World Cup worries
THERE’S something wrong with me. I have not got World Cup fever. Normally, with just a few hours to kick-off time for the greatest show on earth I’m a fevered bundle of anticipation.
Usually, by this stage my preparations would be well in hand – the TV and sofa would have been scientifically aligned for maximum viewing pleasure, Mrs T would have received a list of times and dates when she is not allowed to have any of her girlie mates around; and of course the fridge would have been stocked with beer.
I would also have had several counselling lessons which would enable me to put aside all my bitter Leeds United prejudices and show full support for Wayne Rooney despite him being Man U, Ashley Cole, despite him upsetting Cheryl, and John Terry, despite him being John Terry.
But something is just not right – I’m not even 100 per cent sure of the dates and opponents of England’s group matches.
Even Mrs T is more excited than me, although this is usually down to who she’s drawn in the office sweepstake.
Last time round she drew the winners Italy and her joy was doubled by the fact we were in Italy on holiday when the Azzurri lifted the trophy. To this day she refers to the Italians as ‘‘we’’ as in ‘‘We won the World Cup’’.
And it was months before she stopped talking in pigeon Italian and feeding me pasta every night of the blooming week.
Talking of food, we’re going round a friend’s house to watch England’s opener against the USA.
He’s had the idea of a themed food and football night, so it’ll be burgers and Buds all the way.
Maybe that and the sight of Peter Crouch doing his robot dance after scoring the winner will get me belatedly in the World Cup mood.
But it might not last. England play Algeria next and if somebody suggests a pre-match meal of camel stew that’ll be me and the World Cup finished for good.