Dispatched to the 25th floor of a Manhattan hotel, with a restricted view of the grey Hudson, sun splitting the sidewalk, little yellow rectangles flying up and down the street, sweating, with the air-con roaring like an industrial dinosaur between bouts of eye closing, I'm watching the World Cup final in on a local Latino channel, which transmits entirely in Spanish, "Viva la Copa De Mundial scorchiooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!"
If George Hamilton exuded that level of enthusiasm he'd have an out of body experience with every game. In between the screams and the bellowing lisping pronunciations of player's names, "Van Persssssssiieeee," "Lalalalalalalalalala Iniessssssstaaaa!!!," I am taking a real liking to this style of maniacal commentary and kind of darkly hoping that one of them might accidentally keel over if Spain score.

After the Jackie Chan inpsired challenge of Nigel De Jong (I believe they had to remove several studs from Xabi Alono's right lung) the Dutch set their stall out to prove if they couldn't control the game they would bully the opposition into submission, like a hustler forcing punters into a cheap Amsterdam strip joint. The game hit half-time, so myself and the Aranwoman made our way to any local Midtown sports joint with a tv screen. The streets of 7th Avenue were awash with tourists hauling their tacky trinkets from the thousands of shops hawking a plastic New York. Surprisingly, the windows of an Oirish Bar were crammed with faces pressed up against it trying to see the game. Inside was a crammed, sweaty affair with a selection of Dutch and Spanish in great voice hoping for a happy ending. Those left outside in the 90 degree afternoon heat, craned necks to get a look in. One lady feigned interest as her Spanish boyfriend hoisted his eyes above the crowd, while she just admired herself in the window reflection.

Sourcing out some air conditioned solice, we left this spot and found an inside/outside bar in a hotel that also doubled as wind tunnel bridging two streets. Two heat exhausted Chinese tourists kept falling asleep as they attempted to focus on the game. In front of the big screen, more open mouthed punters; two spaniards, faces painted; an old man with Alan Quartermain style adventurer shorts, white surgical socks and flat cap, looking like pre-dead George Burns; black hotel workers in yellow; others in red waistcoats resting from the toil of the hotel watched from the sides, two tall (when are they ever not?) Dutch men with novelty caps with orange and white pigtails smiled drank and bellowed a few "Hup, hup Holland" as the game grew long.

As Arjen Robben, Iniesta, and more missed chance after chance, I began to think how this sport could be sold to The States. "It's a mediocre nil nil to an exciting nil nil…" Trying to explain to a Yank how you can play for 115 minutes and still have no score on the board, is like trying to explain sarcasm to most Americans - they just don't get it. How do you sell the biggest soccer game in the world to the biggest buying sporting audience? You can't. Unless you incorporate breaks in play every five minutes, an enforcer on the pitch, caged areas, hugely overweight players as blockers, weaponry (rifles, bats, sticks) and maybe some dancing ladies. FIFA, come on!!!

Andres Iniesta finally put down the Dutch bull in 116th minute. The little Matador graced the box and unleashed a rocket past the large hands of Maarten Stekelenburg. The Spanish Royal Family danced in their private box. I imagined if England won the World Cup would the Queen hoist her top above her head and lead a lap of honour on the pitch. Back to the hotel to cool down. My Aran sweater had expanded so much in the heat, it resembled a drift net and upon arriving at the hotel I shook and dispatched an old lady with a chihuahua, a small tree, two children, a jogger, and a hot-dog stand. I turned back on my favourite Spanish language channel. Pictures from Madrid, Newark, New Jersey and beyond show crowds bouncing in the sun as they witness football history. Cut to the reporter. She is in front of a large beaming crowd. She holds a mic in one hand and a toddler in the other. He doesn't seem to mind, and as she concludes her piece to camera, the little soccer fan grins, perhaps knowing that in his lifetime this will not be the last time his team will hold aloft the biggest prize in the world. Or, he will grow up rueing the fact that when he witnessed his country's greatest sporting achievement he filled his pants in front of millions.


Viva L'Espana!…well, for the next four years anyway.

So, the orange men will march on Soccer City stadium, Johannesburg for the final of the FIFA 2010 World Cup final hoping for a stand-off against the Spanish. We will know when that final whistle blows whether it will be the sound of wooden clogs clomping or castanets clapping that will attempt to drown out the drone of the vuvuzelas. That skinny plastic trumpet has become the soundtrack for the past four weeks and has sent many (especially those who remortgaged the kid's education on the tv system) into the E.N.T. dept. at the local hospital and diagnosed with TT or 'Tournament Tinnitus.' And that's if they can successfully embark at the chosen destination without swatting around them violently at the imaginary swarm of bees attacking their face.

As regards the outcome on Sunday, Paul the Octopus who has been living in an Aquarium in Germany, and has successfully predicted the outcome of every German game so far, even the loses to Serbia and Spain. The 'octo-oracle' has sided with Spain for the final, and his success so far has meant his tarot tenticles have been banned from every bookmakers, but his fame has guaranteed plenty of octopussy (sorry) in the aquarium. However, he could now have a rival. The Guardian are reporting on a prophetic Parakeet called 'Mani' who has been predicting correctly from his little cage in a district called Little India in Singapore. He choose the Netherlands as winners on Sunday. According to the paper, "Ali, a 31-year-old customer, said he was having financial problems and wanted to know when his luck would improve. "I've come to him before to know when my luck will change," Ali said. "I believe in the bird." Octopus or Parrot? All I know is they have predicted more correct results than me or any human on a panel have so far.

Apart from a dodgy night spent avoiding 'prawns' in District 9 and having to spend most of the tournament in my Aran tanktop and short-shorts (it was a jumpsuit but had to sell off much of the material as makeshift ear plugs, to make money to live) it has been a relatively quiet tournament. I never did get my luggage back, but was enamoured to see several locals with T-Shirts emblazoned with the Big Tom Tour Ballina Community Centre - '93 my beloved and rare, Ole, Ole, O'Leary Italia '90 and several official F.A.I. training tops all with the requisite Aranman logo on the back. If the 'mohair mantra' gets out to the ghetto, then my mission here is complete. However, I am gutted about my official Johnny Giles Flahavan's Tracksuit, which I won in Aranschool to coincide with my 'Honesty of Effort' badge after I caught Charlie Haughey digesting bank statements in a cave off the coast.

