Losing on penalties seems a poor way to go out of a competition. It always feels more luck than skill.
It feels incredibly deflating. The mind keeps running through the what ifs.
What if we had continued to attack more instead of being defensive?
What if our bright attacking subs had been used a lot earlier?
But if I knew all the answers I’d be a football manager.
Pickford made some great saves to keep us in the game. We were leading up to 25 minutes from the end!
Here’s to the World Cup??
Let’s get all those crowds together!!!
It’s all over!! No more Covid!! And the economy has never been better!! No red Tape!! No extra bureaucracy!! No danger of Ireland erupting!! No shortages of labour!! No extra costs!! No shortages of goods!! No shortages of lorry drivers!! No firms going bust!! No businesses moving into Europe!! The financial centres are doing great!! Brilliant deals with the likes of Australia!! Looking forward to all those hormones!!! Scotland is not going to break away!!! Who needs whinging farmers and fishermen anyway???
Everything is looking hunky dory!!!
We might win the Euros!!!
Brexit’s coming home!!! Three Clowns on my shirt!!!
We headed straight into town to the Stadium De Santos where the greatest footballer of all-time once played – Pele. We idled through the trophy room with all the cups, artwork and photos of Pele, and then out to the pitch.
Despite it raining one could imagine the atmosphere of the place, packed and roaring as Pele displayed his skills.
Methodical, uninspired, laborious, lacklustre, dull, fear-ridden, below par, unable to penetrate, boring, disorganised, shackled, with no passion or energy.
It was a terrible performance. England cracked under pressure. All the players underperformed. The manager’s tactics were woeful. The players looked like hamstrung puppets. When Rashford came on he looked like a breath of fresh air – unrestrained and willing to take them on. Why only three minutes?
Why drop Lallana for this game? Was he injured?
The fault lies with the manager. A manager’s job is to organise the team and remove the fear that stops them performing. He failed on both.
What a miserable performance.
George did it best
Sometimes someone comes along who does everything better than everybody else. They seem to be in a different league.
It was ten years ago to the day that George Best died.
I saw him play twice and I marveled at the man. They say that the best players make it look easy. George was able to deceive. He would glide past defenders leaving them sprawling in his wake.
Unfortunately he was undone by alcohol like so many before him. It creeps up on you.
George Best — ‘I spent a lot of money on booze, birds, and fast cars. The rest I just squandered.’
You have to love him.
George did it best
George did it best
Twice I saw him play
You can forget the rest.
Poetry in flow
As hips deceive
On which way to go.
He jinxed and twirled
Feinted and swirled
As he slipped by
And his opponents whirled.
So little time for decision
As he shot with precision.
He skips. He flips
Swerves and slips,
Dummies and flicks,
Turns and hits.
At all discerning request
It’s George Best.
29.11.2015