Everyone soaked for France’s 3-1, nobody talks about England. Go on like this

And now, below with the frog eaters. I know you think we will lose against Kylian “The Phenomenon” Mbappé, that the Blues are “serious candidates for the title” (copyright any Italian sports journalist these days) and that nobody believes in England. Better this way, it will be nicer to get drunk after eliminating them. Because it was decided that you have to get wet with every goal from the Paris Saint-Germain striker, and infect everyone with statistics on how many goals he has already scored at the age of just 23 in the World Cup or the ridiculous comparisons with Haaland on who is the strongest of the two (thanks, one plays in a phenomenal national team, the other in that of a country where they are very strong on sledges and with suicides and that’s it). I appreciate the journalistic orgasms for Mbappé only because for a few hours they freed us from those for Messi, passed thanks to a big slice of ass against Australia (but what are we talking about?) and already told by everyone as wise, brilliant, miraculous , guru, leader and of course the reincarnation of Maradona. The mere idea that they can win the World Cup makes me lean towards assisted suicide (from my blonde, of course), just imagining the tons of rhetoric that Lele “Osvaldo Soriano of the poor” Adani will pour into the microphones of Rai should make you lean towards fleeing to Antarctica together with the Juventus management.

Nobody talks about us English, I said, at most we laugh at Maguire. Keep it up, thanks. All soaked for the 3-1 win over Poland, an embarrassing team that only managed to beat Saudi Arabia and then played on yellow cards to go through, shrugging our shoulders on our 3-0 win against Senegal, which certainly against of us could take into consideration the idea of ​​defending ourselves and not lining up behind with the “wildebeest on the prairie” form, but that he had won at least two group games. I’ve already read headlines about ‘a challenge that smacks of old Europe’, and my pints have fallen on the floor.

Morocco will prove me wrong on Tuesday, but with those pints I wanted to toast to the fact that in the end it’s always the same people who keep going when the matches count at the World Cup: how many articles on the “new geography of football” written these days are already to be thrown away, how many praise to the Africans and Asians (I wrote first after the penalties of Japan-Croatia and before Brazil-Korea, if by chance Korea wins in the meantime all the Brazilians will have committed suicide) not to mention the Arab national teams, sold by all as sure surprises of the competition, lost like tears in beer. And how many bullshit gestures to make the populace aware of the rights that thank God we no longer talk about. Now there’s football, which is the only thing worth doing this bad job for: telling the goals, actions, assists, victories and defeats. A balloon is a balloon is a balloon, not a rebound of fate nor a political party. And yes, Mbappé is very strong and I’ll probably kick my ass on Saturday, but have you seen Bellingham and Foden? I pulled out the best brandy I had in my cellar to applaud his numbers against Senegal. And I saved a lot of it for the match against France. It will help in any case.