And So Endeth The Fever.

The football World Cup was decided this morning with the very sexual Spain defeating the dirty Dutch in a final that saw the two form sides of the last 18 months line up against each other.

The Dutch are a feisty bunch though aren’t they? I wonder why that is? I’ve known a few Pastry Eaters in my time and they have almost, to the man, been complete nutcases, especially on the football field.

One I knew quite well carried a baseball bat in his car to football matches he was due to play in, just in case things got ‘tasty’. He also took great delight in telling me all about the latest pornographic emails he would get at work which would get through the work mail sweeper because they were written in Dutch.

Perhaps it’s the marijuana in the Daddy’s semen that fertilises the Mummy’s egg, or the hypnotic effect of all those bloody windmills turning over and over...

Anyhoo. Until this morning the Oranje hadn’t lost an international game in 24 matches and the Spanish only twice in the last two years, one of which was at this tournament, so there was an air of inevitability around proceedings I thought.

I did, of course, pick Spain in an earlier blog and had the remarkable fortitude to have them in not one, but two sweepstakes, which given that I ran them both has cast a few eyebrows around these parts. God only knows why.

Must I reiterate again that the sweepstake fixing scandal of 1998 is long forgotten and I went to great efforts to ensure that the ‘lost entry’ scandal of that particular competition was not to repeat itself some 12 years later. Besides, it was all Sully’s doing anyway in 98. He’ll deny it, of course, but it was no coincidence that he and I pocketed some of the winnings that year.

But what a strange old tournament it’s been, what with players being sent home (Anelka of France), goals that weren’t given (Lampard of England) and some that were (Tevez vs Mexico). Talk of over inflated balls and the crazy goalkeeping it produced, four South American teams making the quarters but then none the final and them vuvuzelas. Oh them fucking vuvuzelas.

New Zealand were there of course, drawing all three games and as that idiot Martin Devlin kept telling us at every possible opportunity, right up till the final minute of TVNZs coverage no less, remained the only unbeaten team at the World Cup.

He’s quite correct of course, but a fact that would be made all the more impressive if that extended to seven games and not just the three in pool play before the flight home. Not that that will stop anyway from wheeling that little gem out at every opportunity. Look for that trivia question on Tui stubby caps any day soon.

As the interest of competing nations dropped off at the demise of their teams thus increased the excitement over a certain mollusc, Paul the Octopus, picking results, primarily of Ze Germans but once The Hun was eliminated, of the final too. It was so exciting sometimes you almost forgot there was football to be played at the end of it all.

But at the end of the day football was the winner and not just in Spain where they’ll be partying like they’ve won the World Cup for the first time (which they have), which will make for a nice break from the real estate market collapse which is threatening to bring the country to its knees financially.

For us football fans on this side of the world it will be back to a full night’s sleep and nothing to whack off to in the shower before work anymore other than Pippa Wetzell on Breakfast.

It’s quite the comedown, is going cold turkey after four weeks of quality football, so don’t be surprised if a football fan near you starts to go a bit emo over the next few weeks. At least until the Premiership starts in a few weeks time.

Now, what am I going to do with $75 cash and twelve chocolate bars....

The Pastry Eaters left their mark on Spain, but not the trophy...

...we wouldn't mind playing Dutch Ovens with some of their fans though.

That Don't Impress Me Much...

Paul the Octopus picking World Cup results, or rather our response to it does not impress me much.

How typical of life in New Zealand that despite professing to now be a football nation, the moment our team’s chances ceased to be so did most of the interest in the rest of the tournament (at least amongst those who only sing when we’re winning).

So much so we’re now fixated on whether or not a mollusc with eight testicles can pick a winner in a 50 – 50 chance equation. The TAB is even running odds on whether or not Paul will get it right. And to think we’ve always thought Ze Germans were fucked in the head...

Kylie Minogue’s latest music video does not impress me much.

Is she gagging for a gang bang or what? I seem to recall one of her other videos containing similar orgy overtones. Now I love Kylie as much as the next straight guy but I much prefer to fantasise about her as the cute girl next door who eventually turned out to be as dirty as we wanted her to be, not as some 42 year old surround by naked guys in masks.

