I'm sat here as we speak watching my new national side Brazil vs Croatia. There are sparks of classic Brazil and I'm enjoying this much more than the France vs Switzerland match this afternoon which was so gripping that despite it being 6pm both my landlord and I fell asleep for the second half. Mind you there were exceptions to the 'classic'tag for Brazil ie Ronaldo who at one point was so lesiurely that at one point I thought he had taken his dog for a walk. I mean even with my fat hairy arse I move about a bit more than he did. And even though I still feel that Ronaldinho resembles Dwayne Dibbly he has been playing like the ball is glued to his feet and even my bag hiding (childish) ;) colleagues could forgive him the beating of the Arsenal in the european cup final... possibly not as he's sooooo petty (You know who you are). Is it the law to take hot looking women with you when Brazil play? If so why do we only have the rule to take a load of fat beered up men in red shirts and number one skinhead haircuts? Is this why we came second to the Romans? ("vos es non sono anymore) Woo hoo Brazil 1-0. Much better than the boooooring England 1-0, and the boooooring Holland 1-0 etc etc. I was wondering the other day what happened to all those great players that stuck in my mind as a small child as I watched them in the '78 and '82 world cups. Players like Jarzinho, Socrates, Falcao and Junior? I wonder if Junior named his children after himself? Would he then have become Junior Senior and his boy Junior Junior? It's a pity that the only memories of Pele playing that I have are the odd fragments of the occasional bits of footage played by World Of Sport when the British league was off due to the weather. Yes kids there was a time when no pitch had the undersoil heating. Imagine how the people who brought it over from more advanced countries must have seemed like the first caveman to discover fire and bring it back to the ancient chairmen. The pioneers of the technology would have been burnt at the stake for heresy until an underground movement formed until one day there was no longer a need to get the orange ball out and play on a permafrost pitch ... Unless you went to my school where the PE teachers would take great delight in such punishments. It's no wonder that other countries are much better than us a sports, the Brazilians with their beaches and or hot weather and fantastic looking women (if the crowd shots are to be believed), the Germans with their acadamies and excellent footballers like Beckenbaur, or the Italians with their stylish women and "one nil up we'll stay there grazie" style of play. Then there's us with sadistic PE teachers, one week of sunshine a year, fat blokes who run around in a sunday league team having trained in the pub and kebab house.
Onto the music Firstly we have an ACDC album which takes me back to the early days of getting drunk on Southern Comfort, super strong home brew and throwing 'Bombay mix' about. For those of you who don't know what that is it's basically lots of bits of crisp like things, peanuts and lots of curry powder. It was probably invented in somewhere nondescript like Peterborough or Basingstoke and Indians have probably never heard of it and would spit it out if offered to them saying "what the hell is this crap you are giving me?" (just imagine that I typed
that in an Indian accent). Anyway this album was played on video in surround sound by Barry whose dad owned the pub. All the other music was not suitable as he had it on vinyl and kept jumping whilst we 'danced' as the party was in a large caravan/mobile home in the back garden and 20 guests will do that to a record player. Excellent memories as I went home after being kept awake by Gavin who stayed up all night talking about Werewolves ... that would teach us to spike a teetotal's drink with the half bottle of Southern Comfort I hadn't drunk. I went home on Sunday morning after vacuuming up the bombay mix fell asleep for a few hours and re awoke to silence so thinking it was Monday started having Kellog's Frosties to be told that my dinner was in the oven. I'm suprised I remember anything at all, I certainly can't remember the name of the girl who treated us to a lap dance. Ahhh the fall of western civilization you can't beat it. Then we have a compilation of New Wave and Punk ahh that takes me back to about three weeks ago when I bought it. It was a lovely bus journey on a hot day at the start of peanut smuggling season, which is a reason for happiness in my sad little life.
http://www.badongo.com/file/866080 New Wave Explosion pt 2