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Supporting England is a pain! A 100% PAIN!!

Normally last night I would have been able to sit back and enjoy watching the abject Frogs get ushered out of the World Cup via the back door ...but the problem is that in a few hours the Hingerland doughnuts may also suffer a similar ignominious fate. This has severely dampened any upbubbling of Schadenfreude in my savage, neolithic, red-in-tooth-and-claw football supporter's breast.

What a drag!!

Anyway, England has up to now been totally clueless since the friendlies just before the WC. Earlier on, in the qualifiers, Capello had managed to get the lads to realise that the other players on the pitch in the same coloured shirts were the ones to pass to and that that rectangular thing with the net was wot yuz kick de ball into.

Suddenly they seem to have turned into something like those table football figures which just kick out in whatever direction they are facing if you bang them on the head. They are suffering from a strange form collective football amnesia; they seem to run out onto the pitch and look around in shock, "where are we?? Wots all dat green stuff on the floor? Wots dat round fing?"

Copious beer will be required for viewing today! (And deep down inside we just know that they are going to cock it up...arghhhhh!!)

Otherwise this World Cup has simply failed to ignite, in my opinion anyway, and I think the main reason for this is this incredibly irritating, hornet-noise producing, screaming fit-inducing vuvuzela. What kind of a loony invented that or came up with the idea of taking them into football stadiums.

The basic problem is that being a loud monotone it removes all the excitement from the football which you normally get from hearing the oohs and ahhs from the crowd. Basically it's the equivalent of watching the footy with the sound turned down...there are no highs or lows...just this awful depressing droning. Consequently I am finding it difficult to get involved in the games - definitely no FIFA fever.

So, just over 2 hours until the torture begins . . .