Tuesday, June 20, 2006

World Cup Ins and Outs 2: Electric Boogaloo

The goals, the saves, the missus. The roar of the facepaint, the smell of the crowd. Incinerating sausages in one's back garden while missing a crucial goal. These are all part of it, but nothing sums up the true flavour of the tournament like Part Two of the World Cup Ins and Outs!

(which am here!)


Loads of raking goals scored from long-range
Wayne Rooneys' miraculous metatarsals. Praise be!
African chaps in the full body paint get up.
Low quality goalkeeping
Michael Owens getting all defensive in interviews and sounding like Mike Skinners
The French being no good again. Enjoy it while it lasts
The Angola and USA kits
Gelsenkirchen! Trying saying it, it's great. Gelsenkirchen, Gelsenkirchen, Gelsenkirchen!
The Iran carpet square they hand over before kick-off
Liberally dousing one's old chap with yellow food colouring, then later on getting it out in the pub and telling everyone, in a George Formby accent, "It's me World Cup Willy, way-hey!" Switzerland, normally grindingly dull, having a goalie called Zuberbuhler and a forward called Hakan Yakin.
ITV's theme music. Hey, Kasabians, the sound of the streets, like it, yeah.
I joke of course, it's complete knackersweat.
Moody reserve keepers that don't get on with the other feller.
Setting up your stereo so that, on the occasion of a goal being scored, with a flick of a switch it pumps out "I like to move it" by Reel 2 Reel feat. The Mad Stuntman
Any sighting of oompah bands or lederhosen during a report from Germany
Injured players having to stay on because all of their subs have been used.
Otherwise reserved, perhaps even homophobic men, feeling it's alright to hug and kiss their mates due to a goal being scored.
The look of utter contempt in Gordon Strachans' eyes when asked something fatuous by Adrian Chile or Gary Linekers
Italy vs USA, the tournament's only good kicking match
William Galla going off on one when Korea scored.
Germany's hosting of the tournament sparking a renewed interest in the works of Goethe, Schiller, Schopenhauer and Sven Hassel


The old-fashioned, manky-looking stretchers being used, that resemble the type of thing Private Godfrey was kitted out with
Italy's "sweaty armpit" design kit and those horrible nike halved goalkeepers tops
After each impressive performance, claiming to have tipped them before the tournament
The confused, nonsensical punditry of David Pleats
England players seemingly being obliged to wear really shitty quality polo shirts when hanging about the hotel.
Folk wearing those football shaped hats at the match. Really, there's no need.
The BBC's masseeve added time graphic.
Showing action replays when the ball is in play
That pair of cornholes out of the Budweiser advert bumpers on ITV
Frankie Lampards just having a shot from anywhere
That deal with swapping those little footballs before kick-off
Endless shots of attractive women in the crowd. We get the picture, there are some tidy boilers in attendance.
Squeezing in an ad break between the end of the anthems and kick-off.
Men with sunglasses on the top of their head and wearing three-quarter length trousers, going on about "the footie"
ITV's much-vaunted website. It's shite. And that's swearing.
Pretending that somebody you know has mistaken Trinidad and Tobago for two different teams. No they haven't.
The return of eighties yuppie style stripey shirts.
The Czech Republic's reserve players being, to a man, big, fat, balding brickies.
The indecent haste with which the resurgence of Thierry Henry was proclaimed, only for him to bottle it again and miss a vital sitter.
England scoring when you've got a full pint, most of which is spilled during the ensuing melee

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

World Cup Ins and Outs

My friends, there is much World Cup flotsam, and to a lesser extent, jetsam out there tugging at your sleeve, craving your attention.

Some sort of wheat/chaff separation system is clearly required.

What could fit the purpose more exactly than an all-new, hip and dudey, freshly plastered World Cup Ins and Outs?

  • After entertaining your dreadful mates round your gaff for a match, as they leave presenting each of them with an exquisitely wrapped memento of the occasion- a small but expensively framed picture of yourself wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
  • Television reports from team hotels. Eeh look, there's Gary Nevilles in the swimming pool.
  • Remarking to anyone listening, "Is it just me or does Steven Gerrard have something of the village idiot about him?"
  • In the event of a stranger in the pub, carried away by the bonhomie of the occasion, attempting to strike up a conversation, asking in deadly earnest "have you ever killed a man?"
  • An old-fashioned big useless lump of a centre-half making an absolute James Blunt of a clearance.
  • The Korean team being filled with chaps called Bum Suk Ho and the like. Tremendous fun.
  • Elaborate African goal celebrations, hopefully involving simulation of pissing or copulating with animals.
  • The BBC's spot-on use of classical music as a background to highlights of tournament football
  • The moment when Germany get knocked out.
  • Regarding the telly over a pair of pince-nez, whilst carrying out complex needlepoint moves on one of those tambourine-looking type deals
  • Visiting a market and marvelling at the sheer variety and scope of England-themed tat.
  • Memorising all the second-choice goalkeepers and whenever a soft goal is conceded muttering darkly about "how they should have picked {Kochmeister/Dong/Jame} instead".
  • Plucky underdogs battling bravely for an hour before tiring and getting humped 4-0.
  • A colourfully-dressed African supporter in the crowd with a mad expression on his face.
  • Being off work and all boozed-up by six o'clock.
  • Charity shop dressing their dummies in red and white and putting little England flags in their hands.
  • Some arse-faced CBI type claiming the country has lost billions due to peole watching the football. Bollocks, they just pulled their fingers out and got their work done quicker. Take a chill pill.
  • The atmosphere around the place after a victory in the World Cup.
  • Any enterprising zookeeper who gambles on games on the basis of dressing two chimps in the colours of the competing teams and backing the teams whose chimp is first to fling its shit around.
  • Lasses in football tops. Giddy up!


