The World Cup 2014: Balls, Brazil and Biting

The World Cup 2014 came to a thrilling end yesterday, with Germany winning the Cup for the fourth time.

It has been an interesting few weeks, to say the least. Filled with surprise favourites advancing, and teams tipped for success failing abysmally.

Every four years we experience the sudden influx of the periodic football fans. Suddenly non-footie playing or watching individuals become the worlds leading experts on the football or soccer, as some continents insist on calling it.

Et tu, Cheryl? Alright yes I admit it. I am one of the guilty flighty fashionable football competition experts extraordinaire. I admit to being sucked into watching a game of football and shouting things like:

He runs like a duck flapping his wings, why hasn’t someone taught him to run properly, it would improve his aerodynamics. (on Sturridge for England)
He just hopped on Neymar like a Tiger hunting prey.(on Zuniga for Colombia)
What? He fecking bit him? What’s his excuse, He mistook him for a Big Mac? (on Suarez for Uruquay)

Yes, you may feel sorry for any and all inhabitants of our home, whilst I am suffering from my periodic episode of football expertise. I tend to be rambunctious, swear like dockside worker after a heavy night in the pub and  I am overcritical of men playing with balls.

Hmm, I can see some of wondering, what’s the difference to your usual state of docile gentility then? Ha, the difference is I am all that and think I know all about football.

Leaving aside the state of the host country Brazil when, it comes to its priorities regarding the poverty and lack of care or consideration for the funds being used to entertain and host others instead of ensuring the needs of the populace are met.

I think we are all aware of the hypocrisy and injustice of the event and the fallout from it.

Concentrating more on the sport itself, apparently the tone, the rules and game of football has changed considerably since the last time I watched. What I saw this year was something that resembled a Rumble in the Jungle. There was kicking, pushing, pulling, elbows, head-butts, shoving and biting. Yup, Suarez has become the Hannibal Lecter of Fussball.

Obviously to become a referee nowadays you have to be legally blind with hearing problems and a nudge nudge wink wink affliction. That is the only way I can explain some of the atrocities perpetrated  by players in this so-called game of sports without being red or even yellow carded.

Just FYI between you and me, and I have played competitive sports, if you ever dared to bite me: I will punch you in the face till your gnashers drop out, alternatively I will make you eat your own balls, but that obviously depends on the gender of said biting competitor.

Kudos to the player who refrained from doing the above, but hey there was a reason I got benched a lot. (People should really learn to keep their limbs to themselves)

So what gives with the new aggressive note to football, which everyone seems to be completely ignoring? Where is the sportsmanship of days gone by? Those days of football when talent, expertise and love of the game were evident in a game of football.

You should try watching a World Cup football match from 30 odd years ago, the difference between what is ‘allowed’ now and was carded then is appalling in comparison.

What comes next? Do the players need to come out wearing padding and wired masks?

I think FIFA needs to take a long hard look at the lack of control a lot of the players exhibited this year and remember what kind of message they are sending out to the masses.

You haven’t got the ball? Don’t tackle, just push the competitor over. You aren’t fast enough to catch your opponent? No worries, just trip him up or jump on him like a mountain goat.

You are frustrated by your own lack of physical prowess and annoyed at the excellent skills of another player? No problem, just bite the fucker, we will sort it afterwards and you never know you might become so marketable that we can sell you for £75 million.

I want to leave you today with my own bitter-sweet conclusion of the World Cup 2014. A conversation after the victorious conclusion to the competition, which took place in the darkness of my very own bedroom.

Hubby: Do you know how many times England has won the World Cup?
Hubby: Götze’s Tor (goal) was a thing of beauty. He managed to get it in in overtime. Do You know how many times England has won the World Cup?
Me: Errr (scrunched up WTF face). No.

By this time I can sense the large German taking up 3/4s of my *grumble* our bed, has a got some point to make and will not be satisfied until he has completed his mission. *Sigh*

Me: I am trying to bloody well watch something. (put earphones back in) No, I don’t know.
Hubby: Shall I check for you?

As I rip out my earphones for the umpteenth time I turn and see his face grinning in the luminous glare of his tablet as he types and scrolls to find evidence of his mission.
Me: *Sigh* Go on then, how many times have England won the World Cup?
Hubby: Only ONCE he roars triumphantly.
Me: OK, good now…
Hubby: Do you want to know how many times Germany has won the World Cup?

*facepalm in the dark*

Me: Just tell me already and get it over with, you are doing my ffing head in!
Hubby: FOUR times. Germany has won the World Cup FOUR times already. 

A small yet turbulent single Mexican wave started by one and ending with one gleeful German ensues.

Me: Great. You feel better now?
Hubby: Ja!
Me: Go to sleep!
Hubby: (turns away, tucks himself in and mumbles..) You English have only won once.

Yes, ladies and gentleman such are the tortures of my daily life when the World Cup rolls around, oh and the European Cup for that matter.

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