Spain 1-0 Portugal, or: Why I Don’t Like Spain

Posted: June 29, 2010 in World Cup
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Fuck off, Spain.

Your sense of entitlement might be justified but you’re still a bunch of precious twats. Don’t think that just because you make 5000 passes a game with a 99.999% completion rate that I’m not watching you, that I’ve not noticed how you commit a foul every time you give the ball away with teammates up the pitch. And not dirty fouls in the literal sense of the word; cynical little trips or blocks, low-grade fouls that will never earn you a booking in a million years, which is why you got your first yellow card in 4 games tonight. Of course the wider public is too busy circle-jerking over Xavi passing the ball four yards to an open team mate for the nth time, but there’s nothing much I can do about that.

You’re not exciting to watch. You’re actually quite boring. You’re only interesting when you’re not winning. As soon as you go a goal ahead, all pretense of trying to force another goes straight out the window in favour of more tippy-tappying on the halfway line and around the back four, only pushing forward when the opposition get so fucked off that they commit themselves up the pitch trying to murder you. Sure this might be sensible play, but does that mean I have to enjoy it? Well? Does it?

I also hate the fact your style of football means you can get away with playing four central midfielders because under no circumstances do you ever have someone performing a traditional winger’s role. Unless it’s David Villa.

And I also hate your la-de-da snobbery when it comes to goal-kicks, free-kicks and corners. Why hit the ball into the box when a four-yard pass to an open man will do? Penalties must drive you up the wall, having to take a direct shot on goal rather than play a four-yard pass to an open man. Seriously what do you guys do when you’re at home. Do you sit at the breakfast table with your wives and children passing them the cornflakes, and the milk, and the orange juice, and the spoon, like some never-ending game of rapid-fire pass the parcel? Well? What would happen if someone put you in a toilet cubicle with a football, presumably you’d explode from delight at never being able to hit it further than 30 centimetres.

Well, you’re not fooling me. You can all fuck off.

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