Monday, 28 June 2010


Hello, I hope all is well with you? It is? That’s just aces… Well we’re back in the interweb typing bollocks in an effort to lift the nations spirits, and if the nation consists of the 4-5 people who bother to read this guff, then we might just be successful.

Football, what a cruel bastard it is, I mean honestly, what a shit. It plays with your emotions and strings you along like the most heartless of cock teasers. Except with footy, it’s a heart teaser, which is much worse as no amount of wanking will satisfy your wants afterwards. Its just relentless, gut wrenching rejection and unlike all other facets of your emotional life, you have zero control over it. Football is a cruel and dirty whore and though we should all know better, we’re all hopelessly and pathetically in love with her. She’ll never change, but every now and again she’ll give us a look of concern or empathy, something, just enough to keep us imprisoned in the faint hope that one day true love will shine through… but it won’t, because football is a whore. No breed of man is more helplessly besotted with the dirty love of Madame Football than the English, and with that in mind, please join me as we dry our tears, hang our St Georges flags at half mast and deliver this, the 16th Aldershot Woe and eulogy of…… English Football.

En-ger-land! We love it though don’t we? For 80 percent of the English population football is the most important constant of there lives, it’s there at all stages, your first match with your dad, your first team, your first goal, your first defeat your first victory. Every Saturday eagerly watching and cheering, or waiting patiently for any news to come through like a nervous parent with a child away at war. It’s always there, in the background of tragedy or happiness it is always there, always playing a part, either making good days better or providing a much needed distraction from the ugliness of real life. We love it, we do… I know other countries love it too, it’s footy for gods sake how could they not, but we live it more intensely here than in any other place in the world, it is that important to us. I suppose in the eyes of some that’s pathetic, well it’s not, so shut up!

As we do love it more than old Johnny Foreigner we have developed a nasty habit of occasionally getting carried away a bit too much when it comes to the national team, and perhaps we are slightly guilty of viewing our lads through rose tinted glasses. This leads to some pretty arrogant behaviour, the sort that is not usually associated with the good old English and our die hard sprit of fair play. But like all fools in love we are bound to act occasionally with out first engaging our minds, we mean no harm by it. However I am constantly hearing from foreign types that the reason they dislike the English fans is because we all behave like England have some sort of divine right to do well in the big tournaments, well I hope I can clear this misunderstanding up. We act like we have a divine right to do well because we do, and if we don’t we bloody well should do.

And here’s why!

In 1300ad in a small, muddy, weather beaten island in northern Europe, an ever expanding underclass of people are growing bored. As their opulent leaders indulge in lawn tennis, and class based public executions the seething underbelly of society requires a pastime that is theirs, although darts was doing very well the split federations confused some people and failed to encapsulate all in its glory. However one beautiful day in late August as the sun beat down on England and her people, a great man had a great Idea, his name was Dave Football, inventor and founder of the greatest game on earth. Pretty soon he and his mates had devised a set of rules to play the game by (although their was some disagreement on whether or not to have a some one watch the goal line, it was agreed that having to check if the ball had crossed would slow the game down too much). As the game spread across England it grew and grew in popularity, uniting society with a common love shared by the common man. Now as always with this hallowed nation a lot of foreign types came over looking for a better life and as they did this word of this great game spread back to their families over the globe and pretty soon in every corner of the world Footy was being played and loved. Leagues were set up as more and more teams were formed, and every team had its heroes. In a relatively short space of time, a simple mans idea had become a global phenomena, and on his death bed Dave Football (who was cruelly never knighted, even though Sir Peter Tennis was) spoke these words which live in the soul of every Englishman to ever kick a ball or call a referee a cunt, he said: “Don’t ever forget, we made this sport, its ours and we have the right to be best at it” and with that the hepatitis took his soul to the great pitch in the sky.

