The Tabloid Roos-papers

I noticed Wayne Rooney in the papers again yesterday, and for once I'm on his side.

Yes, ok so he made himself look like a bit of a ninny with all that "I'm off!" "Oh actually, I'm staying" drama last week but as we all know I ain't even bovvered about football so I paid little attention to that, apart from perhaps to look down my nose (and laugh patronisingly) at the losers who took to angrily protesting on the Rooneys' front lawn. And come to think about it, get a little bit annoyed at the notion that it was obviously Colleen's fault he was leaving.

All in all, he earned himself something like an extra £100k per week for kicking up that little stink, and it seems like nobody really liked him anyway so I doubt he's too concerned about public perception of him.

Which is lucky really, as little did he know it was about to get a whole lot worse.

That's right. He's masterminded a bumper pay rise which he is now getting stick for to the extent that he has received death threats and has football hooligans camped outside his house; lets not forget after the hooker scandal, he'll be trying to worm his way out of the doghouse for quite some time yet; oh, and it's his birthday.... So how bloody dare he GO ON HOLIDAY SOMEWHERE NICE.

Seriously, this was front page news on the tabloids yesterday, for example;  The Mirror "Rooney flees furore with £17k holiday to Dubai" and The Star "Rooney's Obscene Holiday".

Let me be clear, Wayne Rooney could buy my house outright every week with his wage increase alone. I have no money. I wish I had some money. That doesn't mean that a) Rooney is not entitled to spend his and b) it's his fault that nobody else has any money. Don't get me wrong, I'm insanely jealous that he's got all that cash and last week I spent my very last pennies on an emergency Freddo bar, but that's the industry he works in:

• His football club (for whatever footballing reason, that does not interest me in the slightest) agreed to pay him that much money. 
• If his club hadn't, I'm led to believe another would have. 
• All football clubs seem to spend a ridiculous amount of money on their players. 
• Football fans also seem to pay a ridiculous amount of money supporting their clubs.

It might not be right, but it's not his fault.

Again, I'm stretching my understanding of the fiscal situation here but last time I checked, Wayne Rooney was not single handedly responsible for the Double Dip Recession, so why does it matter if he's spent an afternoon's wages on a mini break? If I had it, so would I. And I would help out charities. For all we know, so do the Rooneys. Chris Evans said in his latest autobiography that one day he and Billie Piper got a private jet to South Africa, went into a bar, had one drink and then flew home again. Granted, quite irresponsibly enlarging their carbon footprint but that aside (minor point!) what's the big deal?

I'm sure he would get just as much stick for going to Centerparcs for the weekend, only everyone would be calling him tight then. In fact, by my calculations, spending 17k on a holiday when you earn £800,000 per month is about the equivalent of someone on a £20k salary spending about £35 on a weekend away.

I think we've got far bigger economic problems to worry about than Rooney's disposable income.

Just saying.

Wayne Boooooooooooney

Another day, another footballer accused of cheating on his missus...

This time it's the turn of Wayne Rooney, who has been punching well above his weight since he and Coleen first got together as schoolkids many moons ago.

Their relationship has already weathered the storm of his alleged brothel visits as a teenager and now two more hookers have felt it their duty to inform his wife of his dirty antics via the medium of the national newspapers. But hey, let's not judge them - they're genuinely sorry about it now.

A couple of things have struck me about this whole sorry saga, which I have listed below in the style of a tabloid.

• One of the escorts brags that during their threesome with Wayne, she and her colleague  "WORE IDENTICAL black lacy bra-and-brief sets specially bought from La Senza." Classy. Now there's nothing wrong with La Senza but if I was paying someone £1,200 for their services I would expect at the very least Agent Provocateur.

• Vice girl Jenny Thompson claims that Wayne was "shy and awkward - and me and my friend were left to do ALL THE WORK". Excuse me for pointing out the obvious, but isn't that what they were being paid for?

• She also moans that "It was ALL OVER far too quickly." Errr, you're a prostitute love. Isn't that a good thing? Easy money, so to speak. Although, arguably, not as easy as the £100k Pooney earned last week when he didn't even play.

Now, we could sit here all night analysing why these sports players do it... Is it the power? Is it the money? (Is it the power and the money, the money and the power? Have they all just been listening to too much Coolio in the changing rooms?) But who really cares!? I do not get it. Why do people idolise them so much? Cheating, fighting, speeding...They're not even good at football any more!

But more importantly, why do so many girls aspire to be married to them? If it's just for the money, why do they keep taking them back when they could get divorced and take half?!

