And so we gathered in The White Horse expectantly, the proverbial triumph of hope over experience. Over forty of us communing over curry, beer and World Cup football. Already on the back foot after the first loss against Italy, nevertheless there were signs of promise amidst the usual weaknesses and failings. The food, drink and company were excellent, unfortunately the same could not be said of the match. We lost. We lost to Uruguay. To be more precise, we lost to Louis Suarez. I won't detail the many reasons why this is a particularly bitter pill to swallow (his past racial abusing of an opponent, his attempt to eat another player etc.), what really hurts is the Uruguayan was only 75% fit and yet managed to make our defence look like a group of disorganised pub footballers.
True to form, having given us a few moments of hope with a goal from Rooney, England blew it as Suarez (may he be hounded from stadium to stadium next season) smashed the ball past a flailing Joe Hart in the last few minutes, to remind us afresh that we really are people of sorrow and acquainted with grief.
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