Bibendum bounces back

It's a sick, uneasy feeling. A feeling of inherent wrongness, but nonetheless, a feeling I can't shake. One I have to face up to. One that, while it may make me less of a man, one which is undeniable. Inescapable.

I kinda want Argentina to win the World Cup.

Yeah, I know, I know. They're fuckers. They're cheats and they're scum. Here's what we (the Royal We) said about them last World Cup:

Argentine football has had a lot said about it, much of it derogatory, and much of it by the English tabloid media, given the long history of on- and off-field war between the two countries. To get a balanced, objective viewpoint it's necessary to put all this racist rhetoric aside, and look at the facts. So let’s dismiss all the negative stereotypes and talk honestly and fairly about the Argies.

They are nasty, dirty, cheating, stinking, diving, spitting, simulating, handballing bastards. Every last fuckin' one of them.

That aside, they are genuine candidates for the big tin cup this time around, twenty years on from their last title at Mexico '86. They have an excellent crop of young players coming through (reigning Olympic and World Youth Cup champions), have plenty of skill at all positions, and are one of the few teams that can beat Brazil.

But they're still cheating bastards who need a kick in the arse, and the Weak in Sport hopes they go out miserably in the first round like '02. That was piss-funny.

Who ate all the pies?
Mention Argentina in a footballing sense and there's only one image that springs to mind: Maradona. Actually, there's two images that spring to mind there. One is of Maradona in a blue shirt carving up the entire England team bar the bus driver and the guy who cuts the half-time oranges to score his second goal in that infamous quarter-final at Mexico '86; the is other of a Michelin Man-sized Maradona being wheeled into rehab on a ventilator looking like a cross between Skasey's final days on Mallorca and Marlon Brando in The Island of Dr Moreau. Thus was the dichotomy of old mate Diego the Dago: a brilliant talent as a footballer, but a total fucking idiot as a human being. Then again, like the Chili Peppers in the early '90s, he did all his greatest work while completely off-chops on narcotics - he was allegedly introduced to cocaine playing for Barcelona in 1984 - so perhaps Charlie IS a performance enhancing drug and Dell had the right idea after all.

Things go better with Coke

But that's kinda the point. Somehow, for some reason based nowhere in logic or rationality and everywhere in fuck-it-let's-have-a-crack, Diego Maradona has gone from being freelance Bibendum impersonator to the coach of the Argentine national football team in the 2010 World Cup. And that's just about fucking mad enough to give props to. Sure, Maradona's a cheat, a scumbag, a druggie, an egotist, a liar, a fraud, a clown, a joke, a fool to himself and an embarrassment to his nation. But he winds the Poms up, and that's enough for us.

Bibendum (artist's impression)

Add to that the genius of Lionel Messi - the genius of being the greatest and arsiest footballer on Earth while yet still sporting a mullet not even a Status Quo roadie would be brave enough to roll with - as well as the mad skillz of the clinical Diego Milito, the sturdy Javier Mascherano, the prehistoric Martin Palermo and a bunch of other guys with Italian surnames and Spanish first names, and you've got... a side not good enough to win the World Cup. But by fuck they're going to be entertaining. On the pitch or otherwise. This week alone, Diego's run over a cameraman's foot, left Zanetti, Cambiasso and Riquelme out of his squad, and declared he'll do a nude run through Buenos Aires if his charges win the World Cup. Which they won't do, but by fuck it'd be funny if they did.

Just in case Diego honours his pledge though, probably best to listen in on the radio.

The Doctor is OUT.