Alas, it has a new home now. The final casts it shadow over Soweto on Sunday, but in a house swap with Jay-Z (in Eire for Oxegen) I will be dispatched to New York to cover it. That makes no sense, but neither do I and as I delve further into my Aranmind I'm hoping that the nurse will give me extra time on my laptop at the weekend.

SOME THINGS WE HAVE LEARNED SO FAR:

The clown who invaded the pitch during the Spain Germany semi-final pretended to be disabled and confined to a wheelchair to steal access to the field. He had even flown in with a wheelchair in his luggage from Italy, the Durban World Cup magistrate's court heard. He was fined 8000 Rand (€840) or three months imprisonment.

Mexico and Uruguay had the most distance (208.39 km) covered of any game so far according to FIFA. They also had the highest speed 32.15 km/ph. So, if each squad tie themselves together, centipede style they'll be home on foot in no time, reducing their carbon footprint aswell. Genius.

England have finally made it to a competitive tournament final. Although, it wil be in the shape of the Match Official Howard Webb. The referee and his team have been the most consistent so far, and the English can take heart that they have someone who knows what he is doing when he walks onto a football pitch.

The 'Jabulani' has caused the most controversy of any World Cup football. Many players have criticised it's inconsistencies (although none of those who went public were sponsored by the maker) And, it hasn't stopped Adidas producing 13 million of the saucy spheres to sell.

If you have an obsession with balls, like former Liverpool Striker Craig Johnston, who wrote a 12 page letter on the Jabulani. Then this is the video for you.



Alternatively, you could just listen to 'Elmo's Balls Song':


The most ill-advised soccer analyst aside so far goes to RTE. No, Graham that doesn't really work.



And, finally.Someone who will definitely not be making an appearance in any sporting capacity this weekend. Prepare yourself for Jedward's ligament snap. If you can handle the grimace and grins as you laugh behind closed hands forward to 2:06. I admire how they carried on, if they played for Brazil an old lady would be brought forward chanting a Novena.

ARGENTINA 0 - 4 GERMANY
SPAIN 1 - 0 PARAGUAY
NETHERLANDS 2 - 1 BRAZIL
URUGUAY 1 - 1 GHANA (URUGUAY WON 4 - 3 ON PENS).

ONE of the saddest days growing up as an Aranchild was watching the Generation Game. The BBC show which came to the Aran house courtesy of a mobile illegal aerial attached to a Ford Transit Van, so the quality of the picture correlated directly with the location of the vehicle. If it was within a ten mile radius, good picture. If not, it was a snowstorm, interrupted by waves of clarity. On this particular Saturday night, as myself and my Aran brothers took shifts to hold the interior aerial, the chinmaster Bruce Forsyth welcomed on the Magician Paul Daniels and he proceeded to carry out an act of illusion with his permagrin able assistant Debbie McGee. The act involved him sliding doors and panels, so that it appeared McGee was disappearing and materialising out of nowhere. In my Aran short pants my jaw dropped. I was mesmerised. In order to show the contestants what they needed to learn to carry out the illusion, he revealed how it was done. Ah, my first experience of the so-called 'reveal'. Up there, with the "the Aran Santa doesn't really exist," silicone boobs, and TV editing. It destroyed Magic for me. It was just a trick. Nothing more. The rabbit was out of the hat.

I had the same sensation watching Brazil and Argentina in the World Cup Quarter Finals. Here were the magicians of football. Known for conjuring up feats of football genius mesmerising their audience with movement, passes and goalscoring as rabbits were pulled and cards appeared in impossible places. But, it was all an illusion, a nasty trick that was exposed by The Netherlands and Germany. Like, the crowd hecklers who shout, "it's not a real saw" or "she's behind the curtain," viewers like myself sat cringing and embarrassed as they tried to retain their dignity. The 'Maestro Messi' became just a passenger as his team crumbled and were sawn in half by a rock solid German team that ran riot over a dishevelled 'La Albiceleste,' whose failure to deal with organised opposition was summed up by the Striker Gonzalo Higuain's half arsed challenge as Klose closed in on their fourth nail in the Argentina World Cup coffin. Their performance reminded me of the T1000 from Terminator 2. His particular skill was to successfully morph into whatever object he chose and simulating their voice, mannerisms and shape. Hello Germantina. That sounds like a dodgy tranny act, but it could also be the 2010 World Champions.

IN OTHER NEWS: Luis Suarez, the Uruguay striker sent off for block a guaranteed Ghana goal and destroying the hopes and dreams of a nation, is leaving football and is to play as a power forward for the Philadelphia76ers in the NBA.

RONALDO GIVES BIRTH: Well, we know he's capable of miracles on the pitch, but technically it's his unnamed lady partner. His website revealed that he is now the Father of a *baby boy. The identity of the slick striker's baby momma has been high on the agenda of The Sun newspaper, who have reporting in detail on his previous conquests. One of those in particular, could be a shoe-in:

US swimwear model Niki Ghazian told how Ronaldo stunned her in bed - despite wearing an orthopaedic boot for a foot injury.
Blonde Niki, 26, said: "It was restricted - but we made the best of a bad job.
"When you are in bed with the world's most gorgeous man you'll forgive him anything," she explained. "I'd be lying if I said the boot didn't get in the way - but the rest of his body was incredible.
"He really took my breath away." Presumably after he insisted on a toe-job.

Unfortunately, I don't have access to any pics of the babog, but after a quick search of the t'internet I have managed to acquire this grainy photo of the man himself as a wee cheesemeister chatting up girls in the creche. Just go to my Aranman Facebook group profile page:

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=180642738049&ref=ts

And so, we reach the Quarter Finals. I have yet to lose the woolly shirt off my back and thankfully made a considerable sum off the back of the incredible Ghana win over the USA. Luckily, I am residing in the world's largest mohair producer and the fifth largest producer of wool in the world - my own knitting nirvana! Most of the money went towards commissioning a brand new sweater after I had most of my previous one ripped and digested by one of the Greek players after their acrimonious loss to Argentina. I got a bit carried away with my Vuvuzela and took to the pitch in celebration only to be chased by this maniac, barking and shouting at me and eventually taking a large chunk of my own Mammy's pride and joy in his mouth (see pic top left).

