|
|
TRAVEL BLOG ENTRY
|
|
Old rivalries die hard.
This being the case, there was no love lost when the match up of the history of the everything was decided over a classic gourmet meal of cheese on toast in the Hostel.
The teams:
England
(Hey, Hadley, Hancock, ((Ruben)) Boocock, Lee, Steve the Canuck, and surfer-kid John)
vs
Argentina(/Slovakia)
The Poms were down the beach getting a raw meat sun tan before the Argies had even got out of bed. Lazy buggers.
Their star striker, Ivan, follows football like a second religion; before sleep of course.
A big Bocca Juniors fan, he still knew the English premiership better than all of us. He even knew Liverpool FC better than me and Ru.
He had said the day before that he would get up early to prepare a good half an hour before the match.
Kick off was at 3pm.
His Riquelme t-shirt sat soaking in a bucket in preparation.
We limbered up at the beach, and confidently watched the blue and white striped dots on the horizon get closer.
A huge group of hairy people were lounging on the beach. One of them had a similar blue and white shirt on.
The Argentians bee-lined for them and began greeting their fellow country-men.
In seconds, three argentinians from the hostel had become seven.
We gulped.
Game on.
It was nothing but a crazy sand-blasted hurricane of charging diving bodies after the little yellow ball.
Control was minimal.
Sliding tackles and dirty argentian tactics were maximal.
They dived better than the olympics.
This continued in a similar fashion for half an hour or so.
England defended and refused to press up in attack due to weak lungs and lazy attitudes.
Argentina flicked, span, crossed and volleyed.
The Argie's nutmegged people and shouted "Ole!" They had a fat crowd of supporters instantly.
The Englanders belted the ball away from the goal line and shouted "Ave it!"
Two girls who happened to be watching went home in the face of our extreme skills or possibly, probably, embarassment.
George set me up and I scored a goal.
"weey lads"
The game ended.
England 1 Argentina 7.
"weey lads" indeed.
Nothing new then.
The post-match analysis: we needed more penetration, better passing, shots on goal and a team who aren't complete lazy bastards.
In other words, we needed a Jared Smith. Or two.
Never mind.
We cracked out the beers to celebrate our dissapointment.
previous travel blog entry
Would you like to comment or ask a question?
Sign up for a free account, or sign in (if you're already a member).