England got knocked out of the World Cup today on penalties. They all (except Rooney) played footbal for a very long time and looked bloody knackered.
Bless ‘em.
But I knew how they felt. I was watching the match at home, it was a very very hot day. A friend of mine had rung me to pick up £20 that I owed her – she was going to head to Angel at about half six. I said this was fine and that I would meet her at the station.
She didn’t say that half six would be half way through extra time though, if she’d have put it that way I’d have said no.
But alas, as it got tenser and tenser as 10 England players battled 11 Portugalers (that’s the proper term) she called me to say she was outside Angel tube station.
Argh. It is about five mins or so to get there from my flat, the first period of extra time was coming to a close. I had to make a dash for it, I had a two minute break to make a ten minute round trip.
So I bloody ran my little (long, gawky, lanky) legs off. I guess my 6ft 3″ frame looked a lot like Peter Crouch’s did, and I had laughed at that a lot during the match.
I heard cheers from pubs… was that a goal/a replay/a pub watching murder she wrote?
I got to angel with a HUGE stich in my side and gave my friend Jo the money that I quite rightfully owed her. We exchanged pleastantires, but she could sense I wanted to get back to the football, probably because I said, “I have to get back to the football now bye.”
And so, with the summer heat beating down on me I ran back as fast as I could (not very). Past a few pubs with gangs of people, it felt like England was all uniting, or at least Islington, like in a war movie or something. And I was missing it.
I staggered back into my living room drenched in sweat, two mins left of extra time, still at 0-0.
The final whistle blew and they all collapsed, John MOtson describing in his homoerotic way how they were all exhausted and the prospect of taking penalties after 10 mins in searing heat must be horrible.
These people at the peak of physical fitness looked dead.
And I knew how they felt, by this point I was on my sofa, still with a raging stich and drenched in sweat. I couldn’t have taken any penalties.