There are some mouth watering ties:

NETHERLANDS V BRAZIL
URUGUAY V GHANA
ARGENTINA V GERMANY
PARAGUAY V SPAIN

So, before we dive like the Irish stock exchange headlong into the Quarters. Here's a wee round up with the action so far Aranman World Cup Diary Buzz Bits:


MOST DISAPPOINTING PLAYER
: By a country mile it has to be Wayne Rooney a great player who has yet to score on the biggest stage. Consoled by the box office performance of Shrek Forever After. Must also mention Fernando Torres upstaged by David Villa and firing blanks. Told you, it's the missing mullet. (see Blog Post 7).

PLAYER MOST LOOKS LIKE LEAD SINGER OF METAL BAND ANVIL: Hands down the Spanish defender and marvelously mulleted 'Pantene Prince,' Carlos Puyal.

THE NIKE CURSE IS FULFILLED:
Ronaldo
falls foul of the Nike 'Write The Future' curse. Drogba, Cannavaro, and Rooney are already gone.

MOST FAMOUS FANS: Bill Clinton and Mick Jagger One couldn't get any satisfaction, the other got too much.

MOST EMPTY APOLOGY: Sepp Twatter apologises for Frank Lampard's goal. All we got was a spiteful laugh. Money talks it seems and The Premier League generate the most in the world.

UNECCESSARY SPITTING GAMES: Ronaldo facing the camera at the end of the defeat to Spain, turns to camera and unleashes contents of lungs. Disgusting, but clearly not as stomach churning as his singing attempts. (see below)

ENGLAND RUMOUR MILL GOES INTO OVERDRIVE WITH ALLEGED ALLEGATIONS: I received this text from a Manc contact:

"How about this, just in: Courts held a further 2 week gagging order on steve gerrards private life, turns out he got his wife's sister pregnant (not a16 year old) Story will hit the newspapers in 10-14 days, the judge held the gagging order to protect FA while they decide on Capello, and the future of English footy. John terry and the England players all knew about it and JT had argument with Capello because Gerrard got to keep the captain's armband. The tension in the camp was down to JT and half the team saying Gerrard was a disgrace and the other half of the squad backing Gerrard..The press conference was related to the tension and JT wanted Gerrard exposed - they hate each other.."

Did I mention "alleged" enough times… Okaaaaaaaaayyyyy!


Ronaldo singing:


George Hook Apres Match. No World Cup link just very funny to share:

BALANCING delicately on a wooden box I found by the garbage skip at the back of the hotel, I managed to peek through the window of Wayne Rooney's bedroom last night. Wrapped up in his Manchester United duvet he was listening as Papa Fabio sat next to the bed reading from a book titled, 'The Little Team That Could.' It was the only way that young Wazzer would get to sleep. Fabio would pull this little tale about an English team, who against all odds goes on to win a major tournament, and he gets to score in the Final. Obviously, it's a fairytale. It's only when Fab reads his teamsheet and tactics that the lads break out in a sweat crying and realise that it has all been a total nightmare.

To paraphrase Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons, "Worst England Performance Ever," and it was, of any major tournament they have ever played in. I spotted Mick Jagger in the crowd, singing along to God Save The Queen, although they could have done with his swagger in the England team. Unfortunately, 'You Can't Always Get What You Want', Mick, and as he joined thousands of England fans who booed before the German anthem, who had their ignorance come back to bite them as a Kaiser slaughter of Crapello's stooges unfolded. Speaking to some other reporters in Rustenberg, they only way for the players to get over their World Cup exit is a lap dance from Emile Heskey. "Do you like my cones, Terry. Do you like it when I dance?" Proof that he has a use in the squad. I do imagine Capello when alone laughing his head off as his plan to destroy England's hopes and dreams succeeds. His extra luggage is filled with unmarked bank notes that he rolls around in naked like an Italian Scrooge McDuck, rubbing himself seductively with his €8m a year wages. Surprisingly, there was no trouble from the fans during and after the game. The only 'street fighting men', were back in the UK, where The Sun reported on fans in Brighton ripping off their Rooney jerseys and throwing them in the sea, as disgruntled grunts elsewhere fired bottles at big screens. Some fans had taken to wearing ridiculous Biggles style RAF clothing citing the bloody Battle of Britain to inspire their team (pic top left). Instead they just looked like grounded pilots, who will probably blame the result on a volcano. My Aranman tip for guaranteed England success is for each player to wear their respective club top underneath the country jersey. The Three Lions t-shirt seems to have a Kriptonite effect on the players, rendering them slow and ineffective like eleven Paris Hiltons, "They scored another goal, oh whatever!"

The dejected fans in South Africa are just sad. I spoke to three who blame the team, "bunch of bottlers," "just a load of millionaires running around a pitch," and "useless bunch of f*cking tw*ts" are just some of the comments from people. As hard as it is to feel sympathy for a side that enters every tournament as self propelled "favourites" Lampard's "goal" does garner a little tweak of Aranman's heart. They know the extent of a nation's pain when an unforgivable refereeing decision goes against them. A billion dollar industry that won't allow video technology is testament to a mafioso style committee led by backward dinosaur in Sepp Blatter.

This whole fiasco has parallel's with Ireland's abismal limping effort in the Rugby World Cup in 2007. Eddie Linehan's side were criticised hugely for poor results and rumours abounded about infighting and various distractions that resulted in a disastrous tournament. My theory is that a major betting scandal exists where money hungry England players greedily bet against themselves resulting in record payouts from the bookies. That, or they're just shite.


GOOD NEWS for Manchester United fans. Brand new signing Javier Hernandez scored a cracker in Mexico's exit to Argentina.

Ghana beating USA in extra-time. Somehow, I dion't think the American press can take a deluded positive spin on this one.

