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Spain Penalised for Cheating, Ireland Win World Cup by Default
FIFA have penalised Spain this week in response to the nation's incessant whinging about match fixing and unfair play.
They also penalised Italy, who were also complaining about the state of refereeing at the world's biggest football tournament, and France, while they were at it, since France have gone off to their collective room for the remainder of the tournament to sulk and don't really have any reason to complain for anything, but FIFA, worried that the French team and nation consists largely of French people, someone was bound to complain, and more likely than not go on strike in some manner or another sooner rather than later.
Spain, who played the Republic of Ireland in the second round of the World Cup Finals, also was found of cheating in some manner or another in their win against the heroes from Ireland who played Spain off the pitch and only didn't win the match outright through various and nefarious tricks and cheating on the part of the Spaniards, who would probably admit as much, if they were to be questioned further on the matter.
Raul, Spain's star striker, almost certainly would admit having cheated to secure the win over the Republic in their closely contested, ehm, contest. And cheated to such a degree that he probably was ineligible to play. In fact, there's a good chance he's no Spanish blood in him whatsoever, sources say, which would disqualify Spain's entire World Cup campaign and raises some very interesting questions for those teams bumped out of the tournament by the tainted Spanish side.
And this isn't the first time the Spanish have cheated in a match against the Republic of Ireland when the Spanish Armada attacked the hapless tropical island of Ireland and dragged it, nearly kicking and screaming, up near England to further annoy the English in the war the Spanish Armada had going on with themselves at the same time. The towing, of course, ruined the perfectly serviceable coral reefs surrounding the once fair isle and the breaks provided by the self-same reefs. The reefs and breaks broken, the beaches also fell into disrepair, and the sun, as we all know, doesn't make it nearly as far north as England, so all the beauties of County Clare were forced to put their bikinis back on and jump back into their homes to get warm. The few that remained outside bravely faced the winds off the now considerably bigger Atlantic Ocean and their keening can be heard even to this day, and if you have a really good nose you can still catch the faintest whiff of suntan lotion coming from the direction of Lahinch.
But at last, after years and years of having an ineluctable feeling of being wronged, FIFA have at last made good many many years of hurt and covered up Clare women!
FIFA, whose space-age computers are capable of calculating the effect of a small, medium, and large Chinese butterflies flapping their wings in unison, asynchronously, and in various combinations otherwise and the sizes of the numerous tidal waves this will produce in California but who still can't manage to sell all the bulk of their tickets to the people who desperately want to buy them, put those very same computers which have been getting such a bad rap for the aforementioned ticket fiasco to the use of calculating the winner of the 2002 World Cup to save any further refereeing miscues.
By a rather interesting commodius vicus and taking into account games played, previous results, economic climate, square meterage of press in the papers, popularity, heart (measured in pints), sheer stubbornness, and various other biometric and psychological factors, the computer spat out yesterday afternoon the results of the 2002 World Cup, in which the Republic of Ireland defeated Senegal by three goals to nil, with Robbie Keane walking away with the golden boots.
The Republic of Ireland players and staff were requested to fly back to Yokohama to pick up their trophy and the Italians were asked, for the last time now, to stop whinging.
disclaimer:
Apologies for the brief break in the travelogue, we're back next week with the scintillating resumption of a sentimental journey on a par with anything Laurence Sterne has done, though with a good deal less chambermaids popping round the hero's room and not nearly so much flirtation as good old Larry had.
Thanks for the letters, and we're glad you're liking the travelogue, tune in next week for more of that ramblin' goodness you've come to know and love over the last few weeks!
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