The Guardian has been pretty critical of Sven, David Beckham, and the English squad. Maybe deservedly so. But this is wickedly funny. Have a chuckle.
The Guardian, Monday, June 26
THE SECRET LIFE OF WALTER SVENNIS
“We’re going through!” Commander Svennis’s voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full-suit uniform, with those thin-rimmed spectacles pulled down rakishly over his cold, pointy, Mr Burns beak. “We can’t make it, sir. We’re a one-man team, if you ask me.” “I’m not asking you, Lieutenant Bloggs,” said Svennis. “Throw on the power lights! Rev Beckham up to 8,500! We’re going through to the World Cup final!”
“But what about the fact we are playing rubbish, have a hotchpotch of a team and are carrying more deadwood than an HBO factory, Commander Svennis?” asked Lieutenant Bloggs. “We all know we can play better, Bloggs, but after four games we are playing better and better and the best will come. It’s strange knowing you can play better and you’ve already reached the quarter-finals.”
“But are you not concerned by the fact that we always reach the quarter-final and then lose to the first decent team we play, usually managed by Big Phil Scolari, Commander Svennis?”
“I’m not concerned,” roared Commander Svennis. “Everything will be OK. Germany are there, Argentina are there and we were the third team in the quarters. I’m rather proud of that. We will do better than we did four years ago.”
“But we’re rubbish, Commander.”
“It’s time we had luck in a big tournament, Bloggs. In other tournaments we have not been lucky at all, especially when we had an extra man than Brazil and couldn’t put two passes together. That was just unlucky. I can assure you we will play better on Saturday.” And they did, too, and Wingman Beckham made lots and lots of brilliant crosses and England won the World Cup!
“To hell with the cold, rational appraisal of our four inept performances so far,” said Commander Svennis scornfully. He had one last long look at a pretty girl’s rump and snapped his gaze away. Then, with that faint, fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the press; erect and motionless, proud and disdainful, Commander Svennis the Undefeated, talking delusional rubbish to the last.