TOP TWEET - "I feel sorry for Rooney. If the advert is to be believed, this time next year he'll have a massive beard & be living in a caravan." - Jason Manford.


If you haven't seen the 'Write The Future' Nike advert yet, here's a reminder:

"HISTORY is being made here in South Africa as the Republic of Ireland celebrate their very first World Cup win!" Okay, so that won't happen, and we might have to put the jigs and reels on hold, but after the events of the past fortnight this could be the tournament for the underdog. Former world chumpions France, have now been followed by current holders Italy. If the French were fighting amongst themselves, then the Italians had no fight at all. Of course, both of these teams should have been beaten by Ireland in the qualifiers and who knows, the Boy in Green could be joining the likes of Slovakia, Japan, Ghana, South Korea, and Mexico as this competition throws up more surprises than a Kerry Katona prepared lunch-box.

Italian Manager Marcello Lippi will probably be ordered to see The Godfather upon his arrival back to the boot, and explain "disrespecting his family and fans." Although, that shadowy figure is most likely to be Silvio Berlusconi, so the punishment will involve just slightly less attractive dancing girls. Ooh harsh. Thierry Henry had to face the wrath of the French President upon his return, but I think it would have been more appropriate for his welcoming party to consist of the Republic of Ireland squad jigging in his face, as demonstrated by the 'Flatley Forwards,' a little dancing duo consisting of Damien Duff (looking like he has his Mam's cardigan and scarf on) and Robbie Keane. Check out the pic top left. Word is they're going to be supporting Crystal Swing on their World Tour.

Italy and France have fallen foul of the 'Leprechaun curse.' Ye just don't mess with the small green fellas. I hear this guy has just been added to the bill:



Leprechaun Rap - Watch more Funny Videos

THERE'S a brilliant if naughty expression here in South Africa, that is used to describe the ex-pats from England. They are called "sout piel," which translates literally as "salt cock." The idea is that one foot is in Europe while the other is in Africa, therefore the middle leg is dangling in the sea. One local guide has taken to decking the whole of his car in the England colours. I should have my little Arancar sent over by freight cargo, but apart from the price, there's probably a good chance that the woolly exterior would cause all sorts of problems in the unfortunate instance that I strayed off road into a National Park, only to see my beloved cardigan car bust it's boot stitches after getting mounted by a horny short-sighted African bull elephant. The Premier League is the most watched international league, and many of the people have embraced the fact that some of the England players have an African heritage.

However, they refuse to acknowledge the lineage of England striker Emile Heskey. The man dubbed by Viz magazine as "the wheelie-bin," who has the speed and grace of a mini-skip, was also coming under fire by the Mexican commentators. When he came on as sub today against Slovenia they accidentally dubbed him, "Emily Heskey," although let's be fair you wouldn't say it to his face, he's a big lad.

So, on a horrible holed pitch that looked like it was used as a training ground by a pirate five-a-side team with wooden legs, England scrape through to the last 16 with a one-nil victory over an ordinary Slovenia.

There now seems to be a momentum building to the auld enemy's tournament, and the locals here are all the better for the cash they bring. Another 40-50 thousand fans are expected to make the journey from colony headquarters before next Sunday's clash One guy who owns are bar told me, he feared that they would "all be hooligans," but was pleasantly surprised by the fans he has met and now they will have a smile on their face after qualification to the next round.

Well, I can tell you that the smile on their faces comes not from watching Jermaine Defoe scoring, but from the Official England Scoregasm (pic top left) and according to the manufacturers, "It's the remote control love egg that shows you're a true fan." It also features "3 knee-trembling speeds," which is two more than most of the England Squad. So, if you're not an England fan and you tell them to "shove it up your arse," well there's no point, cos they already have.

Either that, or they've been watching the England song by that madcap Manc Mark E. Smith. The angry little Northern Yoda has penned his own little ditty to get the fans going:

POETIC justice it seems has been served. The ring has been returned to Mount Doom and the 'Gallic Gollums' can do no more evil. The French resistance has crumbled and I'm sure even the Francophiles will be shouting "Off with their heads!"

It started with a hand and now we can wave goodbye to France's participation in this World Cup. Unfortunately, although South Africa won 2-1 they will also be leaving the competition. The Vuvuzelas may go quiet now that the home nation has left, but they were incredile in the game and could have scored more if they were sharper up front. Bafana, Bafana have done themselves proud and I was waving my Aran underpants over my head in celebration of the two goals. They have not become the first host nation to never win a game and they have beaten the former World Cup champions. I would suggest that they blow their 'Vuvuvulvas' with pride but my ear drums have taking a Keith Moon style beating all week and I can barely hear the voices in my head anymore.

Maybe, we can finally put the "hand of frog" to rest and banish the memories of that cold November. Martin Hansson, the referee on that faithful night has apologised and insisted that he cried after he realised the mistake he made. He has even insisted that he would love to come to Ireland, "I love the people. I love the island. I love the beer," he said. Although, I can't see too many people wanting to buy him a pint, maybe they will but then accidentaly knock it over with their hand. "Sorry about that bud, me hand just slipped." Then again, he probably won't even notice.

I hope that French player Patrice Evra has a copy of FIFA '10 on his computer, as he is the poet who suggested that a replay with Ireland should take place on the Playstation. Well, Patrice you have plenty of time now to play. However, the French Coach Raymond Domenech has been quick to assert his authority in his final press conference after his final game.

EXCLUSIVE CLIP FROM DOMENECH'S PRESS CONFERENCE:


FIN

OH Dear, Leader will not be pleased. Portugal destroy North Korea 7-0. It looked in the first half like the N.K. boys might battle on valiantly like they did against Brazil, but no, they deflated like a blow-up doll under James Corden . The rumours around the stadium circulated that they were introduced to an X-Box at half-time and refused to come out until they were coaxed with Coca-Cola. The last time they appeared in the World Cup in 1966, the scorer of their winning goal against the Italians was promoted from Corporal to Sergeant in the North Korean army. Let's hope this team don't return to a firing squad. I can't see the same red carpet being rolled out for these guys, although they will probably just screen the Italian game on state television and insist it was Portugal, and the Dear Leader's pride is restored. More likely, they will probably screen loads of edited clips together from live games and movies to broadcast the, "Stunning path to glory at the 2010 World Cup of our honourable sons over the infidel of the West." A ratings winner, but possibly still not as deluded as England believing they can still win this tournament.

