Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 25^th June 2006

‘Oooooh bravo!’, ‘first class, absolutely first class’ my hands stung I was clapping so hard ‘you just don’t see acting like that everyday’ I exclaimed whilst turning to face my brother and gesturing back at the action with my head. He just rolled his eyes. ‘Bravo bravo’ I shrieked. Occasionally I would whistle noisily as I thumped my hands together in appreciation ‘more, more’, ‘aye ok ye can gie it a rest now’, ‘more’, ’shut it’, ‘mor-gnnffmmp’ This seemed as good a point as any to ‘gie it a rest’ and I slumped on to my knees clutched at my bruised adams apple and wheezed for breath.

The sound of another tinny opening was followed by a long deep glugging noise and the smacking of lips ‘Ah That’s better’ gingerly I climbed back on to the sofa and glared angrily at my brother ‘what was that for?’, ‘ye were laying it on a bit thick’. I stared ‘not like those big lassies’ I retorted hotly, my finger wagging indignantly at the television. He glanced at the telly ‘they’re professional footballers that’s their job’ he replied in his most polite talking to a child voice ‘you were quite convincing though’, ‘aye that’s cos this is a real fecking injury’ I screamed. He tossed a fresh can of beer at me ‘dry yer eyes and let’s see what Mr Hansen has to say aboot things’

Now I know what you’re thinking. Old Ham just has it in for footballers; he’s a narrow minded bitter old egg chaser and just can’t appreciate the beautiful game. Not at all, I have to say I have enjoyed the world cup immensely so far. Apparently England is in it too but you’d hardly know. My problem is not with football per say. It’s with the mincing primadonas in desperate need of an equity card who are masquerading as athletes and pretending to play professional sport.

Again, before I get inundated with dogs’ abuse about how hard a game football is. I fully appreciate how painful a crunching tackle can be and the physical nature of the game. Let’s not beat about the bush a set of studs raked down your shin will indeed nip a bit. But I cant abide all the play acting and feigning of injury. The only poor sod who has been genuinly injured is Owen and I would not wish an injury like that on anyone. However the game I saw last night took the biscuit for me and reminded me why I struggle to watch much footie other than the World Cup.

Imagine the scenario; a well known Portuguese footballer with quaffered hair and chiselled jaw is aggrieved in some way with the play of his Dutch opponent. He probably had the audacity to win the ball in a tackle or something. The Mediterranean player approaches our cheese munching friend, ostensibly to ‘put the growlers’ on him. He stands toe to toe and rests his oiled mane against the Dutchman’s forehead. Unfortunately at just that moment there is a catastrophic failure in his style and hold. The Porto man slips forward a few millimetres and there is contact. What does our clog wearing hard man do? He steps back, thinks for a minute, then drops like a sack of baby bells. For extra effect, and in the hope of an Oscar or a red card, he writhes and screams like a wee lassy.

As if this fine piece of drama wasn’t enough for one game we get Act II a few minutes later. The crying Dutchman has been revived with the magic sponge and Figaro has had his greasy mane reinforced with some more lard. The extra weight seems to be slowing him down though and as he chases a ball towards the touchline he is completely skinned by a second cheeseman. Unfortunately ‘Vim’ leaves his arm trailing carelessly behind and a flake of elbow skin brushes across the face of our Portuguese chum…..

And he’s down folks! It’s clearly a complete dive, there’s no way the referee can fall for a piece of nonsense like that. Despite the fourteen barrel rolls damage to the hair has been carefully avoided. The referee is standing over him, it’s the most blatant piece of cheating you’ve seen in your life and it looks like he’s going to get his comeuppance. The man in black reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a yellow card and spins round to wave it in ‘Vims’ face. The crowd are gob smacked, they can’t believe it. What a shocker. That’s his second yellow card and he’s off. Figaro is bowing and waving to the crowd as he bends down to pick up flowers from his adoring fans. What a fine piece of theatre. Honestly if you didn’t know better you’d think he’d actually been hit!

I have to say I did quite enjoy the bit where another Portuguese player was sent off for holding on to the ball. Oh I did snigger. A free kick was awarded against him and rather than just back peddle ten yards to help his team out in defence he wrestled the ball from Van der Man and legged it down the pitch. I’m sure he would have run all the way home if the stewards hadn’t stopped him. But instead of being able to hide breathlessly under his bed coveting his stolen booty and giggling as his mother knocked loudly on the door. He was forced to trudge forlornly off the pitch looking like a complete twat for getting himself sent off!

Mind you in his defence the ref did seem to lose the plot a little bit in that game. Personally I think someone put superglue on his yellow card. Every time he took his hand out of his pocket there it was again. He carded his own linesman, two seagulls and a hot dog vendor which should have been a bit of a giveaway. It wasn’t long before the stands were full of Dutch and Portuguese players sharing a cigarette and bemoaning the referee. The World Cup is a five a side tournament isn’t it?

Psssst …. I opened my beer and took a couple of deep mouthfuls. Burping noisily I tuned back in to Mr Hansen and his usual tirade ‘He’s got everything that boy, power pace … movement poise …. Blah blah … awful defending though …. Shocking, absolutely shocking .. pace and power and poise .. blah blah’,

‘Just the usual keech then’ I muttered to no reply ‘I said just the usual-‘, ‘zzzzzzz’ my brother was fast asleep. Perfect time to pop a couple of chillis and some tabasco in his tinny. At least the afternoon wasn’t totally wasted …..

Doei