WC guide

silas o'rourke

The Irishmans Guide to the World Cup.


Yeah, here we go again, sick certs at the ready. The World Cup. A three week orgy of football and canned lager. Blokes love it, chicks hate it – girls this is payback for all those lost hours being dragged around Liffey bleeding Valley shopping centre.

Anyway one of the features of the World Cup is the presence of all those foreign football teams of which we know little, full of Carlos Kickaballs and Alberto Yellocardos. Confused? Not after you’ve read through this nifty little primer. Prepare to astound the lads down the battlecruiser, with my little guide to the nations of the World Cup, in no particular order. Now read on…


Number One
Brazil.
Land of beautiful young women in g-strings, and Ronnie Biggs. And some useful footballers too. The most successful national side in soccer history, afficionados the world over will tune in to watch their mesmerising blend of skill and athleticism. Me? I’ll be scoping all those jiggling titties on the terraces. If the camera man’s on the ball I might even catch a glimpse of some of that endangered rain forest.
Not to be confused with Alan Brazil. He’s just a tit.

Number Two
Saudi Arabia.
It must be tough playing for Saudi Arabia. Take losing for example. If Ireland disappoint and go out in the first round, the worst they can expect when they return home is a rain-swept concert in the Phoenix Park, surrounded by thousands of knicker-wetting ten year olds screaming for Westlife. If you’re Saudi Arabian, on the other hand, you will be greeted at the airport by a man from the Interior Ministry in dark sunglasses with a large machete, ready to chop off your offending feet. Mind you, if Saudi Arabia get into the second round, each player gets a Bentley turbo, two Range Rovers, twenty virgins and a string of pedigree racing camels.
Now that’s a win bonus.

Number Three
U.S.A.
A country in which soccer is ranked the forty-eighth most popular sport, in between Crazy Golf and Shopping Cart Racing. The U.S. usually fields a team consisting of nine Mexican midgets and two acid casulaties with luxuriant blond Patrick Swayze mullets and “wacky” facial hair. Mind you, the second round match against against Afghanistan should be a cracker. Can you imagine half time in the dressing room?…

Manager: “Sheeit boys, we’re losing two nil to these goddam towelheads”

Patrick Swayze: “Why don’t we phone the President, he’ll know what ta do”

Manager: “Hello…Mr. President? This is the manager of the United States soccer
team. We’re losing two nil to a bunch of goddam camel jockeys, sir”

President Bush: “Why sheeit boy. Ah got me some mid-term elections comin’ up.
Our missiles are in the air and locked on target. Y’all stay in the
dressing rooms an extra ten minutes, y’hear?”


Number Four
The Cameroons.
Right, I won’t mention the words “colourful” or “defensively naïve”. The African Champions will field a team comprising Roger Milla, his walking stick, a taxi driver, a few tuna fishermen and the village witch doctor. Voodoo? Take it seriously. You won’t be laughing when Shay Given turns into a zebra with twenty minutes to go. Maybe they’ll get carried away and turn Lee Carsley into a footballer.

Number Five
Uruguay.
Remember this lot? Gordon Strachan’s shins certainly do. They crunch cruciates like you and I crunch cornflakes for brekkie. A squad full of hairy knuckle-draggers with joined-up eyebrows and nicknames like “El Butchero” and “El Kneecapper”. Have you seen their manager? I reckon Charles Bronson faked his own death.
This crowd won’t lock the ref in the boot. They’ll just shoot him.

Number Six
Italy.
Something for the ladies to watch. These boys spend more time waxing their legs and shaving their eyebrows then they do practising their free-kicks. Totti by name, totty by nature, says the mott. Who am I to argue?
Italy will have lots of grass stains on their kit because they will spend most of their time falling to the ground and rolling around in agony.

Number Seven
South Korea.
Tanked up on dog stew and raring to go, South Korea will pose a real challenge this June, not least to George Hamilton. Twenty-three men named Kim Bing Bong with pudding bowl haircuts, pre-match team talks can often end in confusion. Thus a popular tactic is to run around like headless chickens for ninety minutes, and let in eight goals in two minutes of injury time. And the team mascot, Rover Bing Bong, hasn’t been seen for weeks. The plot thickens.
Team sponsors: Winalot Prime.

Number Eight
Colombia.
No World Cup would be complete without the Paraguayans. They bring Latin flair and excitement, chief exponent of which will be their goalkeeper, nicknamed “El Loco”, famous for his “scorpion” kick, and kidnapping people. These South Americans are unpredictable. For every goal they score, they’ll concede five own-goals and twenty corners. Will the team that was twice winners of the Copa America turn up? Or will a three ring circus of coke fiends and mad indians get busted for match fixing?

Number Nine
Eng-ger-land.
There is an image in Japan of the cultured, decent, quietly restrained Englishman, attired in his pinstripe three-piece, umbrella furled as he patiently awaits the arrival of the 8.35 to King’s Cross…
Gazza and his hilarious comedy breasts, anyone?
Record: One World Cup, three Subutteo World Cups, and A Grand Slam in Vomiting and Fighting.

Number Ten
Germany.
Supremely disciplined…well-organized…never write them off…yadda yadda yadda.

Number Eleven
Australia.
They’re not in it. Which is just as well, because they’d be ****e.


My prediction: Ireland to win it. Well what else did you expect?

KdjaCL

Um yes very funny but
got Columbia mixed up with Paraguay ..
Kdja

Bateman

Its spelt "Colombia". At least they got that right.