Before I put the subject of Rooney to bed (in the doghouse, where he belongs), here's a suspiciously familiar story from 2005 that has gone mysteriously unmentioned in recent weeks but that nonetheless I remembered... Coleen, ditch him!

Peter (Will be sleeping on the) Couch

Riddle me this...

You're the footballer Peter Crouch. Ok so you're rich. You made "The Robot" popular again. But you at an awkward, gangly 12ft 11 tall. you were definitely punching above your weight when you pulled Abbey Clancy - Abby is not only a gorgeous model who earns her own money but also seems to be very sweet and good fun.

So why (Why, Peter, WHY? Explain to us!) do you cheat on her with a prostitute?

Because you can., I suspect. According to Heatworld this morning she's taking him back...

Sport Relief

Imagine how thrilled I was at this statement from Mr G:

"The world cup will be over soon, love! Then I think you've got about a whole 4 weeks until the next season starts!"

To quote a phrase from school: BIG WOWS.

We're Going Home, We're Going.... England's Going Home...

Much as I was "enjoying" all the WW2 comparisons, (guys, it was a WORLD WAR! It was about 70 YEARS AGO! This was a FOOTBALL GAME. It's not the same thing.), "We" (that's the England World Cup Team - not me and a bunch of my friends) were this afternoon absolutely thrashed by Ze Germans.

Cue a barrage of Facebook updates about Germans, the war, Capello, the team being crap, the players wages, etc etc.

Yes, ok, I got caught up in it for a couple of games - unlike my nephew, pictured here during this afternoon's match - I'd say I even became a little bit fond of the World Cup, but as predicted by Pete the Psychic Octopus, it's all over for "us" (again, just to be clear I'm referring to the England World Cup Team). Is anyone really surprised?

I'm reminded often enough by Mr G (he does, after all, support Liverpool) that I "just don't understand", and obviously I don't...

John Terry seemed more upset about losing the match than he did about being caught cheating on his wife (allegedly, supposedly, etc etc).

Capello will probably now get the sack - there doesn't appear to be such a thing as a verbal warning in the world of football management.

Across the land, people will be taking advantage of the British heatwave this evening, using their redundant England flags as kindling for their barbecues, and some poor sod will have to paint the Mount Pleasant pub back to its original colour.

And tomorrow morning we will all get up and go to work, most of us will still be skint, and the world will (I'm fairly confident) keep spinning. Much the same as if we had won.

A Sporting Chance Something is Wrong with Me

Something weird happened to me yesterday.
I watched the England World Cup game - and enjoyed it, and then I got home from work to discover that epic tennis match going on and I watched that too. And I enjoyed that so much that I watched the end of it today!
I don't know what has caused this latest development but I am NOT happy about it.

Football Crazy, Football Mad...

No, it hasn't escaped my attention that we are currently in the midst of World Cup Mania, I'm just not caught up in it like everybody else seems to be. Mr G watches matches between countries he probably couldn't point to on a map, and just when I think that's all over, we've got the highlights of the match we just watched, and then James Corden asking Pixie Lott her verdict on the match we just watched, interspersed with clips of various members of the England Squad playing keepy-uppy. 

"Are we just basically going to be watching football non-stop for the next 4 weeks?" I huffed to Mr G the other day.

"Pretty much love, yeah" he trilled.

Excellent.

As I have said before, I don't like football. In general, I don't like sport full stop.

I'm entitled to that. My husband does not understand my obsession with shoes. I accept that. It's just the way life is.

What it does mean is that I am a fairly well placed observer of this global phenomenon, and here are some things that I have noticed:

Being a football fan makes it acceptable to approach total strangers and start a conversation.

In our local Cwop this week, a big burly man came up to Mr G, who was wearing a "Gerrard" top, shook his hand and said "I tell you what mate, that bloke, top banana"

"He does realise my husband is not actually Steven Gerrard?" I thought to myself as I watched this charade in amazement.

Evidently he did, as he then backed his statement up with (probably one of the most back-handed insults I've heard since a man came up to me in the Treasury and went "My friend thinks you're fit but I think you're minging")

"Shame you don't look like him though mate, eh?" laughed, and walked off. Mr G, completely unbothered, carried on shopping.

I found myself thinking this would be the equivalent of me going up to someone and saying "oooh that dress is by Kate Moss for Topshop, isn't it?" quickly followed by "Naturally, it looks better on her then it does on you", us both nodding in happy agreement and then me going back to picking out my chocolate.

Next, is the general loosening of the Stiff British Upper Lip.

I embrace silliness on a daily basis. I post pictures of myself on the Internet wearing a burger bap on my head. I go to the KFC in my Pyjamas for a free breakfast. I make my boss give me Hi-5s. People look at me like I'm MAD.