In other news, French striker Nicolas Anelka has been sent home after turning the air Les Blues with his foul mouth rampage at Coach Raymond Domenech after he was substituted during the defeat to Mexico. He is alleged to have said, "Va te faire enculer, sale fils de pute!" Which roughly translates as, "Go f*ck yourself, you son of a whore!" Lovely. Although, let's face it he does have a point. It seems the Camembert is really beginning to stink. I managed to get myself out to the French training camp to get a reaction from the players, but I got a lot more than that. Have a peek at my video of a furious exchange between fitness coach Robert Duverne and captain Patrice Evra which has led to team director Jean-Louis Valentin stormed out before announcing his resignation.

In the words of that famous French philosopher, Inspector Jacques Clouseau: "I ruin everything I touch!"

Aranman's 'Anyone But The French' World Cup Diary: Post 10

The England team went to visit an orphanage in South Africa this morning. "It feels good to put a smile on the faces of people with no hope, constantly struggling and facing the impossible" said Jamal Umboto aged 6.

I received that text approximately three minutes after the whistle blow on one if the worst England performances at a World Cup. It was no surprise that the jokes started flying around on text after watching a team that looked like they were rehearsing for a Carry On movie with the icon of British saucy comedy Benny Hill being played with incredible accuracy by Fabio Capello. Shuffling along the sidelines roaring, he reminded of the character Fred Scuttle (top left) as he huffed and puffed instructions to a team desperate for a translator. David Beckham was on hand like an 'Armani-clad Rodney Trotter'. A defunct comedy sidekick whose only purpose was to provide eye totty for any female viwers, clearly an imperative of the sponsors. What the hell is he doing there? Apart from looking 'Zoolander' pensive in his tailored suit his presence is clearly pointless. Beckham was ruled out of the World Cup due to an injury, which in any other profession would require him to stay at home and get better. Somehow, I don't think it would be advised for an employee who is on sick leave to hover over the back of their colleague coughing and wheezing encouragement, "Oh, your writing that report really well, but if I could just suggest… *cough* " Michael Ballack is out of the German squad, yet he refuses to annoy the rest of the squad by hovering in the background like a crocked magpie.

The Green Point Stadium was actually rocking last night before kick-off as two thirds of the place was filled with England fans, who it seemed had enough numbers to at least drown out the Vuvuzelas for a short period. Green is how they were feeling only ten minutes into the game when Jamie Carragher looked like he was suffering from the early onset of the menopause with a red head ready to explode from a requirement to actually run around. Although, tens of thousands of fans are now descending on Cape Town, a certain Wayne Rooney is not enamoured by their appearance. Facing the camera as he sludged off last night he said, "Nice to see your home fans booing you. That's loyal supporters."

I just envisioned Colleen Rooney at home rummaging furiously through the bedroom drawers trying to find the Irish passport Wayne had as a child, hoping that there's a chance left that he could still play for a half decent team. "Ireland or Algeria, clearly anything in white isn't gonna work love!" she screams at him. His comments at the end reminded me of that episode of The Simpsons, where Ralph buys Lisa a Valentine's Card, but she is so embarrassed by him that she denies even knowing him while they appear together live on national television. Bart records the event and pauses the tape to shoe Lisa the exact point at which Ralph's heart actually breaks. That was Rooney sounding off, that was the moment when he cracked and possibly England's chances of ever fulfilling anything other than an acceptance that they are eleven average overpaid millionaires running around a green, managed by a man on a disgusting €8m a year! A fact not lost on an incredible spirited Algerian team who exposed them.

PS - My English friend who sent me the joke is a disillusioned fan, but has devised a genius way for them to pick the team. It would involve a Britain's Got Talent style selection process with Simon Cowell refereeing the games and Andrew Lloyd Webber playing the creepy Manager, who sits on his throne as willing participants bow in awe, but instead of Dorothy's Red Shoes, a pair of football boots are laid before him. I don't think it could be much worse than what they have at the moment.

"He'll tweet again, don't know where don't know when...but..." Well, you get the general idea.

Here are some recent tweets from Aranman. Join him just by clicking above icon in the banner or going to http://twitter.com/Aranmanfootball.

# USA robbed by poor refereeing? Looks like balls and cheap trumpets aren't the only problems! about 2 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# Dan naggit missed two goals while on the bowl USA 2-2 now! If it stays that way it another "win" for the Yanks! about 2 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# Slovenia 2-0 up! Someone called lubedupwankmethinks about 3 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# Fabulous goal from Birsa 25 yards out Howard no chance Slovenia 1-0 USA about 3 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# Germans win 1-0. USA about to play Slovenia. Suggested chant for Yanks: America, f*ck yeah!" about 4 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# RT @SportsComrades: FIFA have no information on four 'missing' North Korea players: FIFA have no proof that four North Korea players h.. ... about 5 hours ago via API

# Sevenyearitch & sonofabitch on as subs for Serbia about 5 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

# Podolski misses peno why the feckless did he take it that's the third he's missed in last games for Ger


Oh, and here's another parody featuring Downfall This one is actually very funny. Adolf isn't too happy about the Vuvuzelas!

"Feel it. It is COLD!" - Stadium Banner.

"What goes around, comes around." - George Hamilton.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it was minus four in the Peter Mokaba Stadium, as a 37 year old Chicago Fire player doused the French flame. A neckless Cuauhtemoc Blanco, fired in a 77 minute penalty that sent the Mexican crowd into a wave that even Thierry Henry wouldn't be able to get a hand in. He was absent from the proceedings, which is no surprise as he hasn't even been arsed to hang around their training camp. It seems that none of the other players can look at Thierry, like Edgar Allen Poe's Tell-Tale Heart, where the buried body drives the killer insane, Henry is the World Cup corpse that is a constant reminder of their guilt. Their limp Coach Raymond Domenech looked like a dejected graphic designer Thunderbird with his strings cut off, leaning forlornly on the dugout. Domenech never wanted to be there in the first place, his fans hate the sight of him and it looked like he was waiting for a sinkhole not unlike the one we saw in Guatemala to swallow him up.

