Football's Gone Away

It was all rather lovely whilst it lasted but now it's official - we're not going to win the World Cup. Statistically speaking it must be highly unlikely that we will reach another semi-final in my lifetime. Oh well, back to the day job - oh yes that's right I haven't got one - lazy Pig.

The positives: Southgate has the team playing a possession based game, or rather he did have until the second half of the Croatia match. All credit to the Croats who deployed a high pressing game and eventually condemned England to having Pickford lump long balls up the pitch. Harry Kane had a poor match - had he taken one of those chances when we were still 1-0 up you have to doubt that Croatia could have recovered. Another positive - so far as one can tell our hooligans never made it to Russia or if they did they decided (wisely) that Putin's police were best not provoked. Kieran Trippier and Harry Maguire also huge positives. Biggest of the lot, Gareth Southgate himself - a decent bloke not (yet) brought to his knees by the job. So now attention can turn quite properly to the best sporting event north of Cheltenham - the Open golf next week.

Big Fat Pig has lost a few pounds and is still managing to get some exercise notwithstanding the oppressive weather (my poor old lawn). Yesterday he did an hour on the Precious Bike including two unlikely ascents of Mont Worcester. He is girding his loins in readiness for attempts on the Col de Hillwood Common and, most daunting of all, Mont Hillwood. This morning he ran for over four miles. He's coming home, he's coming home, Fat Pig's coming home - try it, this actually fits the tune.

So what do you do in the immediate aftermath of the last semi-final you expect to live to see your country grace? Easy you slosh yourself a glass of sauvignon blanc (ripe and fruity) and watch an episode of the brilliantly bonkers Toast of London. And yes I can hear you Clem Fandango.
   

Football's Coming Home?

The question mark in the title is important, preserving as it does my self-diagnosed status as detached and sceptical commentator.

Thus far I have avoided the World Cup in these mental peregrinations and I must confess that I had not watched any match in its entirety until England met Colombia, preferring highlights and/or repeat showings. The denouement of that Colombia game was almost too painful to watch particularly once Henderson had missed his penalty. Yesterday's victory over Sweden was easier on the nerves although I don't quite buy into the total dominance narrative that seems to have found favour - no match that you win 2-0 and in which your keeper makes three fabulous saves can be a procession. So now I am all up for the semi-final - dare I watch it other than on my own, that having been the 'lucky' formula for the two knock-out matches thus far? To paraphrase Ray Prosser - it's only a game, well what the f*** do we have goals for?

My mate Donald Trump will be in this country later this week. I have seriously toyed with the idea of joining a peaceful demonstration against the wanton vulgarity of his presidency but I'm afraid the thought of breaking bread with the daft left has put me off.  Anyway it's too hot for demonstrating. On which front (weather front - geddit?) my precious lawn is burnt to straw but, always look on the bright side, the weeds have retreated completely and I can postpone the need to buy a new mower, perhaps getting one last season out of the old faithful - a man can attach the same emotion to his first petrol mower as to his first car.

The heat makes of me a sluggard - I can function well in the perishing cold but extreme heat gets the better of me. Nonetheless I have had to abandon my usually effective plan of waiting for cooling rain and instead set out for a run in the broiling weather yesterday morning. To the usual and absurd get-up of lycra and Oakleys I added a cap. Only shuffled a couple of miles but must admit I feel the better for it.

In addition to the football I have also enjoyed the Irish Open golf from the magnificent looking links at Ballyliffin. Seaside golf, either playing or spectating, can't be beaten. Oh to be in Northumberland hacking up the course at Goswick, the day ended by a walk on the sands at Bamburgh.

A Day To Be From Somewhere

Let us for once forget the loathsome fabulations of Trump, let us also forget the inanities foisted upon us in the name of Brexit 'debate'. Let us instead be English and wallow in a weekend of unaccustomed sporting triumph. South Africa have been beaten at Rugby Union, New Zealand at Rugby League, Panama at football, and Australia at cricket. I've already had a G&T to celebrate and now I've moved on to a South Australian Shiraz.

England, three cheers for the losers

Let us (as we say in thesis land) interrogate the merit of certain of these triumphs. Well, the defeat of South Africa was in a dead rubber but England did show some much needed gumption and we do seem to be witnessing the emergence of a class performer in Johnny May. In League, downing the Kiwis is not to be sniffed at but Australia remain the class of the pack. Nobody should dissolve into raptures over the 6-1 demolition of Panama at the World Cup but let us just pause and think how we would react to, say, Germany achieving such a result. We would exult at their professionalism. So for now let's bask in this unfamilair warm glow.

Which leaves only the cricket. Today's thriller was in the defensible (as opposed to the bastard child that is T20 - see too many previous posts) ODI format. It capped a 5-0 series win for England over a confused and under strength Aussie lineup. Shame. Poor little cheating sods. Bit strong? Maybe but, come on, they have earned opprobrium surely. And don't be fooled by the good losers/nice chaps mask they are wearing - they'll be back and ferocious in no time, so enjoy it while we can. Please also take note that as a curtain-raiser for the series against Australia, England conspired to lose to Scotland.

This Shiraz is jolly nice you know.

I played golf for the first time in more than ten months on Thursday. I was shit. It is golf tour this coming week. Bridgnorth is the venue under the tender stewardship of my little brother. One of the rewards for winning on tour is that you have to organise the next celebration. Heat wave predicted. Fun times. Back me to lose - with style. Hey ho, it's sunny.

Good news for you sports fans - now that the knock-out stages are on the horizon I promise to turn my mind to the World Cup. Bet you can't wait.