Yet come World Cup time, normally mild mannered people appear to take leave of their senses and just let go. They've got England flags flapping out the windows of their Nissan Micras, blowing vuvuzelas out the sunroof and honking their horns to each other as they drive along Embankment Road at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm trying to work, wiping their bottoms with World Cup toilet paper that cost 30p a roll more than normal loo roll, chanting songs in the street with their tops off and a massive England flag painted on their fat bellies, hugging people they don't know. And that's just the local funeral director.

Then there's the crying.

Again, I am not embarrassed to show my emotions. I love a good cry. People think I'm nuts.

I saw a cat get run over once as I was arriving at work, and I walked in the door bawling my eyes out. Everyone thought I was soft. I cry watching sad TV programmes and romantic films. Everyone laughs at me.

Yet for some reason, when England inevitably get knocked out, I can guarantee that I will see footage of grown men in red and white afro wigs, England flags draped round their bare shoulders, shaking their heads whilst looking to the sky, tears streaming down their faces.

And finally, my favourite observation about football mania, is the collective use of the word "we".

It never ceases to amuse me to listen to my Dad, sister and husband dissect an Argyle game, "We scored a cracking goal", "We need to create more chances", "We were definitely not offside", etc etc. All along I thought they had just been sat there watching in the pouring rain every Saturday, paying money that Mr G would moan about if it was for two tickets to the cinema, but it turns out they had actually been playing!

Football lovers of Britain, I applaud you for showing your emotions. I honk my horn at you for painting your houses with the England flag. I tip my coloured afro to you for feeling so passionate about something that you embrace total strangers....

But if someone could just wake me up when it's all over, that would be fantastic, thanks.

The World Cup Sucks

Don't for one minute think I've forgotten to comment on The World Cup.
It's coming...

You're Not Singing Any More

Apparently there was a big televised match on tonight for the Green Army.

I knew this because my sister told me she would cry if they lost tonight, and I couldn't get anywhere near my house from about 6pm onwards this evening.

Well anyway, they did lose which appaz means they are "going down" or something. I don't know anything about football and I don't especially care but I do know it's quite a big deal for all the fans in the city who have spent all season out in the pissing rain watching by all accounts some pretty awful matches, and will obviously have financial implications for our local club so much as it pains me to admit it, I do genuinely feel a little bit sorry for all those Argyle fans this evening.

The whole point of this post however, was merely to recount the classic line Mr G (who has known me for 6 years) chirped to me as he left to attend the match earlier; "Look out for me on Sky Sports love!"

They Think It's All Over. Trust Me, It's Not.

Since Friday I have been in an unfeasibly snappy mood!

I think it all started when, loosened up by a couple of beers, my Dad decided a family meal was the opportune time and place to start laying into me about the fact I have no money.

I mean, I'm glad he reminded me in such a public arena actually because I had practically forgotten about the big shitty skidmark that is my bank account, so it was probably a good thing he brought it up.

Since then I have just been really irritated by everything and every one whilst being totally aware that it's happening. It's a bit of a catch-22 being irrational and knowing it at the same time. Wanting to just scream your head off at everybody but then biting your tongue as you suspect you might be overreacting. Frustrating!

So you can just imagine the atmosphere chez nous this weekend as Mr G has watched 2 football matches (featuring 0 teams he supports), and now appears to have developed an unhealthy obsession with GOLF!

I can honestly say it is one of the most tedious things I have ever seen. I'm sitting in the living room typing this whilst Mr G has got it on in the background, and even the faint sound of the commentary and the annoying little ripples of applause and collective "ahhhhhhs" when the ball stops just short of the hole is enough to make me want to stick a biro into my eyes and gouge my brain out.

How can he sit there watching it on the edge of his seat like it's an episode of 24? GET IT OFF!

Oooh and just in case anyone cares, Tiger is back in the game. He appears to have been forgiven and no cocktail waitresses have so far come running onto the pitch (whatever) to throw a mojito over him, more's the pity.

Incidentally, we just had a brief discussion about my hatred of football and Mr G informed me, as he has done before on many an occasion, that "the football season is almost over love!"

And I informed him, as I have done before on many an occasion that the football season is never over.

They let you think it's over, but then you've got your UEFA Cup and your FA Cup and the World Cup and the Cup Winners Cup, and the Charity Shield, the League Cup, The African Cup of Nations and then when you really think there can't possibly be room for any more football in your life, you get the annual "All-Star" charity matches which I can tell you already will feature the following people: Robbie Williams, Jonathan Wilkes, Ralf Little, Ben Shepherd...

It's a wonder so many players find time to have all those affairs really, because the football season is NEVER OVER.