Irish pastime back as time comes to rue Britannia

IT’S reassuring to see that, as usual, England’s preparations for a big tournament are going swimmingly.

No sooner had Fabio Capello done his una duce, una voce thing and attempted to bring some gritty realism to lurid soap opera by stripping John Terry of the captain’s armband than, in a weird bit of collateral damage, Ashley Cole shipped a serious injury thereby increasing the likelihood of Wayne Bridge having to play in the same side as the man who surreptitiously took up with the latter’s former partner. The X-Files meets The Ex-Files, if you will, and the whole thing was so splendidly mad even Sepp Blatter couldn’t resist wading in with another of his killer gags.

Of course, the loudest laugher emanates, as ever, from the land where the main players otherwise command a devoted following. I refer, of course, to this great little nation of ours, a place where two of the chief sporting pastimes are cheering on English players in their club shirts and wishing them the worst in the World (Cup) when they pull on the one with the three lions.