‘It’s not the winning it’s the taking part that counts.’ Yeah right!
Iran 1, Mexico 3, Shirin and Kamyar £10 poorer.
Ok the first half was good. It was really good in fact. They were playing so well, weren’t they? They were fast on their feet and passed the ball around really nicely and altogether it really looked like they were playing a much better game than the Mexicans. But then the second half came and [blogger blows raspberry]. Well we all know what happened then, don’t we?
It looked as though during the halftime our team had indulged themselves in a three course meal of Mast-o khiar and then Chelokabab with doogheh mabsoot followed by a big bowl of Sholeh zard and a ghalyoon while the other team had been injected with large quantities of Red Bull and Lucozade, while someone shoved bags of coke up their nostrils!
What happened to our boys? Well I say boys but you know…most of them are knocking on a bit aren’t they? They just couldn’t be bothered or simply couldn’t play anymore. They were all just hanging around by their own goal probably thinking, ‘Oh don’t pass that to me. What am I gonna do with it…Shit, the Mexican got it again. Oh well never mind.’
At times it was even painful to watch. When that poor goalie was trying to get them to go back a bit so he could pass the ball to them on the other side of the pitch, you could see they were taking a few steps back going, ‘Is this ok?’ then he would be like, ‘No back, back.’ and motioning them to go back with his hand and you could tell they were all like, ‘Uhhhh, do I have to? But then I’ll just have to run all the way back again, don’t I? What’s the point?’
Well it’s not the players’ fault I guess. Some of them are well past their sell-by date and should really be left alone to sit in their cardigans and comfy slippers and watch the game from the comfort of their homes, rather than play in it.
Let them go for crying out loud before one of them ends up having a heart attack on the pitch!
But seriously what is this fascination we have with old footballers? I guarantee you, Ali Parvin would still be playing too if only his belly was a little bit smaller. And I have my suspicions the only reason that poor guy had to go and make such a huge belly for himself is because there really was no other way for him to get out of playing football until he was well into his nineties.
Isn’t it about time we stopped treating our footballers like pickled garlic? Baba, be peer, be peyghambar, be ee sooyeh cheraagh, [swearing to this and that] up until his mid twenties, like pickled garlic, a footballer might get better with age but from then on it’s all downhill for the footballer whereas pickled garlic not only tastes better, but I have a feeling it might play a better football as well.
Well there’s no point crying over spilt milk but what can I do, I’m truly disappointed.