Legal disclaimer: the characters and situations in today’s blogpost may be fictional. If you feel otherwise, do let me know. It very well maybe the consequence of incessant TV viewing over the last 30 days. Football virgins are welcome to read my blog, but no queries of any kind will be entertained - sorry, the game starts in a few hours. More terrible and irrelevant stuff available on www.omnikarma.blogspot.com
It is July 10, 2068. We are inside St Pearly’s gastro Pub near the Pearly Gates of Heaven. It is the 50th anniversary celebration of the 2018 WC from Russia. Fans that lived to witness footballing history from Moscow and other Russian cities as of course on the (now defunct) internet and on (now completely extinct) television broadcasts have died and reached footballing heaven. This elite community is currently crowded around the massive sports bar area. The large screens around the watering hole are showing highlights from the now epic France vs. Belgium semi-finals from WC 2018. A guy that looks like Pootin (now I can’t say the actual names, right) is sharing his bowl of peanuts with a Mayrkayl lookalike. Maybe he is chatting her up. A fair sprinkling of Brazilian, German and Spanish jerseys in the crowd - they are all trying to chat up a couple of blondes from, Gothenburg, of course. But the biggest cheers and noise are coming from the dozens of French and Belgian supporters. Barpeople (it is illegal to describe them otherwise) are handing out copious amounts of Jupiter beer and Pouilly Fuse to the thirsty crowd. The highlights package is in French - of course Flemish (yes, language spoken in the 20th century in one half of Belgium) is understood by fewer than 100,000 people currently and has been officially outlawed by the Belgian five party coalition. So we stick to French. Just for this game, though.
The game kicks off with the Les Bleus fielding a lone striker Giroud playing centrally matching the opposite number Lukaku. I order my first Kingfisher beer as the Frenchie next to me explains why Deschamps had made a big mistake by not starting with two real strikers upfront. He is also furious at the Belgian assistant coach Thiery Henry (member of the French team that won the WC in 1998. I nod in agreement as I turn my attention back to the screen. Both teams are holding onto possession in the first twenty minutes - mainly consisting of the Belgian back four exchanging side passes and backpasses - leading to massive cat calls and whistles from the huge French crowd - they are outnumbering the Belgian supporters at St.Pete by a margin of 5:1. There is even a large banner in the crowd that is showing solidarity to the 13 Thai boys and their coach who were rescued from a cave near Pattaya beach earlier in the day. Word is that the FIFA have invited the 13 to watch the finals in Moscow. The Belgian supporters at the pub are singing as if they have already won the Cup. Fair enough - they have never progressed this far in previous editions.
A Gary Linekar lookalike sitting across the bar is looking glum as he downs his third pint. ‘It ain’t coming home’, says Mr Linekar. I whisper under my breath - ‘yep, not since 1966 - mate’.
Eden Hazard has just been brought down by Pogba on the left side line and immediately gets a ticking off from the referee. The resultant free kick is brilliantly saved by the Spurs and France keeper Hugo Lloris and rolls away for a corner kick. A spray of fine Champagne lands on my head as the French have taken up on the Brits in ‘Spray it up’ celebrations. Mr. Linekar wakes up from his slumber as he throws up his pint and joins in the festivities. Much of the dark ale lands on the Pootinisque Russian chatting up the German. Two very fine Amazonian bouncers (remember we are in 2068 !!) with their Fitness First muscle tees arrive out of nowhere just as Kevin De Bruyne places the ball in place near the corner flag. Mr. Linekar gets a massive reprimand from the taller of the two bouncers. And calm prevails in the universe.
What ? Belgium have just scored as Vertonghen’s header off the corner lands on the roof of the French net. Replays show it actually went off Raphael Varane’s head - but the goal stands. The Red Devils go into the break with a 1-0 lead. Deschamps is shaking his head in disbelief. So are the dozens of Frenchies in the bar. ‘Off side. Not off side’. I head to the loo as I do not want to partake in this banality. The queue at the unisex loo is longer than the one for drinks. A dark Brazilian woman next to me thinks the Latinos deserved to be in the semis. I nod my head indicating my strong agreement to her amazing observation. The six footer German guy next to me brings up the topic of 2014. I ignore him and continue my ‘by Now - private’ conversation with the Brazilian.
The barperson has replaced the Jupiter keg for the 5th time this evening as the Belgians are soaking it up. A big chubby Belgian from Antwerp is buying drinks for the entire house - the French oblige and raise a toast for the Croats to beat the English the following day. One inebriate Frenchman has ordered a round of Kronebourg 1664 as a gesture of quid pro quo. ‘c'est la meilleure bière française’ says the Frenchie. But there are very few takers as the second half kicks off.
