Hard not to hope auld enemy crashes and burns again

THERE is mounting evidence that this World Cup will be the most enjoyable ever for pathetic sporting bigots like me.

I don’t want to see England winning the trophy and I am certain that I have an overwhelming number of friends in the same low places. It is reprehensible, it is regrettable, but it is true. We should be thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. But we won’t be, will we?

For in addition to that perennial attitude of begrudgery towards our nearest neighbour when it competes in all international competitions from Eurovision upwards, there are additional hanks and kinks in this summer’s African spectacle which makes it doubly fascinating. It should indeed be the most enjoyable ever for the Irish.

Firstly, we don’t have to fret this time about our lads. We knew well in advance they did not have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the World Cup but in recent decades we worried lest they would be totally humiliated in the group stages by some lowly nation. We don’t have that worry this time. They are not there but the bonus is that the whole football world knows that we were wronged and robbed by the French hand of Thierry Henry.

That is a great comfort to us. We were not fairly beaten. We were knocked out by a foul punch.

The additional bonus is that if the French do well in the World Cup (and they won it in the past) then we can reasonably claim that we are as good as they are on a level playing pitch which does not feature handball episodes.

The world would be on our side on that one.

In a sense we are actually involved in the competition as the green chip on their shoulders; as the grinning ghost behind their backs.

It is a better place to be than being thoroughly hammered in the group stages.

So with that matter dealt with we can get down to the business we always do so very well.

In the next few days and weeks we can cram the pubs and loudly applaud Americans and Algerians and any other side that England go out to do battle against in their tilt for glory.

It is an incredible reality which is difficult enough for some to comprehend. But maybe it is also a situation to which the English themselves contribute a lot. Surely no other nation is so jingoistic in the buildup weeks and months as they are? It becomes increasingly hard to listen to and that’s a fact.

Yes, down in the low sporting places where so many of us dwell on this matter, there is begrudgery at the fact that our infinitely more powerful neighbour and historic foe is once again amongst the favourites, has been drawn in one of the weakest groups, and stands a very good chance of getting to at least the quarter-finals.

Actually, being totally honest, most of us would like them to get that far after a series of spluttering wins over the lesser oppositions.

I want to have the enjoyment of cheering for several weeks for whatever team they face. It is no good if they go out too early. We want to have a sustained summer of bitter begrudgery before they fall.

The English media covered the team selection process by Capello more thoroughly than they covered the recent general election. Reams of unending print, hundreds of thousands of cocky images, millions of words. The axing of Theo Walcott, for God’s sake, generated more coverage than the election of the new Prime Minister. This despite the fact Walcott has not delivered for anybody for a couple of years, has not yet learned what a precise cross is, is usually in the wrong place at the wrong time and easily qualifies as one of John Giles’s infamous “headless chickens”.

In my own bigoted scenario the best enjoyment would be gleaned by our neighbours struggling all the way through to the semi-finals in a campaign of many twists and turns, a few red cards, and little glory.

Do not pretend that many of you would relish that too. Let’s be honest for a change about our damaged begrudgery.

Ideally I would like to see them lose in a dramatic penalty shootout again resulting in one of their stars weeping whilst beating the turf with his fists.

Something like that would give me great pagan joy. Or maybe another Hand of God incident. Something dramatic anyway.

And if by some chance the French were to go all the way to triumph then we truly would be involved in the glory in the best possible way.

England won’t win anyway, for sure, and for those many friends of mine and yours in low places that adds a spicy dash of tabasco to the upcoming banquet at which we will be cheering.

God forgive us. But it will be great craic.

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