He insisted on having Sidney Govou (AKA Will.I.Am) in the team, even though none of the other players did. He also insisted on eating his toe-nails, dressed as "If I Could Turn Back Time" Cher, and forcing the rest of the players to watch as he straddled a cannon. Sacre bleu! The highlight for me was outside the stadium when a clearly irate Zinedine Zidane, pulled on a Nacho Libre style wrestling mask and propelled himself forward , headbutting Domenech in the chest. Unlike the North Koreans, he is not their 'Dear Leader,' although maybe they can follow the Koreans lead by hiring a load of Chinese lads to be their cheering squad!

This was the first time the Mexicans have beaten France. The continuous Apocalypse Now style Nam flashbacks I have been experiencing ever since that faithful handball may have now been treated. Last night watching a team in a green jersey run strips around them cured my sleepless sweaty nights, so I can finally curl up comfortably in my Aran pyjamas.


ARANMAN MOMENT: It seems that a load of mini-skirted orange ladies have been arrested and ejected from the World Cup after they were found to be secretly promoting alcohol. Why all the fuss? It sounds like a normal Saturday night in Dublin.

Viva la Mexico!



IN OTHER ARANMAN NEWS:

Spanish goalkeeper Iker Casillas, coming off a shocking 1-0 loss to Switzerland, was already feeling bad enough. Then his girlfriend, TV sports reporter Sara Carbonero, conducted a live interview with him after the match.

Carbonero wanted to know how Casillas lost the match, by asking lovingly "How did you mess that up?"

A clearly miffed boyfriend Casillas answered: "I don't know what to say. I don't know if this defeat will have consequences. The dressing room is fed up."

But it may have been Carbonero's fault. Fans reckon her presence caused a distraction to the keeper. He was probably looking for a welcome break from staring at his defender's arses!

"The horror! The horror!"

And I am not referring to the state of my Aranman wear which has reduced me to looking like a fallout groupie from a Village People inspired Ceili band. My woollen pants are now more like lederhosen, but I have been slapping my head rather than my thighs in frustration. This is due in part to me sacrificing a number of my vital organs in exchange for Spain winning the World Cup. With no money to barter out here, I outrageously assumed the Spaniards were invincible, "Yeah, I can spare a kidney" Handshake. And, now I'm gonna be relegated to keeping a similar urinary body clock as Keith Richards from The Rolling Stones. Or am I a little premature?

SPAIN were beaten by SWITZERLAND 1-0 in a disastrous opening game. They have won 45 games out of their previous 48 and never lost against their group opponents, on that record I should have bet my woolly brain. The magnificent Fernando Torres only came on as a substitute and what the hell was he doing with his hair! We all know that the 'mullet of power' should have been uuntouched. His beautiful, inspiring, flowing bouncy-blonde barnet has been fecking sheared. I was unaware of such a barbaric barber's intervention until I saw him warming up on the sidelines before the game, several hours after my kidney bet. Just look how glorious he looked before the massacre, even dogs in his home country were inspired (pic top left) and now he is reduced to a short back and sides.

The power of the Mullet is here for all to see. Witness Maradonna's mane as he shuffles, gesticulates, prays and stalks the sidelines like a demented Tony Montana. "Say hello to my liddle friend," he screams as he points to his heroic hairpiece.

ARGENTINA hammered SOUTH KOREA 4-1 and who masterminded all the action on the pitch? Little Mullet headed Lionel Messi.

SOUTH AFRICA have had their World Cup dreams shattered by a Michael Bolton lookalike in the form of Diego Forlan. His little curly mullet-lite hair streaming behind as he celebrated two goals for URUGUAY to win 2-0.

NEVERMIND THE DRONE OF THE VUVUVULVA ...OR THE BLAH ABOUT THE BALL

BE AFRAID, BE VERY AFRAID...THE MULLET IS BACK.

Aranman's 'Anyone But The French' World Cup Diary: Post 6

DAY 5 and my splendid Aran jumper is beginning to unravel. This is not due to the eroding acid my sweating has produced on a daily basis. My woolly second skin is used to the changing climate of boiling heat during the day, and freezing cold in the night. My chameleon cardigan has been unraveling to fund my trip. Apart from the nominal payment I received from knitting the fancy grey polo-neck number adorning Brazil Manager Dunga in their first game, I have had to attack my Aran jumpsuit to construct some woollen ear plugs. I will have to stop before I am left with only aran short shorts. Not a good look on the dark streets JoBurg late at night. The sheep shaped ear protectors have been flying off the little stall I have been parading outside the stadiums.
The Vuvuzelas have been causing deafness all over the shop and as much as the FIFA committee attempt to encourage us to accept this "national pastime" as perfectly normal in South Africa. Organisers have blamed cheap vuvuzela products sold outside the stadiums and also us foreigners inability to play them. This sounds plausible until you check out the "professional player." I have taken the liberty to post a "Vuvuzela Orchestra" below. Listen and weep.



BEWARE: The news is that the wasp swarm could be on it's way to the Emerald Isle. Already tens of thousands have been sold in the UK. Christ.


PORTUGAL grinded out a poor goalless draw with the IVORY COAST. Ronaldo hit the post. That's about as exciting as it got. Although, I found it intriguing to see the Portugal world cup strip, which reminded me of the Castrol GTX colours, who also sponsor the world's most expensive footballer. A slick deal or an oily affair? Now, this video makes so much more sense:

Ronaldo v Bugatti Veyron:


NORTH KOREA v BRAZIL was hardly a nuclear affair but after some brazillian briliance the final score was 2-1. Not bad for a team that last appeared in the World Cup back in 1966. What made me laugh was the sign on the side of the North Korean team bus which reads "1966 again" remind you of anyone? Although, let's be fair the goal will bring great happiness to their "Dear Leader" Kim Jon Il will be pleased, which is nice cos he's been so ronery:

STILL no luck with my luggage. Was supposed to meet Tsotsi or is it Tootsie? I'll go with the former, I don't recall him looking like Susan Boyle. I was set to meet him in The Bacon Slicer pub in Johannesburg, until I found out that it was in District 9. The area is so bad they made a documentary about it last year. Major prawn problem I believe. So, like Renton in Trainspotting, "I chose life" which means that I have been relegated to catching the games on any screen I can get myself close to. This has involved befriending every home owner, public house patron, and television station within reach.