Still, I would go there.

The amount of Indian / Pakistani taxi drivers does not impress me much.

Not because they don’t do a good job, they do, but there’s just so many of them doing it now it’s blurred the lines of the stereotypical Indian joke being about Dipak at the Dairy.

Mrs ClubDes used the taxi joke the other day and although highly amusing, it dawned on me that for those less intelligent than we – present reading company included - that the joke would have no meaning.

Someone needs to sort it out once and for all; otherwise jokes about curry munchers may be lost to us forever.

Grown men, who’ve spent the last 15 years perfecting the Rubik’s cube, do not impress me much.

So now they can now solve it in less than 20 seconds?! Way to go guys, you mastered a toy. That’s a hell of a long time and years wasted just so you can impress a bunch of 10 year olds. Did you not even think to try the internet to figure out how it's done?

And as if to justify their achievements they even have tournaments to see who can solve the thing fastest and when, as is often the case with things that are only interesting the first few times you do them, shit gets boring, they crack it up a notch and move on to the really daring stuff:

1. Blindfolded solving
2. Solving the Cube with one person blindfolded and the other person saying what moves to do, known as "Team Blindfold"
3. Solving the Cube underwater in a single breath
4. Solving the Cube using a single hand
5. Solving the Cube with one's feet

It took me all of about an hour to solve my first Cube of Rubik and I have never needed to redo it again. I pulled it apart with a screwdriver and glued all the pieces back together in order. I couldn’t believe it was that easy.

I’ll tell you what fellas, solve it whilst your dick is stuck in a blender and I might be impressed. I’ll even waive the whole time limit thing.

This is how you solve the Cube of Rubik.

A Tale Of Two Teams

And so it ends.

It’s a good thing that I’m a fan of football in general because otherwise my World Cup campaign, like that of the All Whites and England, would be over.

The All Whites were eliminated from the World Cup late last week, despite not losing a game. They didn’t win any either which just goes to prove that maybe, just maybe, the non politically correct have been right all along; winning is everything.

The All Whites over achieved and excelled everyone’s expectations, not just here in New Zealand but the world over, not least Slovakia, Italy and to a certain extent Paraguay. In those countries I daresay the only thing they knew about NZ four weeks ago was that they would be an easy three points.

Going on our track record at these types of things it was a fair assumption that we might have embarrassed ourselves over in South Africa, but that certainly never happened. The All Whites were in the biggest shopping window ever these past three weeks and several of them put up one hell of a CV.

I sincerely hope that they get the opportunities and financial rewards that come with having done so well.

England on the other hand, well, they were England.

Over hyped and under delivered is a phrase which sums up England’s performance up every major tournament since 1996 really. Before the start of these Finals the BBC surveyed a number of football personalities who picked Engerland to finish fourth. I only hope they haven’t given up their day jobs to become football ‘experts’.

The reception of the two teams amongst the fans of the two countries will make for an interesting contrast over the next few days. We Kiwis are lining the arrival lounges of airports up and down this small country of ours, prepared to cheer our team as each individual member staggers home.

In England the players will be ushered in through the back door by airport officials in an attempt to avoid the sight of them whipping up the frenzy of the welcoming crowd that won’t actually exist. A lynch mob might, but a supportive and grateful sporting public, no.

Of course all the hype around England at these kinds of things is usually down to two things; a fan base that is incredibly myopic and blinded by the eternal misguided optimism that comes with that and by media that milk that particular teet for all it’s worth.

The problem with the English game is that the success of the English clubs is down to no small part, to the large number of foreigners playing in them. Fans of Chelsea, Manchester United et al take great pride in supporting their clubs but fail to see that when you take out all the Spanish, French and South American players from them you’re left with, well, the English national team.

It’s all a bit like being the bassist in the world’s biggest band really.

Thankfully New Zealand football fans don’t suffer from delusions of grandeur. Not yet anyway. Whether we do after this World Cup remains to be seen, it’s a concept we’re not unfamiliar with when it comes to our rugby and cricket teams...

Rooney, the worlds most recognisable Downie, was cake the whole tournament.

No One Celebrates a Draw Quite Like We Do..

Not even one week into the World Cup and suddenly everybody is a football fan.

