Nineteen Sixty-What?

Well it’s over for another four years. The time has come to remove those awful flags from your car windows, now you can wind down those windows and allow fresh air to circulate in that sauna with wheels that you call a car. Simultaneously, take down those St. George flags and Union Flags and pack them away, as if a BNP rally has ended. England are out of the World Cup. [I just had a really bad déjà vu!]

I’m not the type of person to sit around and slag off a bunch of overpaid sporty types that are unable to succeed in a game [that’s made them rich] as most of these men can’t succeed in a long term relationship with their wives, so what else could we as a nation expect from these simple human beings?

People tell me that the Premiership is the best football league in the world, yet this country is unable to put together a team that can reach the finals of a World Cup. I think I know now why; there are not enough foreigners in the England squad! If we sneak a couple in next time maybe we’ll do better. That’s just my suggestion; I’m simply putting it out their … like pubic lice. Plus with foreign players the foreign manager could speak foreign to them and they could play some good old fashioned foreign football.

Anyway, this Blog isn’t about England’s endless amount of failures, it’s about England’s endless obsession with its one victory. In case you’ve recently took an heavy blow to the head and happened to forget this little fact, I’ll remind you; in 1966 England won the World Cup. Hooray! Only 44 years ago, we had the best football team in the entire World. Yes, FOURTY-FOUR YEARS AGO! For fuck sake England (I’m addressing the whole nation here – like The Queen on Christmas Day), can we please get over this one minor victory? Isn’t it time we let this go? It only happened once, why do we keep dragging it up again and again and again and them some more. We can move on from this insignificant blimp that plagues our record of misery, I know we can. It’s akin to an old decrepit woman with her wrinkly skin drooping off of her frail frame, her face sporting a whisker moustache, her arthritis riddled hand precariously holding a old battered photograph of herself in her 20s looking young and beautiful, saying; “Look how good I used to look.” Yeah, but fucking look at you know, you fucking bag of bones, you’re revolting, even Rooney wouldn’t have a crack.

Let’s face it, most of us weren’t around at this time and those that are old enough to remember it have probably forgotten due to old age or going senile (example; The Queen) or they have been a victim to Harold Shipman. It’s borderline pathetic to be honest with you. When I was five, I found 20p on the floor; I don’t still go on about it every single chance I get [This time doesn’t count; I’m simply using it to show you how miniscule 1966 really is for comical effect]. Imagine being around someone that constantly told the story of the time they found 20p, every time they saw a 20p coin. You’d eventually lose it [your temper, not 20p] and fill a sock with 20p pieces and proceed to beat them to death in their sleep, not caring about the consequences of your actions, they deserved to die after all. I’m not saying that people that constantly talk about 1966 should be killed with a sock filled with the ashes of most of England’s 1966 squad. That’d be wrong and slightly disgusting, plus I highly doubt the majority of ash would stay in the sock for the duration of the beating. Simple torture would deal with these people. Not deadly horrible torture, something similar to A Clockwork Orange, in which a fan is strapped to a chair and forced to watch back to back footage of England losing game after game until the fan has cried himself into such a dehydrated state he simply ceases to live for the rest of his life.

What we need to grasp now is; football is a different game. The 1966 squad has no connection with the current team. They just play for the same country, 44 years down the line. Plenty has happened in those 44 years; the internet, mobile phones, I was born, you were probably born too, but most importantly other countries got really good at football. So we should simply embrace our never ending display of despair and keep the feeling of disappointment in our hearts.