If you checked ITV HD's coverage of the England game you would have seen me sliding down the window Homer Simpson style as I attempted to view the game on their screens. Let's face it, you probably missed it as they probably dropped out to show some adverts.

I'm working my way to infiltrating the French camp and have also worked a plan to re-engage with the English.
I have taken to stuffing my ears with cotton wool because of the constant drone of the Vuvuzela. Beeping horns of heavy traffic. Swarms of raging killer bees. Ray Houghton is already losing his voice from roaring over the piercing din. Each stadium sounds like it is doubling as a Formula 1 race track. Although let's face it, England's goalkeeper Rob Green could have done with a pit-stop after his howler against the USA. However, the Americans are seeing the draw as a major victory.

If the front page of the New York Post (top left) is anything to go by, the Yanks are using the same delusion that allows them to call an American only Baseball tournament in their own country - 'The World Series.'

Here is my quick rundown on group results thus far. Although most were viewed with squinting eyes and wool filled ears:

GROUP A:

South Africa v Mexico: Class opening goal. Nice dance. 1-1.

France v Uruguay Henry last minute handball penalty appeal. Oh, the irony. Twat! 0-0.

GROUP B:

Argentina v Nigeria: Messi described the Nigerian keeper as a "phenomenon". FIFA are investigating a laser pointed at Messi. It should have been directed at Maradona's teeth. Wouldn't say it to his face though, with those cheap silver suits he is looking more and more like a Scarface extra. 1-0.

South Korea v Greece: SK now top the group after this display against weak Greeks. 2-0.

GROUP C:

England v USA: The new FIFA soccer ball ironically named “Jabulani” (“be happy”or “rejoice” in Zulu) was anything but for butterfingers goalkeeper Rob Green. Looks to me like he was channeling the Cardiff City v Arsenal Cup Final in 1927. It seems the goalkeeper for Cardiff, Tom Farquharson was believed to be a member of the I.R.A. (video below) and always "carried a rifle." After the game I'm sure Rob Green would have taken a shotgun himself to Jubulani.

As usual English post match pundits refuse to believe the limitations of their team. Once again the only honest appraisal came from Benjamin Button, The Cryptkeeper and the Scottish one. Video below.

Algeria v Slovenia:
Another Group C goalkeeping howler for Algeria. 1-0.

GROUP D:

Germany v Australia: The Germans tied the The Soccerpoos down to a 4-0 thrashing.

Useless Game Stat: Podolski's shot for first German goal came in at a blistering 82 mph. Surprised the keeper still has his right hand.

Serbia v Ghana: Ghana do a lap of honour winning 1-0.

Aranman's 'Anyone But The French' World Cup Diary

Fabio Capello gets a lapdance. Will he look as uncomfortable if England get hammered by the Yanks tonight? This is following on from the revelation that Capello has been secretly ushering pole-dancers into the England camp for "strengthening exercise tips." Ladies beware. An impromptu Rooney sexy goal-post grabbing celebration may on the cards tonight.



WAG UPDATE:

BINGO!

STEVEN Gerrard's gal Alex has found the perfect way to fight that embarrassing under-arm flab especially when giving the one finger salute to Paparrazi! She is the face and under-arm of the 'Shake Weight,' a product that promises to "blitz those bingo wings," by just shaking the fat off you. Surely a night sleeping outside in a hedge down the local park would suffice?

According to the Daily Mail, "The 27-year-old used to eat three McDonalds a week and said she would munch through a loaf of bread a day because she was bored." Watching the zeros tot up on your joint bank account must be mind-numbing Alex.

Have a butcher's at the "Shake Weight" in action. Apparently, there is a version available for men. Although, beer spillage has not been taken into account.



Aranman's quote of the day:

"a crook, a scoundrel and a shameless bastard."

The President of Brazilian football club Palmeiras on the referee for the England U.S.A. game. The ref says his hobby is reading, not his local press I hope!

A FOOTBALL fugitive on the run from the 'Special Squad' of the F.A.I. Aranman needed to disappear. After trawling his sweaty hands through the back of his settee and penning several pitiful begging letters to Entertainment.ie, he managed to claw together enough shekels to voluntarily exile his woolly frame to South Africa. Our cardigan correspondent will be wiring his 'World Cup Diary' direct from all the action. Whether embedded in the England camp or sabotaging the French, he will be providing all the behind-the-scenes news in this Blog over the course of the next month. Let's just hope his stitches don't unravel!

Opening Ceremony:

Have escaped from the Bafokeng Complex/England Camp hidden in a cargo box being used by the players to smuggle in lapdancers for the duration of the tournament The ladies have been teaching them pole strenghtening techniques and are transported in darkness because Capello is concerned about the English press. Caught a secret lesson and Emile Heskey has really taken to Private Dancer from Tina Turner.
Several cold showers and an eye scrubbing later I have managed to get away for the time being and report on the World Cup opening ceremony. This involved a Manimal style transformation as a leg on a giant dung beetle that pushes a football bigger than a King Kong testicle (keep an eye out for me on the telly later on I am the first leg on the left, can't miss me). The Soccer City Stadium in Johannesburg was full to capacity to celebrate the very first time that a tournament of this size has been held in this continent. I was very impressed with the huge amount of colour from the 'Rainbow Nation', kinda like how I imagine it would look after one of the Tweenies barfed up after eating a full 48 pack of crayola crayons. The colour was spectacular, although the music was taken to new levels by the unveiling of R "That's not me in that video"" Kelly dressed like some mad golden musical Pharaoh. I was hoping for some kind of Kelly interpretation of the World Cup through the medium of his infamous Hip Hopera - 'Trapped in the Closet', which featured the immortal line, "He as crazy as a fish with titties." An RK inspired opening could have had a Mini Midget World Cup 5-a-side with teams representing each nation. Commentators would have been forced to sing their lines. Pundits would be warbling operatically…"What's that you saaaayyyyy Johnnny Giles…that he had honesty of effffffoooorrttttt…I thought he was a clownnnnnnnnnnn….yeah!"
As I kept my balance hoisting up my beetle leg this musical interlude was followed by a wheeling out of local kids wielding cards that represented the countries competing. Just as a glint of strong sun caught my eye I could've sworn that I saw 'THIEVES' instead of France, but it was hard to see, could be wrong…ummm.