  • Each time England score, putting on the Achy Breaky Heart song and doing the dance in front of the telly. And the full three and a half minutes mind, no shirking.
  • Collecting Panini stickers when aged above 12.
  • Down-at-heel types sporting unofficial crappy market-bought "Brasil" or "Italia" tops.
  • ITV
  • Televised press conferences featuring some unfortunate player who has been strongarmed into appearing, mumbling glib cliches while sweating like a lottery rapist.
  • Remarking every five fucking minutes on how tall Crouch is.
  • Middle class types who invite you round to watch the game and enjoy some "authentic cuisine (and drinks)" from the competing nations.
  • Unless the game is Germany v France when a bottle of Kronenbourg and some sausages will do nicely.
  • Endless television reaction shots of sweaty oafs over-emoting while watching the England game in some dreadful Romford boozehole.
  • Specky "When Saturday Comes" readers choosing to follow some African team because wanting England to win apparently makes you Vicky Pollards or something.
  • Commentators who adopt a modish new pronunciation of the name of someone they pronounce normally throughout the Premiership season.
  • That bloke being dragged out to do some godawful poem regarding the World Cup
  • Anyone circulating one of those dreadful "Priceless" doctored photographs via e-mail following England's inevitable demise.
  • Any nation's team that has a nickname or calls themselves Team Something or Other.
  • Hand-wringing shenanigans over who Scottish peole should or shouldn't support. Ignore them, they're irrelevant to the World Cup.
  • That awful geordie "fans committee burgomaster" bloke getting his stupid pompous face on the telly.
  • The Sun and The Mirror encouraging their readers to act the twat.
  • Football supporters of the type who give their kids eleven players names, overdoing the flag thing for more attention.
  • Sitting outside a pub on the cheapest white plastic garden furniture in all of Christendom, causing stickiness, burns and scrapes in the time it takes to drink a pint.
  • The moment Brazil win it again.

Colonel K is indebted to brother Shaq for his encouragement and contributions to the above list.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Bright Lights, Spanish City

Word up, dawgs? You feelin' it? Respec'!

I won't lie to you, your Colonel is not at his mid-season best right about now. A bout of phlegmmy chest infection is taking its' toll, combined with a week-long hangover that refuses to go away.

I refer, of course, to the after effects of a Bank Holiday monday spent swilling and illing in Whitley Bay. Now clearly a trip to the Bay is A Good Thing, but it is slowly dawning on me that it may be a young man's game.

The day started with a strange combination of sunshine and heavy rain showers. Thankfully, by the time we were in the taxi and tooling along the coast road the sun had got it's hat on and was shining down like a mofo.

Passing through Seaton Delaval one of the chaps remarked "I can smell it!" to a carful of confused expressions.

"The fanny! You can smell it from here!" he elaborated.

A regular Robert Browning, that lad.

We arrived at the first pub, called The Sitting Room or something unorthodox like that. Pubs these days, eh? Whatever you think of the name of the place, the fact remained that inside it was like a birthday party at Hugh Hefner's house. Everywhere a chap looked it was "waal to waal blart, like". Naturally we supped up our drinks and went elsewhere.

You know me, I only drink in moderation, believing as I do that there is nothing big or clever about getting all boozed up. This isn't a view shared by everyone though and I'm afraid I found myself supping all manner of outlandish beverages. There were modish lagers with slices of lime in the neck, pitchers of vodka and red bull, premium strength lagers and a devilish concoction known as "Cheeky Vimto".

Cheeky Vimto is a fiendish combination of blue WKD, the alcopop of choice of the slattern and the effete chap, and port, the wine for the posher tramp. These come together to form a potent purple potion that actually tastes just like Vimto. After sharing a jug of this stuff the world becomes a strange place indeed. The room appears to spin, people loom at you like some kind of hall of mirrors effect and every pub DJ is playing a raved-up version of Dolly Parton's "Nine to Five" or that "Paris to Berlin" thing. Also you find yourself gurning like Bruce Forsyth and assailing passing females with cries of "Give us a shot on your rat, pet!"

In short, not the type of behaviour befitting one who strives always to be a suave boulevardier and cultured man about town.

It was time for a taxi back home.

The rest of the evening is a bit of a haze, to be honest. We headed for a local pub with a couple of lasses, one of whom goes out with one of the chaps. Having sifted the evidence and reconstructed those last hours of monday in my head, this is what I believe happened.
  • I gently let down a girl who wanted to sleep with me, explaining that she was a bit tipsy and she possibly wouldn't respect herself in the morning if she acted on her urges tonight.
  • I made sure that the lads got home alright, what with them being a bit young and having had a bit much to drink.
  • I bade our host a good evening and went for fish and chips, where I didn't swear at the proprietor and didn't get my old chap out in the shop.
  • I walked home without falling over and didn't piss up any back alleys.

And that is, almost certainly, what really happened.

Bank Holidays, eh? That's livin', alright.

Believe, bitch.


Hello there! I'm Silvia Saints, off of porn films and that. You probably remember me from when I won the 1997 AVN award for "Best Tease Performance". Or maybe my role in "Leg Sex Babes 3" in 2004. Whatever, mingers! Don't even go there. Anyhoo, I will be cheering on my sexy Czech Republic compatriots in the forthcoming World Cup 2006 in Germany. Hopefully the boys will "cum" good in the finals!!!!!!11!!!NOTJUSTAPRETTYFACEEH?!!!!11!!!!!!!!