Unfortunately foreign types being neither trustworthy nor appreciative ignored Footballs dying words, and they practised and developed styles of playing far better than the correct hit and hope method of footy played by us English, the result was horrible. Foreigners playing swift one touch football with hardly any hoofing to be seen at all, and as soon as they had all mastered their talents, rather than say thank you England for providing the world with yet another genius device to make life less shit, they organised huge tournaments, to rub their new cheating skills in our faces. Now I am as open minded as the next skinhead but what a bunch of scum them non-brits are!

So here we are today, a nation obsessed with a game we have left ourselves shit at, it’s a humiliating existence, feeling like a one legged man in an arse kicking contest, but it is ours, and though things could change and we could play football properly that would mean giving up an tiny piece of our identity, one that no one alive was actually part of, but one that is still very much ours and for some reason important. So even though right now we have the crushing humiliation of yet again being completely outclassed on the global stage, once those qualifiers for Euro 2012 begin we shall take our place as rightful kings of the world of football. And rightly so, we love it more than anyone, we spend more money on it than anyone ensuring we have the greatest domestic league in the world, and we pay our lads handsomely, so when the time comes they couldn’t give 2 shits about playing for England…

That’s how it must be for English football, to play completely with out skill or passion, to disregard all actual means of showing how talented you are and to trust wholly on the assumption that: We Are England, We Are Great. Regardless of how painfully untrue it is. I described this piece as a Eulogy to English football, but all yesterday has proven is that English football is alive and well and flourishing under it’s own self hating principles. So lets keep our end alive, we need more outrage over the goal-line fiasco, we need Capello’s head on stick, we need to protect our selfish uncaring superstars, we need to let the world know that we were tired, and Germany cheated and it was all Sepp Blatters fault. Come on, the lads did their bit, they played with out a care and can come home for some extra hols before the Prem starts, and they actually get paid for that so they’ll need to play well. We need to do our part, cling on to faint hopes in the knowledge that despite what happens on the pitch we only lost because of cheating foreigners and corrupt officials. Remember if you hate the team you hate the country, which means you hate yourself and you hate football and you hate blinkered nationalism, and that just won’t do, so come on England next time its ours for the taking!

Well then that was the 16th Woe, did you get that, I didn’t, and I just fucking wrote it, so I don’t see what chance you have of getting it but to summarise it’s this. England good, everyone else bad. And please remember to treat football the same way you would treat a child you were raising, hit it and hope.

You can’t follow me on Twitter as fifa have told me that it would interfere with play too much..



  1. more bobbins from RBA which is why it is entertaining.

    For reasoned analysis of the Tennis world read

    Otherwise just sit back and laugh at the Aldershot woes cos they are funny

  2. I've met a descendant of Dave Football's. His name was Ralph football. He told me he is disgusted at what has happened. He also said John Terry was a cunt.

  3. i never knew about dave football, thanks, rba. now i know wy our beloved game is called "football"

    id always imagined that it was either invented by the celts when kickin about heads of rival tribesmen (and they cmplain about the jubulani! - the bounce of those severed heads was never true. did you hear vercingetorix complain. you did not)

    either that or i assumed some posh kid at eton picked up the ball from another game - "rackets" or "inserting the sphere in the young fags rectum" then proceeding to cheat by kicking it up and down thereby inventing a new game

    good old dave!

  4. RBA, Great stuff again mate.

    In the latter years of his career, Dave Football was given a lucrative contract to play in ireland for Derry Hikers or summat. He settled in ok, but weirdly their matches were played on a rugby pitch.

    His first game was a bit feisty as one of the opposition picked the ball up and punched it. His cries of handball were largely ignored by all concerned apart from Roy Keane who called him a cunt.

    Years later, in a world cup qualifying play off, a famous french footballer decided to pay homage to Dave's first game in ireland and followed suit. This time everybody called him a cunt.

    Fucking hypocrites!

  5. Another good read, just hope the social services dont read it! (Congrats on the newborn btw)
    My name does not mean sex in dutch - not according to google at least! seks - no k in the welsh alphabet! I just drink a bit too much