
likely to be playing tonight. He plays for Manchester, they decided,
but I wasn't sure if the lack of a 'United' meant they thought there
was only one team in Manchester or if City's reputation has fallen so
low that 'Manchester' now automatically refers to United. Overheard
some bloke explaining to his girlfriend that no, there wouldn't be
penalties if the score stayed 1-1. Which it didn't after Tommy Boyd's
unfortunate own goal. Yes they always shoot themselves in the foot
and give the English plenty of opportunity to patronise them, but it
was desperately unlucky. Still, a good opening game and I lost
£2.00 (wooah, steady on big spender) by betting on a 2-0 win for
Brazil. Should have stuck to my plan for a double on a Brazil win and
a draw in the next match. Ah, but gambling is full of should have's
and like they say up north, 'If ifs and buts were pots and pans,
there'd be no room for tinkers'. Wise words.
Got home to see Norway and Morocco draw 2-2 in an excellent game, and
two great Moroccan goals that raised expectations for a fine
tournament.
Results:
Brazil (1) 2 Scotland (1) 1
Sampaio 4 Collins 38 (pen)
Boyd 73 og
Ravanelli ruled out with pneumonia of the lung or something. Chiesa
allowed to replace him. Zola must be even more disappointed.
Terry Venables splendid 'eggen chippo' remark after the Norway game.
Bob 'Primrose' Wilson amused. Bob is going to be David Seaman's best
man when Dave gets married in the summer. Which is nice.
Capital Gold commercial on TV features J Pearce going mental over
Crystal Palace v Wolves. The tagline being 'imagine how excited he's
going to get when England play.'
World Cup Wanker of the Day (this could be a regular feature): Stan
Collymore.
World Cup Quote (this will be a regular feature): 'The Pope may be
Polish, but God is a Brazilian.' Pele (all these quotes are oldies,
not said during this World Cup, just in case you were wondering.
Which you weren't but I thought I'd make it clear anyway.)