France are now playing with two upfront - Griezmann and Giroud, with Mbappe playing in a more attacking role centrally. The Belgian back four are continuing to stay strong as Vertonghen, Kompally, Vermalen and Alderweld continue to frustrate the French trio poaching into the Belgian half. It is the 70th minute and the clock is ticking down. The French in the bar have stopped their choruses much to the relief of the rest of us. The Pootin is cosying upto the Markayl. They are certainly not discussing the football on the screens. Russian rock bands, maybe ? (Mathew Mathew Jacob - Pussy Riot maybe ?)
The supporters in red, blue and white let out a huge roar as an aerial ball from Pogba from the centre of the pitch is received by Giroud but he is brought to the ground by Kompany who has pulled him down in the Belgian box. The referee points to the spot and Kompany gets a yellow card. Griezmann scores his fourth of the tournament of a well taken penalty kick as Courtois goes the wrong way to the left. ‘Game on’, a way cry is let out by a number of us fans. The Belgians have ordered more refills as the French are still cuddling to their Pouilly Fumes and Fuses. The tray of Kronenbourg 1664 has few takers, still.
We are on to the last 3 minutes of regular time. The Belgians are going all out to finish the game in normal time. De Bruyne, Hazard and Lukaku have all tested Lloris multiple times this evening but the score stands at 1-1. Kompany and Vertonghen trade passes with each other but the French are pushing them back to the touch line.
Oh no !! What just happened. Kompany’s back pass to Courtois is weak as Pogba latches onto the ball and provides a brilliant side pass to Mbappe who is 1:1 with Courtois. He deftly chips the ball above the Belgian keeper and into the empty net. The Belgians are furious especially their coach Martinez. No offside says the linesman. VAR also confirms the decision and the French march into the finals. Where the Croats or the English await.
The Belgians in the pub cant believe it. They order more beer in anticipation of a second Belgian goal. The humor is not lost as the sole Dutchman in the bar is paying for this round. The froth in the Kronenbourg 1664 looks like it came from 1964. Pootin has left the bar. The Brazilian tells me - he did leave with the German. Mr Linekar is chatting up the bar person only to be handed over his bill for his 7th pint. And some loose change, of course.
The final whistle goes off as Deschamps jumps into the arms of his assistant. The Belgian camp is distraught as Thiery Henry is ruing his decision to have become the ‘enemy of the French nation’. The entire French team is on the pitch as the Belgians sink to the ground. Martinez is consoling De Bruyne who is weeping inconsolably.
I pay for my drinks and head out of St Pearly’s pub. It was one of the best World Cup games of the 2018 edition. One that I thoroughly enjoyed with me footie army.
Neil George
It is July 10, 2068. We are inside St Pearly’s gastro Pub near the Pearly Gates of Heaven. It is the 50th anniversary celebration of the 2018 WC from Russia. Fans that lived to witness footballing history from Moscow and other Russian cities as of course on the (now defunct) internet and on (now completely extinct) television broadcasts have died and reached footballing heaven. This elite community is currently crowded around the massive sports bar area. The large screens around the watering hole are showing highlights from the now epic France vs. Belgium semi-finals from WC 2018. A guy that looks like Pootin (now I can’t say the actual names, right) is sharing his bowl of peanuts with a Mayrkayl lookalike. Maybe he is chatting her up. A fair sprinkling of Brazilian, German and Spanish jerseys in the crowd - they are all trying to chat up a couple of blondes from, Gothenburg, of course. But the biggest cheers and noise are coming from the dozens of French and Belgian supporters. Barpeople (it is illegal to describe them otherwise) are handing out copious amounts of Jupiter beer and Pouilly Fuse to the thirsty crowd. The highlights package is in French - of course Flemish (yes, language spoken in the 20th century in one half of Belgium) is understood by fewer than 100,000 people currently and has been officially outlawed by the Belgian five party coalition. So we stick to French. Just for this game, though.
The game kicks off with the Les Bleus fielding a lone striker Giroud playing centrally matching the opposite number Lukaku. I order my first Kingfisher beer as the Frenchie next to me explains why Deschamps had made a big mistake by not starting with two real strikers upfront. He is also furious at the Belgian assistant coach Thiery Henry (member of the French team that won the WC in 1998. I nod in agreement as I turn my attention back to the screen. Both teams are holding onto possession in the first twenty minutes - mainly consisting of the Belgian back four exchanging side passes and backpasses - leading to massive cat calls and whistles from the huge French crowd - they are outnumbering the Belgian supporters at St.Pete by a margin of 5:1. There is even a large banner in the crowd that is showing solidarity to the 13 Thai boys and their coach who were rescued from a cave near Pattaya beach earlier in the day. Word is that the FIFA have invited the 13 to watch the finals in Moscow. The Belgian supporters at the pub are singing as if they have already won the Cup. Fair enough - they have never progressed this far in previous editions.