Or more specifically an All Whites fan, so much so that Nike have had to get the sweatshops working 23, not the usual 22, hours a day just so they can churn out more jerseys for a gagging NZ public. It seems the total sum of 28 years worth of jersey sales – roughly a dozen - was not enough to keep the racks stocked this time round and for that you can hardly blame Nike. Or maybe you can.

We – see what I did just there – drew with Slovakia to make a four way tie in a group that is suddenly looking a lot more interesting than it did a week ago. Winston Reid, the guy who was for most of his life Danish through and through until he realised he wasn’t good enough to make their senior team and decided to be a Kiwi instead a la Rory Fallon, scored a last gasp equaliser that sent the country into delirium.

You can't blame him wanting to stay Danish, they do wonderful things with pastry do the Danes. As do the Dutch. Not so the Swiss who are great with watches, pocket knifes and Toblerone, nor Ze Germans who just like to do kinky things with their sausage....

And then things started to get a bit funky. Some sleep starved, caffeine pumped journo decided that it could quite possibly be NZ’s bestest sporting achievement ever. Meanwhile over in Australia, where the football fraternity there are still coming to grips with their team playing like, well, what we all expected NZ to play like (against Ze Germans), declared the victory an ‘Australasian’ one.

To top it all off – and I wish he would - Martin Devlin, quite possibly the most annoying fuck ever, continues to grind out “C’mon you All Whites” at the end of every promo he does in a manner that makes you wonder if he’s passing a vuvuzela. Through his urethra.

I personally didn’t stay up and watch the game, something that seemed to disappoint a colleague of mine who appeared to be quite distraught when she learnt that I hadn’t and promptly gave me the silent treatment for an hour or two. Plenty did though, last night’s match was watched by just about as many people who watch the TV1 news each night, which is as good as it gets for viewership in this country. Great stuff.

See, I’ve watched enough World Cups to know that one has to pace oneself when it comes to late night matches; get into the schedule too early, when teams are happy to play out a draw, and you’ll be physically and emotionally shot. It’s best to save that shit till the knockout stages when teams will still play out draws, albeit high scoring ones.

Which brings me to my point. Football, particularly World Cups, have always been this emotionally charged. Maybe not to the fair-weather fans who now want to buy the jersey to prove that they’re New Zealanders, but we football fans have been soiling settees the world over every four years for quite some time with all the excitement.

Now I love that the success, or perceived success, of this All White side has gotten people into the game that otherwise wouldn’t give a flying fuck. I really do. All of my boys at training are talking about and wanting to be All Whites which augers well for the future, so for that I am right chuffed.

But let’s slap ourselves out of it shall we? It was a draw and with two group games to play we’re still in the same boat we were before the thing started and with the two toughest teams still to play it ain’t going to get any easier.

Yep, no one celebrates a draw quite like NZ football fans do, which is a bit tragic really.

Football Fever Cometh

This month heralds the arrival of every football fans wet dream; The World Cup Finals.

Now if there’s one thing I know its masturbation, but I also know a lot about football and thus I feel it prudent that I say a few words about the next four weeks which will mean more late nights than when Sky 1 used to play soft core porn after 11pm…

There is of course an added incentive for we Kiwis to be watching this time round because the All Whites are playing and aren’t some of us excited about it?! TVNZ for instance has started referring to the team as ‘our’ All Whites thus alienating the large number of it’s viewers who are not New Zealanders but let’s not let something like nepotism get in the way of impartial reporting aye?

Personally I don’t think the All Whites will embarrass themselves like they did at the Confed Cup two years ago when the Spaniards gave us a right good, pant’s down, ruler across the bare buttocks spanking. But then neither do I think we’ll be the giant killers some silly buggers seem to be proclaiming NZ to be. Hey I’m all for being optimistic but let’s be realistic first shall we?

So my money, or at least the sweepstake money at work, is on Spain. I like the look of the Dutch – who, least we forget, do wonderful things with pastry – and I do want Lionel Messi to dominate like he does at club level because that kind of shit just gets me moist, but if you threatened me with a broomstick dipped in Deep Heat I’d still pick Spain.

And that’s hardly a threat is it? More like a tease really.

