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Quiet night; no trouble — thank God. Ledley King is in the team, and
Prince Wayne is up front; I can't wait. I think we'll win or draw tonight;
we just need a bit of luck to beat them. I hate to see our Wayne in a red
shirt, just doesn't look right. Have you seen his shirt in the Cola
adverts (Coca or Pepsi I don't know — £10M wasted in advertizing), makes
me shudder. I also hate all the speculation.
Goods news is that no-one is mentioning Joey Yobo — looks as though
we'll keep him. He is our other class player. I also rate
McFadden. Croatia v Switzerland? Two tricky teams, but I don't
think we are in the group of death. Croatia will edge it, one of the
Swiss centrebacks will be sent off for hand ball, and about time too.
Did you hear Jimmy Armfield on Five-Live talking about the ball? He
must have read Watto's Euro2004 fan's diary on ToffeeWeb! Why
Five-live? Why not a TV pundit? Erm I'm sorry but I saw the
match in Asda. Give and take. The wife's letting me go to
Portugal, so going shopping now and then is alright. Buying things
for Portugal. I now have a car flag. I wasn't going to have
one, but we have to do something against Political Correctness. In
England you should be able to fly your own flag.
The Greeks... "just there to make up the numbers," Oh dear!
Blue team deserved the win: nice strip. I thought Portugal were
really nervous; if their next game was against Spain, I think they would
be out. It takes something away from the competition if the hosts go
out too early, but means they won't need their tickets... Figo set
up the goal, but Ronaldo and Deco are their best 7 and 10. I would
drop Rui Costa or play him deeper.
In the post match interview, "That penalty wouldn't have been given at
Old Trafford" says Ronny the Giraffe, and then trips over the mike!
Remember Euro 2000 and Phil Neville? It was 2-2 and we were through,
then Phil hacks down a Romanian in the area. OK, Keegan's team (then
as well as now) were poor, but I swapped my Portugal v Turkey ticket with
Stefan for England v Italy. Turned out to be Romania v Italy.
I actually saw Phil Neville once, in the Trafford Centre. He had a
black eye: he deserved it.
The Spanish. They look OK. It was great to see a team
playing attacking football like they did. One of the good things
about this competition is the fact that everyone has to win, there is no
third place for the Scots to miss out on by goal difference. The ref
was poor: 8 yellows and 1 red. Did you see the defender move his arm
for the ball to hand non-penalty? Also I think it was Raul that
waved at the ball as it went over him from a cross, just before he came
off. The Leeds (we would have to be in a European leauge) fans know
all about him. The other guy patted the ball into the net.
Spain could light up the tournament, but I wish they wouldn't cheat.
Our new man Big Bulykin didn't really set the game alight fro Russia.
Smertin had a good game, but the guy looks out of place; he looks like a
hermit that has been living in a cave for about 20 years. Group A is
wide open, my game in Faro, Poccna v the Greeks isn't dead. Still no
confirmation e.mail from Ticketmaster or Uefa... I will write today.
Meanwhile, my story continues...
It is now the end of October 2003. Stefan e.mails me, "Have you
got your tickets yet?" His wife says we can stay at her dad's house.
I have a look; there are still tickets. I pick my stadia.
Porto on 18th; Lisbon Luz on 21st; and Braga on 23rd. In Esperanto
that is C4-C1, B3-B1 and D4-D2. Portugal are A1, England will be x2.
Do not hit any key, your application is being processed. MI5, MI6, KGB,
Interpol, CIA, the Feds, Special branch each take a couple of minutes to
check me out.
At this point, I must explain why there may be two black marks against
my name. Firstly, Man Utd v Sheff Wed, League Cup Semi 1st Leg at
Old Trafford. Nilsson gets injured, Giggs skips past him and scores,
1-0. I wander past the shop, and there is a commotion.
Something inside me says, walk over, stop the fight and calm things down.
From whence that thought came, I do not know. I approach a
red-shirted gentleman and a red-faced Yorkshireman, they are both
shouting.
"Wait 'til you come to Sheffield," quoth the ruddy-faced youth.
"You are a big Yorkshire sausage," said he of the red shirt.
With that retort the argument was settled. These are the exact
words.
Second and far more serious: my nephew. We were on the front row
of the Top Balcony, below were probably millionaires, gangsters, maybe
Sven or Pele. Numbered amongst the great and good were a few
gentleman sporting Zinedine Zidane's latest coiffure. Too much for a
ten year old. At that age I could outdo any statto. My nephew
was in another heaven. Even though we had won 5-0, he was spitting
at the big shots below. Aiming for a baldy bull's-eye on someone's
ZZtop.
Still checking after fifteen minutes. I can't do it, I must hit a
key. That feels better. Application processed.
Application processed. I write to Uefa in my best English: please
cancel my duplicate application and retain the original. I get a
confirmation from Uefa. Stefan is married to a Portuguese gal, so
maybe I'll get into a few A1s. D2 in Braga is my only chance.
The draw takes place... I have no idea what I have got.
Paul Watson
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