I sit here in my England shirt wondering where it all went wrong. (I should probably point out at this point that I'm on my 7th beer so logic and reason may well have ran fleeing from my mind). I also wonder why I care. I mean 11, okay 14 — or 23, blokes I don't know have just lost a game of football. How does this effect me? Or to rephrase why does this effect me?
Before the game I really thought that this was England's turn. It seems I was wrong. They played poorly. (You notice how it's they played poorly and yet it's normally we played well). Yet still they should have won it in the 89th minute, or more correctly they did win it and the referee raped them. What can you do though? Excuses are excuses. We didn't play well enough and we lost.
Testicles.
Bollocks.
Cunt.
Wanker.
Where is Mark Bright on Radio Five Live? I think that he like me can't fucking believe how it ended. He's probably wiping the tears from his face in the BBC toilets. Although I must say I am totally in love with the girl who was standing in for him... how I miss sexy English girls and their sexy English accents.
Bollocks.
It's time for my eighth beer. It's time for me to work out why it hurts so much. It's time for a lot of things. In fact it's overdue.
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