Great World Cup Moments #11

Because I need to have XI really. Because there's, like, eleven players in a football team. But these are done after this one, because History is now being made, or something equally fucking poignant.

There follows a very boring story that interlinks very vaguely with today's Moment

This girl came to stay with one of my Uni friends in 2002, on the Saturday before the England - Sweden game. She was pale and ginger, about 17 although she looked older, and pretty fit. I would have fucked her, of course, but then I would have fucked virtually anyone in 2002 (I of course actually fucked no-one; although I made one fat girl very happy in late August, and then literally didn't say a word to her the following day; most undj-like). In the morning I had watched Ireland vs Cameroon with two beers (purchased at half-time at 8:15: my buddy had just finished a night shift, I had merely woken up), then enjoyed Denmark vs Uruguay (a genuine screamer from Dario Rodriguez, I won't link though, you can just look it up yourself, although no Recoba at all) and Germany vs Saudi Arabia (hilarious). I then went round to my other mates' house, and we went to the park for beers, then a pub. No-one had any weed. Some people, including this girl, went to a club, the rest of us bemoaned our lack of weed, until Dougie, a genial Scot, finally brought round about an eighth and everyone could stop clucking. This girl came back from the club about 4, and told everyone how much she liked football, and how she was looking forward to the game between England and Sweden the next day.

After two hours sleep (sometimes I wish I was still young), I woke up to watch Argentina vs Nigeria, to find everyone had for some reason gone out and stolen a canoe. I took the opportunity to further grill this girl about football. She went to Highbury with her brother she said, quite often, about ten times in this Double winning season. Her favourite player was Ljungberg, although she liked Henry obviously. So far so good. She then became insistent that Ljungberg had been passed fit for the match that day. Now you probably don't remember, but there was this big ongoing will he, won't he story about Ljungberg playing, but it was pretty well established that he wouldn't play (I might have this wrong, it might be that she was insistent he wouldn't play, and we knew he would. I don' t fucking remember, we used to pill to help us wake up).

Anyway, she was wrong, as we found out when we got to the pub. I then questioned her further about Arsenal. She was no true fan; she had no real understanding of the game, and you could tell that she fancied Ljungberg (Ha! Barking up the wrong tree there, love), rather than loved his ability to ghost on the wrong side of defenders like some sort of post-punk Martin Peters (Ljungberg was such a fantastic player between 2000 and 2004. He attained absolute mastery of timing runs from midfield to score, peaked in big games, had a technique that would have functioned on the continent and worked his bollocks off. I just wish he was English).

The bubble had burst with this girl anyway, and I will never forget the lesson. As the girl went home to recover, and everyone enjoyed Spain vs Slovenia with a big bag of weed, I reflected that Women Never Know As Much About Football As They Think They Do. Even when it looks like they do, they don't.

And so to sum up this absurd piece of misogyny, this is what happens when Women try to play football.

That's the end of the Moment barrel scraping, for which I'm sure we'll all say Huzzah.