A World Cup Final

Where did I watch the match? Swansea Cricket Club. Come on, the crickets!


I got there and people were playing pool. He's no Earl Strickland.


Where was everyone else? Surely a pub should be overflowing with people when the World Cup Final is on? Was it a lock in? Had the zombies finally taken control? Did I need to go home to get my shotgun and vest?


Complete madness.


Game, set and match?


No.


The white ball got stick in the table, so they called it a draw. Whatever happened to the desire to win? No wonder England didn't win the World Cup.


I sat down with a bottle of Coke. How much? £1.20. Ridiculous, but delicious.


The game kicked off and within a minute Henry went down injured.


By sheer luck I managed to capture a picture of a wormhole through time and space. They are quite rare, you know?


France got a penalty and I said to my friends "Zidane is either going to chip this off the bar or run somebody down with his head".


I was right, he chipped it.


Borland was upset, because he hates the French. He won't even drink French water or marry a Frenchman.


Cheer up, Borland, Italy have equalised.


Keir bought a packet of prawn cocktail crisps. It takes a brave man to eat prawn flavoured crisps in public when he doesn't have his toothbrush, but he's never been one to play by the rules.


Half time came, so I played pool. The white ball was still stuck, so a woman of the bar opened it up and let us play for free.


She left the keys with us in case the ball got stuck again, so we played again for free. Was she a bloody idiot or a nice person? I like to think of her as a bloody nice person, but I've got no regrets about informing her employers and getting her sacked. You can't run a business like that.


The second half arrived as planned, but it wasn't as good as the first. Zidane hurt his shoulder and looked like he was going to go off. This was no good, how would he push someone over with his head if he was taken off? Come on Zizou, you don't need your shoulder to headbutt someone.


Many of the French fans out their hands over their mouths and heads. Would he play on? The answer is yes.


Libby attempted to cover up the hole in her jeans by using bottle labels. A very good short term solution, but she's never been one for planning for the future. It'll be her downfall, especially when that house built of straw and built on sand finally comes tumbling down.


Extra time came and then it happened. Red Card for Zidane, but why?


Could it be? Yes, yes it could. The stuff of dreams, the one thing this World Cup has been missing, a headbutt to the chest. I have no idea why he didn't grab the trophy and run when he walked past it. He certainly deserved it.


Even with 10 men, France were still the only side that looked like doing anything. Sadly Italy had been playing for penalties since before half of the team had even been born. Pirlo took Italy's first penalty and Barthez decided to go back to his eccentric ways by kneeling in front of the post with his back to the ball. What was he thinking? It was worth a try, I guess.


He didn't learn from his mistake for Materazzi's penalty and did the exact same thing. If there's one thing he lacks it isn't consistency.


Trezeguet had missed his, so Grosso needed to score his to ensure an Italian victory.


His face was emotionless and his eyes were like that of a shark. Could a shark score the winning penalty in the 2006 World Cup final?


Yes.


Finally Barthez decided to face the right way, but it was too little too late. Those filthy Italians had stolen it.


Before I knew it, I was at Libby's watching a game of chess. I do not know how to play chess and I have no desire to learn. Only criminal masterminds play chess. And I am just a two-bit goon for hire.


Richard won by scoring something called a checkmate.


Hunger struck, so we decided to get some curries. The national dish of India. We used a car to collect the curries. The national transport of Wales.


Behold, Killay Tandoori and all its glory.


I saw an impressive beer mat, was it a Julian Beever one? I don't know, but you should look at Julian Beever's web site. It's good.


Borland read a newspaper. I can't say which one, because I honestly can't remember. He's reading a story about Kate Bosworth having some sort of sex with some sort of person. The owner of the restaurant came over and shook my hand. I didn't tell him, but he had the softest hands I have ever seen. It was like shaking hands with a breast.


With six out of the seven curries in hand, we went back to Libby's. Please note the very camp way that Richard is holding his cutlery. He says he has to, otherwise his elbows will touch the table and that's bad manners. If you can't put your elbows on your friend's table, then I don't want to be alive anymore.


Urgh, look at my Korma. It looked like custard and tasted like badness. It made me feel very ill.


After eating, we watched Cars on dvd. The less said about that the better.