Wahey! Euro 2012 is here! Get in the beers, blast out the vuvuzelas and light that barbeque! OK, maybe don’t light the barbeque. It’s hardly the weather for it. The last thing you want to do to celebrate England’s guaranteed victory in the tournament is to munch down on a sodden burger. It’s hardly the sort of celebration Kool and the Gang used to sing about. But then they’ve never tried to dine al fresco in Britain, so more fool them. OK, so the barbeque thing is out but still get your lips round that vuvuzela. Unless the neighbours complain, again. Let’s face it; it is a terribly hideous noise. I know football tournaments are supposed to be loud and brash but that’s not the right way, it’s the equivalent of blowing a kazoo at a Christening. So, recap: no barbeque and no vuvuzela. Still, let’s get the beers in!
Actually, now I think about it; I’m not sure beers are the best choice of drink to sponsor this tournament. After all, it is tournament that celebrates Europe’s ability to produce brilliant athletes – what sort of example are we setting if we end up off our face on Carlsberg Export, sat in the street crying over our latest defeat and probably relieving ourselves without so much as undoing the flies on our jeans. What would George Best say if he could see us…scrap that, he’d probably be down in the gutter with us, still trying to unclasp his belt buckle. Not only that but alcoholic beverages can lead to an unhealthy lifestyle and, in some cases, heart disease. Is that really the sort of keepsake we want from .the European Championships.
Alright; so, let’s go over this again – Euro 2012; don’t get the beers in, stick to mineral water or cranberry juice at most, don’t cook your food outdoors, stay inside and whip up a salad instead, and for God sake put that flipping vuvuzela back in that truck, stick it back in the loft and let’s never speak of it again…Euro 2012 – let the party commence. Woop woop!
As you can probably tell; I’m not too fussed about this Eurovision-meets-the FA Cup-style competition. I think I may have mentioned before; I don’t do football. I don’t do football in the way that vegetarians don’t do meat. I find it morally corrupt, unnatural and I’m quite happy to accept an inferior substitution – for vegetarians it’s Quorn, for me it’s Sabuteo. I don’t have anything against it really, but it’s just the fact that it’s everywhere now and the whole of the country seems to stop functioning until it’s over. It’s like a debilitating disease but one that forces you to spend your days in whichever pubs have a Sky Sports subscription and large tellys. Say what you like about bird flu but at least the victims could muster up the strength to hold a conversation. Well, maybe not the birds, but then it’s not like they could just take some chicken soup to make them feel better. If anything it would just exacerbate things.
OK, I’ll level with you, my reasoning for disliking football and how obsessed people gets with it, stems from my time as an altar boy at church (I know, I wasn’t always the swarve, sophisticated man-about-town, I am now). I would often assist during the Sunday service and at the same time my brother would compete in our local football team matches, and when it came to who my parents would go and cheer on at the sidelines, it would be him. That’s partly because my dad got banned from church for bringing a fog horn and painted banners.
All I’m saying is can’t we just relax, it’s not like there’ll never be another European Championship. Actually, now I think about the financial state of the Eurozone, I take that back.