SPOTTED: Naomi Campbell. I think her trip is sponsored by Vodafone, or O2 or someone, cos she is just launching mobile phones at everyone!

Good News on my luggage. EI contacted to say I have to meet a guy in local bar 'The Bacon Slicer' before the Uruguay v France game. Fingers crossed.

Bad News: My ears are still ringing from the 'Vuvuzelas' trumpets that make every game like a bee sting to the drums.Aaaarrggghhhh!!!

Aranman,

A guy called Tootsie called the office and says he has your bags. Wants to meet you in a bar called "The Bacon Slicer" downtown at 6pm tonight.

The Office

A FOOTBALL fugitive on the run from the 'Special Squad' of the F.A.I. Aranman needed to disappear. After trawling his sweaty hands through the back of his settee and penning several pitiful begging letters to Entertainment.ie, he managed to claw together enough shekels to voluntarily exile his woolly frame to South Africa. Our cardigan correspondent will be wiring his 'World Cup Diary' direct from all the action. Whether embedded in the England camp or sabotaging the French, he will be providing all the behind-the-scenes news in this Blog over the course of the next month. Let's just hope his stitches don't unravel!

South African Post & Telegram Service
Johannesburg to:

Entertainment.ie
26 Great Strand Street
Dublin
Ireland

Have successfully infiltrated England Camp. -stop- Suitcase still not arrived. -stop- Managed to rob suspenders and heels from WAG luggage for a Top Secret inspired entrance. -stop- Looked like sheep hooker with Aran sweater on. -stop- Suspicion raised. -stop- Luckily Ashley Cole came straight for me. -stop- Managed to get this Telegram to front desk. -stop- Escaped as he went to get a Cheryl wig and THAT bullet dress from X-Factor. -stop- Will need to work out next move. -stop- Could be worse. -stop- I could be forced to listen to their Viva Englandia World Cup song from Bob off Emmerdale. -stop- Christ. -stop-

Aranman. -stop-

Bafokeng Royal Sports Palace Complex
Rustenburg
South Africa

A FOOTBALL fugitive on the run from the 'Special Squad' of the F.A.I., Aranman needed to disappear. After trawling his sweaty hands through the back of his settee and penning several pitiful begging letters to Entertainment.ie, he managed to claw together enough shekels to voluntarily exile his woolly frame to South Africa. Our cardigan correspondent will be wiring his 'World Cup Diary' direct from all the action. Whether embedded in the England camp or sabotaging the French, he will be providing all the behind-the-scenes news in this Blog over the course of the next month. Let's just hope his stitches don't unravel!
 
Entertainment.ie only stumped up enough money for Aranman's flight - to get him off our back. How he will survive for the full month is unknown. At roughly 3am last night we received his first report.
 
"I apologise in advance for the hurried nature of this report. I have been unable to secure definite accomodation for my first night's stay. And have spent the last two nights homeless. The Johannesburg airport staff were following me suspiciously after my arrival from London because they heard that an Irishman was attending the World Cup and could not work out why. The thick nature of my Aran underwear also drew suspicion and I was forced to remove it before boarding in London. They assure me that it will be sent over in separate transit. My sweater is still intact although it showed signs of strain after the eleven hour flight. Unlike Wayne Rooney, I don't like lying down on the floor of the plane in order to get to sleep. I just bring my 'Droning with Dunphy' meditation tape, "containing 101 of the best repetitive soccer remarks… from random fish themed outbursts like 'Ronaldo's a cod' to gems like 'Fat and a clown. A fat clown for all to see,' I soon hit the sack. Of course, Gilesy, Dunphy and Brady are refusing to take my calls and the connect I had set-up with Jimmy Magee turns out to be nothing more than a number for a sheep rehoming project. He Bóthar bolloxed me because I suggested an embalming course thrown in with their new RTE contract signings. 


Thankfully, I made friends with a lovely local lad called Tsotsi who helped to take my bags from me while he directed me towards a taxi pal of his. He was quite insistent that the car would not be able to take all my luggage, which was quite strange considering I only have two bags and it was a large Mercedes. Anyway, I'm sure he will turn up sometime tomorrow. I told him that I will be embedded with the England team at their training camp in Rustenberg.

However, it's not as easy as I first assumed to infiltrate the camp. My bruised and battered body is testament. The first attempt involved me climbing inside a wind sock (well I thought it was a wind sock) that was placed inside a bag heading to the hotel laundry. I found out later that it was Peter Crouch's kit bag and when it was placed in the searing sun out on the pitch I started to lose consciousness. It didn't help that Wayne Rooney missed a series of chances and decided to take his temper out on the bag. However, I'm not as aerodynamic as the new FIFA World Cup ball, so he had to boot me especially hard to get any momentum. 'F**k off, bag!' BANG! I bit my lip as hard as I could, but later on as I let out a series of hushed whimpers, I felt someone breeze up against the bag. 'It's okay little thing. Did you get caught in there,' came a hushed London accent as he stroked. I curled up like a hedgehog as he then preceded to mount the bag. It was Chelsea F.C.'s answer to Quagmire, ASHLEY F***ING COLE. I bit my fist, but luckily Capello whistled and called him off and he left.


I've fashioned a little hide out by the edge of the camp and will sleep here for another night. A dry hump from a twat will not stop Aranman. From what I heard today from other reporters the Wags should be arriving soon, I hope Tsotsi turns up with my bag. In it is my prized Aran Collection and a spare pair of heels, I'll need them if I'm gonna pull this off."

The full length version of Nike's "Write The Future" video ad.