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IRISHMAN OF THE PEOPLE: Portuguese men war bring Becks to his knees.

Byline: STEPHEN MAGUIRE

OF ALL the penalty spots on all the football pitches in all the world, Becks had to pick one that was wobblier than Jordan carrying a bowl of jelly.

In years to come we'll tell our children exactly where we were when the world's greatest soccer icon fecked up.

And make no mistake about it, the man who gets paid more money than the average country's national debt fecked up monumentally.

Across Ireland, life as we know it came to a standstill.

Farmers stopped cutting their silage, women stopped washing dishes, bank officials stopped fiddling and car salesmen stopped lying.

Because like it or not, next to rooting for Brian Kerr or Lawrie Sanchez and the boys we love Sven's boys.

We come out with stupid lines like: "Sure don't we watch them in the Premiership every week, why shouldn't we support them. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't."

And that's great when they're doing well.

But when they come a cropper the boot is on the other foot and we turn into Sven bashers.

"English feckers. I'm delighted they got beaten. Could you imagined what we'd have had to listen to if they'd won?"

Yes when it comes to the England soccer team, we're as mixed up as Shirley Temple-Bar on her brother's stag night.

We know we hate them but we know it's wrong because we scream for them and at them every week.

We hate the way they think they invented the game and keep playing recording of the time they fluked the World Cup in 66.

Lads that was 40 bleedin' years ago - almost before Wayne Rooney's dad was born.

And we just hate their two-faced commentators.

You can say what you like about George Hamilton (and I've said a lot) but at least he says Ireland are crap when they are.

But John Motson, Joe Royal and Ian Wright were only short of organising a hanging party for the referee.

How dare he give a decision against England- especially when Portugal were all over them like a rash?

One thing's for certain however, and that's that it won't be the same without Becks and the lads.

It won't be the same without Wayne Rooney and wondering how such an ugly man could be such a beautiful footballer.

It won't be the same not seeing Sol Campbell and visualising him as a member of the black Village People - moustache and all.

It won't be the same wondering what the f*** possessed Beckham to have two wings tattooed onto the back of his neck.

Maybe it was Victoria's idea to remind him about not messing with any more birds.

Whatever the reason, he still looks like a turkey to me.

And while I'm bashing Becks, who made him God all of a sudden when it was he who had the worst championship of all?

Why was he consoling Darius 'Vaseline' after his penalty miss when it was the Great Becks who made a bigger arse of himself than anyone else?

When it comes to deflecting attention from himself Beckham is better at it than a roomful of mirrors.

If Euro 2004 was a guide to the world's top players then Becks would be starting for Colchester next season.

And it certainly won't be the same looking into the England dugout, wondering what the hell Ulrika Johnnson sees in a man with less sex appeal than a street lamp.

Or why Sammy Lee insists on wearing surgical gloves during games.

It's missing these little things, and not England's superb brand of football, which will make the rest of the championships a bore.

But I always hated those English shaggers anyway - couldn't kick snow off a rope.

We'd never have heard the bleedin' end of it.
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Title Annotation:Features
Publication:The People (London, England)
Date:Jun 27, 2004
Words:631
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