Incidentally I’m running not one, but two sweepstakes this time round. Now close friends and those I’ve had awkward, but pleasurable drunken moments with will recall that my track record of such things is sketchy at best. The memories of the sham that was Sully and my attempt to run a sweepstake for France ’98 still linger on and all ‘lost entries’ jokes aside On Yer Bike Stu was watching me like a hawk the whole time.

I’ve got one on the go for my boys too, although there’s no cash involved, this is strictly a candy affair. The winner gets a dozen chocolate bars which as good as it gets when you’re eleven years old. I did contemplate cash, or cigarettes, but I had my doubts if the parents would really go for it.

But aside from all the punditry my heart beats for only one team. I may be NZ born and bred but for as long as I care to remember I’ve supported an English club and the English team. Every emotional football related memory I have ever had is tied, inexplicably to England and like any good relationships it’s a few good shags here and there but mostly disappointment.

Still, there’s no other team I’d love to see than Engerland to win it. More so than the All Whites and despite all the hype that sounds the English team at this point in the lead up to a major tournament, all of which comes out of England it should be noted, I know that deep down, they won’t.

Like I said, I’m optimistic but realistic.

Can the European Champs be World Champs?

Fruity Football Boots & Serena's Budgie

What is it about top some athletes and their outfit choices aye?

Maybe it’s the enhanced levels of adrenaline or testosterone that cause complete lack of judgement. Maybe it’s at the insistence of the sweat factory sporting label that they are contracted to. Maybe it’s just that they spent their formative years developing sporting prowess and not sense. Maybe they’re just fucked in the head? Who knows?

Venus Willams – not to be confused with her brother Serena – unleashed the latest shocker this week with ‘flesh’ coloured undies. Not ‘flesh’ as in Caucasian, no Michele Obama made that mistake a few weeks back when she wore a ‘flesh’ coloured gown to some knees up only it was whitey flesh, not darkie, so was it really ‘flesh’ some asked?

It was fucken beige, that’s what it was. Just as Venus’ grundies were poo brown. Neither are any more skin coloured than is the dirty black atomic wedgie number she’s wearing under them. Now that is truly shocking.

But if you needed more proof that this type of decision is made because the drugs don’t work then read Venus’s reason for wearing them:

"The outfit was about illusion, and that's been a lot of my motif this year, illusion".

All I can say is aren't you glad it wasn't Serena photogrpahed wearing such tightie brownies? Then we really would have seen the smuggled budgie wouldn't we....?

Meanwhile over at the World Cup next month the world’s foremost exponents of the beautiful game will be wearing jellies on their feet. Yes jellies. The same brightly coloured plastic numbers your sister wore and that you borrowed occasionally when dressing in her clothes when you thought the family was out for ages only they weren’t, they came back early and caught you.

When I was a boy there was only one boot colour and it was black. Not skin coloured black but black as a black man’s cape and they did the business. These days football boots are as fruity as some of the guys wearing them and shit is starting to get ridiculous; not only do we now have fluorescent greens, yellows and oranges, but combinations of all three.

Which look great if your tiedyed socks match, but they don’t. So Christiano Ronaldo will spend his pitch time poncing around in purple and orange boots whilst wearing green socks. Would he leave the house in just such a combo? Well, probably. Bad example.

It’s all marketing of course. You might think the World Cup is about Brazil vs. Spain, or Argentina vs. The Dutchies, but it’s not really. Its Adidas vs Nike in a battle to see who can flog as many pairs of their overpriced boots as quickly as the tiny little underpaid hands in the sweat factories can make them.

Another day in the Nike factory, another dollar. Literally.

But I wonder where it will all end? How long before we see boots that flash like a set of Christmas lights, or change colour depending on temperature, moisture or after impact? Maybe we’ll see mood boots that change according to the feelings of the player wearing them. Thus Ronaldo’s will always be purple because he’s a poof.

Or maybe we’ll go back to bleeck and not just because it’s retro but because no one really gives a fuck about multi coloured jellies, no matter who’s wearing them.

Except your mother, that day she came home early to find you wearing some, as well as your sister’s underwear...

Venus, who may need surgery to retrieve her undies...