INSPIRED ENGLAND TEAR APART TRINIDAD & TOBAGO: RESULT FLATTERS CARIBBEANS
in the 1930s, the city of Nuremberg played host to a series of rallies staged by the country’s High Command, the spectacle of which mesmerised both German citizens and many of us abroad. However, they were as nothing to the late rally staged by England in this one-sided contest. It was an extraordinary victory for the English, who found themselves having to face not one but two teams, to wit, the combined forces of Trinidad and Tobago. However, John Bull is always at his spunkiest when the odds are against him and so it proved this evening.
In truth, this fixture was won they day the England Band formed in the cobbled backstreets of Sheffield. Their sublime and euphonious brass ensemble playing, the sophistication of which is beyond the grasp of any West Indian, has ensured that England play with the wind at their backs in every game, galvanised to greater heights by the efforts of these musical maestros. The Trinidadians and Tobagans, by contrast, are reduced to bonging out rudimentary tunes on upturned dustbin lids, battered through years of being banged together by these West Indian rascals in street alleys to alert each other when the police are hot on their heels.
Of course, the Trinidadians and Tobagans are a happy, cheerful, smiling people, and so they have proven in this tournament. They were happy, cheerful and smiling at the end of the game, regardless of the result (the mathematical capability required to keep score is beyond the average West Indian, who would rather fan himself under a tree than attend to his sums!). No doubt, it will be the duty of the British Ambassador on the morrow to explain to his Caribbean counterparts, with the aid of his pocket calculator, the final tally.
Still, the Trinidadian and Tobagan fans turned out in droves and it was pleasing to see their women dancing, happily, smilingly and cheerfully, in large numbers. What a shame that they did not dance bare breasted, as that would have made for a still more pleasing, and quite proper spectacle. We are all used to television documentaries showing the womenfolk of primitive cultures dancing and jiggling vigorously; it could be classified, in this case, as “educational”.
From the outset, however, it was clearly England who had the whip-hand, metaphorically, though not, to the regret of some, literally. The West Indians cowered in their own penalty box; John Terry in particularly snorted contemptuously, with the look of some old, straw hatted plantation overseer trying to persuade some malfeasant native worker from a coconut tree, clinging desperately to its branches, refusing to shin down and be administered the thrashing that was so clearly his due.
As the game persisted, England at the very least administered a lesson in how the game ought to be played. Gerrard and Lampard linked up flawlessly, Rio Ferdinand was entirely awake, Michael Owen cobra-like, Beckham unpredictable, Joe Cole’s mazy runs leading anywhere but up his own backside. What a pity that, rather than stand respectfully back and admire their skills, as is their place, the Trinidadians and Tobagans chose to resort to impertinent, often violent blocking tactics, typical of this happy, smiling, cheerful, sullen, cold-eyed people, no strangers to the machete.
if I would admit to one tiny flaw it was in one effort at goal by the leviathan Peter Crouch, who confounded the Trinidadian and Tobagan defence as if confronted with some carved stone god. Rather than opt for the easy tap-in, he attempted a coup de grace that would have made him the toast of the Empire and in so doing, mysteriously lost his footing, with the ball rolling harmlessly towards the corner flag. Since this game was featured on the commercial channel, they saw fit to broadcast a slow motion action replay of the incident, compounding the humiliation of this excellent gentleman. Had the match been transmitted by the British Broadcasting Corporation, they would, I’d warrant, have had the taste to fade discreetly to black and the National Anthem for the offending 10 seconds.
Come the second half and the Trinidadians and Tobagans had the immortal rind to make excursions into the England half, the spectacle of which was deeply offensive to those whose memories extend to those happy years before 1962, when independence was unwisely conferred on this archipelago. Back in those days, a game like this would have presented little anxiety. Any goals scored by the Trinidadians, or Tobagans for that matter, would have instantly become the property of the Crown and therefore added to England’s tally. Glad times - 22 men working together for a common aim. However, such is the insolence of the modern age that these dark fellows dared approach the England penalty box, forelocks untugged, as if demanding instant entry to the Garrick Club without having been put up by existing members. Fleetingly, these were anxious times - however, stout Englishman and true kept the faith, forbearing from shouting at their television sets such remarks as “you useless, clueless, ponderous, lumpen, overpaid pack of _unts!”. And our faith was vindicated with two late but utterly inevitable goals. Send them victorious! Qualification to the knockout phase is guaranteed. Congratulations are due not just to the players, naturally, but to the management and backroom staff. Take a bow, then, Steve McLaren, Sammy Lee, Gary Lewin and Ray Clemence.
Two things emerge from this result. The first is that never again should England have to be put through the indignity of the qualifying rounds, which can lead to unnecessary strain on the nerves and, albeit futile, acts of insurrection on the part of our inferiors. Indeed, tomorrow morning, the English Football Association should summon the President of FIFA to its Soho headquarters and put to him an ultimatum. Unless England are given automatic passage to the quarter finals in 2010 tournament, we shall refuse to participate. Ha! I’d like to see them try to stage a successful World Cup without England! The very thought. For one thing, they would need to forge a replica trophy as we would refuse to give up the one we shall win - a bogus cup to match a bogus and discredited tournament.
The second is that, by way of a permanent reminder of the footballing lesson they were delivered this day, Trinidad & Tobago should agree to our demand that they rename their country Ferdinand & Dorigo, by way of tribute to excellent England footballers past and present. They could, of course, refuse, that is their right. They should consider, however, that were to do so, they would be placing their cheerful, smiling, happy people, men, women and children, in the gravest peril. Our gunboats are poised; Crouch and Gerrard’s strikes should be considered but the opening salvos in a campaign to right recent wrongs.
Posts: 4035 | From: London | Registered: May 2002
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Had the match been transmitted by the British Broadcasting Corporation, they would, I’d warrant, have had the taste to fade discreetly to black and the National Anthem for the offending 10 seconds.
One game I coached we had no chance of winning, we scored with 2 minutes to go, and I ran off the bench and karate-kicked the fence in excitement. This is about as close to doing that while reading a post. The Sun Never Sets on the Wingosh Empire.
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quote:by way of a permanent reminder of the footballing lesson they were delivered this day, Trinidad & Tobago should agree to our demand that they rename their country Ferdinand & Dorigo, by way of tribute to excellent England footballers past and present.
That's the sort of thing that I remember about 2 days later, where I end up laughing out loud on the bus or something.
Posts: 2235 | Registered: Sep 2003
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Back in those days, a game like this would have presented little anxiety. Any goals scored by the Trinidadians, or Tobagans for that matter, would have instantly become the property of the Crown and therefore added to England’s tally.
Posts: 14959 | From: the heart of a deviancy amplification spiral | Registered: May 2002
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