European Football Weekends

Greetings all,

I was looking at a 100 trillion dollar banknote from Zimbabwe the other day. On top of all the noughts, they come with an issue and use by date - in this case June 30, 2010. It occurred to me that should we fail to beat Slovenia, I would have around $1,000 of Follow England tickets of not dissimilar value.

Happily, I have not now been saddled by FIFA with Slovenia-Ghana tickets for Rustenburg and will instead be watching a perhaps fated re-match with the Old Enemy in Bloemfontein on Sunday. Should we avoid losing to Germany on pens for once, I am told we have an easy route to the final with potential ties against Argentina, Spain and Brazil.

My trip to Port Elizabeth began in familiar fashion when the overnight Intercape bus broke down and began billowing smoke alarmingly from its rear on a mountain pass an hour into the journey from Cape Town. It took a mechanic an hour to turn up and fiddle around to no effect, then another hour for a replacement bus to show.

After the 15 hour trip, the only accommodation I could find was at a hostel run by a mad woman, who claimed to have freed Nelson Mandela and been in De Klerk's cabinet.

My rather unlikely breakfast companions were a young Brit from Marlborough College public school and a Zambian car salesman. Only the Zambian, who had not eaten for three days, ordered the Full English.

In Cape Town I met an Australian who said he had been waiting all his life to see England. He had been the proud owner of 15 replica England kits, watched the Premiership avidly and phoned his father excitedly from the Algeria game to say he was watching Wayne Rooney live. A couple of days later, he was still stunned at how awful England had been.

Thankfully, they got their act together with a nerve-jangling win against Slovenia - population two million - but failed to score the second goal that would have seen them play Ghana and Uruguay/South Korea for a semi-final berth.

While watching the Germans' inevitable win afterwards, I saw some English fans scuffling with two locals, who had apparently been trying to rob them. Within thirty seconds, there were four police cars at the scene and around a dozen burly officers, who, shall we say, did not treat the suspects with kid gloves. You wouldn't get a response like that in London.

The Sun have been responsible for making up a few front pages in their time - literally in the case of the Freddie Starr ate my hamster debacle - but surely this is the one that will come back to haunt them the most? I remember tutting and shaking my head when I cast my eye over this sorry rag the day it came out. Then again, it is the biggest selling newspaper in England and so what do I know? Still, five straight wins from hereon in and we'll all be gathered around Trafalgar Square watching Wazza, Stevie G and Robert (nicest table manners in soccer - least we forget) Green collecting their OBE awards for winning the Greatest Show on Earthtm.

As June 12th approaches it would be fair to say that I'm in a minority of one (well two actually if you include my Chelsea supporting colleague) in Jacksonville , aka "The Bold New City of the South , to be utterly consumed by the forthcoming England vs USA game. For an ex-pat in Florida this draw was heaven sent and I have talked about little else at work for the past nearly six months which I'm sure has sent the tedium factor through the roof for my colleagues but they are far too polite to point this out.

Now Americans get a mixed press at home I know but having lived as a guest of Uncle Sam since 2004 I won't hear a word said against them with the exception of their obsession with sports which are , to put it politely , silly - with all due respect to the Connecticut Seagulls who are regulars at Fenway Park watching a spot of rounders. In fairness I should also point out that the NE Florida branch of Brighton & Hove Albion's huge Stateside support have become fans of College Football but happily that can wait until September.

The fact that England's opening game is at 2.30 in the afternoon local time on a Saturday is just icing on the Dunkin' Donut (America runs on dunkin according to a chubby and intensely irritating minor TV celebrity on this side of the Atlantic - who would have thought that it's possible to be even more hateful than Anthea Turner?). Anyway invites have been issued , tacky St George bunting by the (Gary) bushel has been delivered and all that remains is to buy the beer and prepare Toad in the Hole and Shepherd's Pie on the day for our American guests. In a bid to prove that American humour isn't an oxymoron someone memorably quipped "it says here English food will be served - so I should eat before I come then?" on reading the invite.

I suspect that there are local plans to undermine my attempts to turn my house into something that wouldn't look out of place in one of those pictures The Sun like to publish of a semi in Dagenham but it will all be in good fun I'm sure. Amongst the tack provided by my brother-in-law on a recent family visit were two St George Cross supporters capes. Aside from the fact that in over 30 years of attending matches I've never worn , or seen anyone wear , a cape I'm unsure about how prudent it would be to wear such an article in the Deep South so might pass on that one. Car flags will be flown , balloons will be blown up and in general it will be a veritable cornucopia of St George paraphernalia in leafy St John's County that day.


Watching some of the warm up friendlies recently my glee at the comedy defending from the home team in the 4-2 trouncing by the Czech Republic tempered by the fact that those cunning Yanks apparently played their ressies (who it would appear would be hard pushed to get a point at the Dripping Pan) and the fact that England were particularly bobbins against Japan last week but we can't lose against Team USA surely can we?

With the right result I will make a point of driving around my neighbourhood blaring the horn like a Fluminese Ultra to the utter indifference of everyone else who lives here before reluctantly making a start on the Bud Lite Limes which with a depressing sense of certainty I know my guests will bring with them. A defeat or even a draw is unthinkable and would make my life a living hell for the next umpty thrumpty years. As the game draws nearer I'm fighting a nagging doubt that I might have brought that fate on myself by mouthing off constantly about just how badly the USA are going to get crushed but it's too late to do anything about that now. If it does all go tits up Fabio it's my fault ok? Or more likely an unbelievably calamitous cock up by David James.

On the off-chance that any North Florida based England fans read this and feel like helping to even up the numbers a bit that day get in touch through this blog. I can promise home cooked English food (which is a treat actually Mr Randy Bloody Schwarnstein the Third or whatever your name is!) , bad taste decorations and a ready supply of proper cold beer along with the dross that the rednecks will bring with them!