World Cup 2006: dispossessed
It's here. A historic day. Our last in the sitcom office on Oxford Street. We've been encamped there since January 3, ground into a daily routine as demoralising as any office job (and I should know, I've had a few in my time). Today, the lease finally ran out, after a two-day extension due to Lee's essential research trip to Germany last weekend. At 5.30, we tore all the colour-coded post-it notes down, and the big calendar, and cleared the desktop of the PC we've been using. It would have been a sad day had we not been so overjoyed to get out of that sick building. I'll write a separate entry about the progress of the sitcom. By the way, does dispossessed actually mean "robbed of possession of the ball", as used by commentators? I think not. Someone look it up.

Ecuador 0 Germany 3
Been spelling Ecuador with a "q" for the whole of the World Cup. Someone could have told me. I wouldn't have minded.
Costa Rica 1 Poland 2
Played simultaneously with the Germany match, presumably to avoid any tactical play due to foregone conclusions. Not much fun for us all the same. (Not that I would have been watching it, as we were at work - did I mention that?) I'm glad Poland don't go home without a single goal scored. They seem like a nice bunch. And they're great builders, so I'm told. Not the actual team, the nation.
England 2 Sweden 2
Excuse the sweary headline, by the way, but that's what the English players always seem to be shouting to one another on the pitch. That or "fucking wanker", or "what did I do?" And it's what England fans must shout, when the team nudge us to the edge of our seats and the end of our tether once again. (Enjoyed seeing the shots of Cologne before the game, as it's where we memorably saw Arctic Monkeys at the end of last year. A happy occasion. But would tonight be happy?) With Owen self-injured in the first minute and replaced by the flailing spiderman, Crouch, we were robbed of that promised Owen-Rooney partnership. (And you don't want to see one of your star players literally crawling off the pitch.) Rooney himself seemed fit enough, but it was our proud midfield who paved the way for a psychological 1-0 victory at half-time: Cole, Lampard, Beckham, Hargreaves, indulging in one too many a long pass, granted, but the occasional burst of energy from Rooney and Joe Cole gave us hope. The Swedes didn't get a single shot on our goal all half. We saw one or two sail over theirs, but it was Cole, with his perfect centre of gravity, who took a wild shot from outside the area after a couple of rebounds - to which Clive Tyldesley commented, "Why not?" - and brought it home. A simply poetic piece of physics, with the ball curving into the top right hand corner. After this, Rooney had a go at one from an almost identical spot, as did Lampard, but neither made that contact with the netting. Who cares? We might have lacked actual magic, but we went to the dressing rooms one up, and it's marvellous to see that surge after a goal. Would that the second half yielded such relief. Sweden, looking as ever like ten Ikea logos, equalised from a corner in the 53rd, put away by Marcus Allback. Our defence had been so solid up to that point, with Terry as tough as always, but something went wrong. Sudenly the Swedes looked dangerous and we lost the advantage in an all too obvious way. Crouch was pointless. Rooney came off ("He looks like he's been called in for his tea," joked Gareth Southgate, in a rare burst of wit), to preserve his foot for Ecquador, and he behaved like a child, chucking his boots and his bandages on the grass and sticking out his bottom lip, petulantly. Highly entertaining. Replaced by Gerrard, holding up five fingers to indicate the new number in midfield, he ended up scoring in the 85th, clinching it for England (who were going through whatever happened, but pride was at stake, not having beaten Sweden since 1968, before the England squad were born). So what did we do? We relaxed. Only for either Mellberg or Larsson to equalise again in the bloody 90th minute. So we went off the victors of Group B, avoiding an early clash against the hosts, but frankly limping. No Owen. Half a Rooney. Useless Crouch. And, judging by the two Swedish goals, an off-form Ashley Cole. Fuck's sake.
Paraguay 2 Trinidad & Tobago 0
An own goal from T&T. Sad to see them go, as is everybody.

Can someone run up a strip for Peter Crouch that fits him? I know he's tall and long and army and leggy, but why does his shirt have to flap around his frame like it once belonged to a six-foot seven-inch fat man? It's so not a good look. Nice gold lettering on the red strip though. The rest of them wear it well. Surprised how good Rooney looked without his shirt in that Nike ad that's been splashed everywhere today. Mind you, they had painted him. Lampard took his shirt off at the end of the game. You know what I think about him.

I must say I disagree with Tyldesley's summary that England are "contenders".