A Gary Linekar lookalike sitting across the bar is looking glum as he downs his third pint. ‘It ain’t coming home’, says Mr Linekar. I whisper under my breath - ‘yep, not since 1966 - mate’.
Eden Hazard has just been brought down by Pogba on the left side line and immediately gets a ticking off from the referee. The resultant free kick is brilliantly saved by the Spurs and France keeper Hugo Lloris and rolls away for a corner kick. A spray of fine Champagne lands on my head as the French have taken up on the Brits in ‘Spray it up’ celebrations. Mr. Linekar wakes up from his slumber as he throws up his pint and joins in the festivities. Much of the dark ale lands on the Pootinisque Russian chatting up the German. Two very fine Amazonian bouncers (remember we are in 2068 !!) with their Fitness First muscle tees arrive out of nowhere just as Kevin De Bruyne places the ball in place near the corner flag. Mr. Linekar gets a massive reprimand from the taller of the two bouncers. And calm prevails in the universe.
What ? Belgium have just scored as Vertonghen’s header off the corner lands on the roof of the French net. Replays show it actually went off Raphael Varane’s head - but the goal stands. The Red Devils go into the break with a 1-0 lead. Deschamps is shaking his head in disbelief. So are the dozens of Frenchies in the bar. ‘Off side. Not off side’. I head to the loo as I do not want to partake in this banality. The queue at the unisex loo is longer than the one for drinks. A dark Brazilian woman next to me thinks the Latinos deserved to be in the semis. I nod my head indicating my strong agreement to her amazing observation. The six footer German guy next to me brings up the topic of 2014. I ignore him and continue my ‘by Now - private’ conversation with the Brazilian.
The barperson has replaced the Jupiter keg for the 5th time this evening as the Belgians are soaking it up. A big chubby Belgian from Antwerp is buying drinks for the entire house - the French oblige and raise a toast for the Croats to beat the English the following day. One inebriate Frenchman has ordered a round of Kronebourg 1664 as a gesture of quid pro quo. ‘c'est la meilleure bière française’ says the Frenchie. But there are very few takers as the second half kicks off.
France are now playing with two upfront - Griezmann and Giroud, with Mbappe playing in a more attacking role centrally. The Belgian back four are continuing to stay strong as Vertonghen, Kompally, Vermalen and Alderweld continue to frustrate the French trio poaching into the Belgian half. It is the 70th minute and the clock is ticking down. The French in the bar have stopped their choruses much to the relief of the rest of us. The Pootin is cosying upto the Markayl. They are certainly not discussing the football on the screens. Russian rock bands, maybe ? (Mathew Mathew Jacob - Pussy Riot maybe ?)
The supporters in red, blue and white let out a huge roar as an aerial ball from Pogba from the centre of the pitch is received by Giroud but he is brought to the ground by Kompany who has pulled him down in the Belgian box. The referee points to the spot and Kompany gets a yellow card. Griezmann scores his fourth of the tournament of a well taken penalty kick as Courtois goes the wrong way to the left. ‘Game on’, a way cry is let out by a number of us fans. The Belgians have ordered more refills as the French are still cuddling to their Pouilly Fumes and Fuses. The tray of Kronenbourg 1664 has few takers, still.
We are on to the last 3 minutes of regular time. The Belgians are going all out to finish the game in normal time. De Bruyne, Hazard and Lukaku have all tested Lloris multiple times this evening but the score stands at 1-1. Kompany and Vertonghen trade passes with each other but the French are pushing them back to the touch line.
Oh no !! What just happened. Kompany’s back pass to Courtois is weak as Pogba latches onto the ball and provides a brilliant side pass to Mbappe who is 1:1 with Courtois. He deftly chips the ball above the Belgian keeper and into the empty net. The Belgians are furious especially their coach Martinez. No offside says the linesman. VAR also confirms the decision and the French march into the finals. Where the Croats or the English await.
The Belgians in the pub cant believe it. They order more beer in anticipation of a second Belgian goal. The humor is not lost as the sole Dutchman in the bar is paying for this round. The froth in the Kronenbourg 1664 looks like it came from 1964. Pootin has left the bar. The Brazilian tells me - he did leave with the German. Mr Linekar is chatting up the bar person only to be handed over his bill for his 7th pint. And some loose change, of course.
The final whistle goes off as Deschamps jumps into the arms of his assistant. The Belgian camp is distraught as Thiery Henry is ruing his decision to have become the ‘enemy of the French nation’. The entire French team is on the pitch as the Belgians sink to the ground. Martinez is consoling De Bruyne who is weeping inconsolably.
I pay for my drinks and head out of St Pearly’s pub. It was one of the best World Cup games of the 2018 edition. One that I thoroughly enjoyed with me footie army.
Neil George
