I'M SICK OVER THE MOON!

I’m gutted. Sick as a parrot. But over the moon as well.

The tactics were sorted – 7 5 5 (or five to eight), the time I was due to meet my buddy in a pub to watch the Croatia v England game. The line-up was settled – a steady pint of Guinness and then a coffee or soft drink, because I was driving (the nearest Setanta pub was several miles away). The nerves were well under control. The kick-off was still a few hours away.

Then Mrs N dropped the bombshell: she wanted the car, she had told me some time ago she wanted the car on Wednesday night, and there was no way round it. And suddenly I remembered the one reason that had eluded me when we decided to become a one-car couple.

BUGGER AND SHIT!

Obviously, I made the best of a bad job. I brought in the DAB radio as substitute, changed the line-up to several cans of Ruddles (silver lining and all that), and swopped my seat for a luxury recliner in my very own executive box.

I like radio. But for sport it just ain’t quite there. I cheered like hell when Theo Walcott set us on our way to a fabulous victory, I whooped at his second, I shouted joyously for Rooney’s goal, I frightened a returning Mrs N as I screeched for Theo’s hat-trick. But I couldn’t wait to see the action on TV.

I had both my downstairs tellies going for the ten o’clock news, so I could watch the goals on ITV and BBC. And I was very tempted to stay up for Setanta’s free rerun at some ungodly hour this morning. But the whole experience had left me shattered.

I already have the car booked for England’s next away game and my letter written to the FA. Asking why the greedy bastards sold their souls to a TV operator that has just a couple more subscribers than Princes Risborough Reserves have fans.

Lunacy. All England/Scotland/Wales/Ireland games (of whatever sport) should be among the sporting ‘crown jewels’ guarded by legislation. I certainly ain’t putting any money in the pocket of Mr Setanta, any more than I would dream of giving cash to Sky and Rupert Murdoch. Robber barons all. The bastards.