(The lyrics of that song were always wrong - the hurt started at the 1970 quarter finals.)
Right 'ere we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we go. Only a matter of time before the penalty shoot-out victory of despair over hope.
Note to my American friends. Did you know that our two once-great nations clash today in the Soccer Ball World Series? Or that the combined wisdom of the people in my betleague have it down as a tied game? Although I foresee a kick-ass, special teams, triple-play deep in the fourth quarter personally.
Anyway, my prediction is that this time around the burning effigy we're going to use to take our mind off how shit we are at the world's favourite game is of Christine Bleakley, who on the eve of our defeat to Serbia, dumps Frank Lampard, suddenly realising that once he hangs up his boots he's gonna be way fatter than Adrian burger-boy Chiles.
Altidore to be top goalscorer 500/1. Nice.
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