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Posts Tagged ‘World Cup’

You Have To Hand It To Him!

You Have To Hand It To Him!

Azteca Stadium – Mexico City, Mexico- 1986

He was small,  stocky and had a lovely mop of hair. He had it all. And he did it in tiny, shiny shorts. He was Diego Armando Maradona.

England. Sturdy. Yeomen. Thick.

It was a clash. Not only of cultures and values but also hairstyles. England still trimmed by Mum; Argentina mulleted bandoleros. Boy, did they give the volumizer a bashing at half-time.

A war had divided the two nations. But one thing united both teams. Exceptionally tiny, shiny shorts.

As Peter Reid, the doughty Liverpudlian midfield enforcer, said about Maradona, “I just couldn’t get near him, me shorts had cut of the blood supply to me knackers. I can’t have no kids ‘coz of dem shorts laa.”

England could not cope with the titchy Buenos Aires Barrio boy. Diego was that good. But he was also a cheat. A cheat who drew inspiration from God.

THE HAND OF GOD.


As these photos display the infamous first goal, when he punched the chicken into the net over the head of English goalkeep, the perma-permed Shilts to put his Tangoing team ahead.

From a different angle the chicken looks suspiciously like a boiled ham. If that doesn’t scream Ham Ball we don’t know what does.

You’ve Got To Ham It To Him!

We'd Get Him In The End!

We’d Get Him In The End!

The result? Argentina won the game and went on to lift the World Cup of Footbally Bally.

Shiny shorts are still banned in England to this day.

Diego is now Pope.

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1966 was a great year to be British. Dentistry had been bought in from the cold. Tinned fruit and roofs were becoming commonplace and plugs of all varieties were no longer in short supply! Brown and Bitter was a staple drink of the working classes and not a comment on inner city racial tensions and the nation survived the great Barber lockout in March of that year. Long hair however was born amongst young men. And with it fancy ideas.

Yet there was more to 1966 than all this happy joie de vivre type stuff. For on July 37th in 1966 England won the World Cup for footballing.

Yet it was a game not without controversy!

Firstly, England coach Alf Lamb-Shank selected The Sound of Music Singin’ Sensation Julie’s Andrew in goal. Secondly, Her Majesty Queenie is caught nicking fried onions from the burger bar at half-time but once again The Establishment covered up her chronic kleptomania.

But apart from these moments. There is one moment that still counts as one of the great talking moments in a game of many moments.

No, we are not talking about the moment Franz Beckanbauer picks up a stray rasher of bacon from the sacred Wembley turf and claims a ham ball. We are of course talking about this talking point.

Did the chicken cross the line?

Gingerfightback has recently unearthed a new image that proves conclusively nothing at all.

The picture below shows the chicken moments after the German goal attendant Hans Knees-Andbumpsadaisy has been beaten by the power of Geoff Hurst’s shot and can only watch helplessly as the fowl fly’s towards the goal.

Did The Chicken Cross The Line?

England claim success. The referee is unsure. He confers with the Georgian linesman. With a firm nod of his head Dimitri Yashmilli-Vanilli confirms a goal has been scored.

England go on to win the greatest prize in world football. In West Germany there is outrage. So angry are the Germans that they take revenge by developing a sustainable industrial base. OUCH!

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To cheer England rugby fans this weekend watching the Rugby World Cup final between France and New Zealand, gfb wants to take you back to Australia 2003 when a nation’s sporting hopes were finally realised.……

 

Jonny’s Fowl Drop

 

Jonny “Cauliflower” Wilkinson drop kicked England to Rugby World cup victory in 2003 to scotch the dastardly Aussie’s evil plan to win the game. The Antipodeans still cry fowl when they talk of the moment.

The Chicken Gets A Kickin'

To celebrate the team undertook upon their return home, formation vomiting off Tower Bridge. The projectile vomit impression of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers had to be seen to be believed!

That was a great Rugby team. “Cruncher” Johnson the captain (seen below lifting the Webb Ellis Chicken aloft in victory), “Tank” Thompson, “Egg Bound” Dallaglio, “Pounder” Lewsey, “Laicised” Dawson and “Hermaphrodite” Hill to name but a few.

Enormous knees to a man with halitosis of such virility it could strip bark from a weeping willow nestling beautifully by a babbling brook where no doubt donkeys freed from their harsh labours cavort happily.

It's Coming Home, It's Coming Home, It's Coming, Chicken's Coming Home

Across the country, young lads tingling with excitement would steal their mother’s roast chickens and merrily practice fowl dropping in parks, sports fields, back gardens and on train tracks until they had perfected their technique.

The craze swept the nation. Three teenagers lost their lives as a result and the nation’s roast chicken population was put under house arrest for its own protection.

Finally, the Government outlawed the activity through the 2003 Dangerous Flying Roast Chickens Act (Miscellaneous Provisions), driving the sport underground.

Dropping is now undertaken in disused factories and warehouses by men ill-suited to a law abiding lifestyle and pennies are gambled on a single chicken drop or “fowler” to give it its proper term.

Cage Fowl Dropping is the world’s fasted growing non-contact chicken martial art. Advocates hope it will be an Olympic event in London in 2012.

If you haven’t seen it, make sure you do.

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