Ronaldo leaves hospital on Monday afternoon.

Lisbon, Portugal - Football superstar Cristiano Ronaldo was last night celebrating the birth of his first child after successfully getting his right hand pregnant after ‘months of trying.’

The Real Madrid winger, more used to defying the laws of physics  than biology, is said to be ecstatic with the news and allegedly now has a right hand that can crush boulders into dust.

However Ronaldo’s joy was tempered by predictable observations that his choice of conception mirrored that of fellow Latino Ricky Martin.

“Contrary to tittle tattle and his questionable dress sense I can confirm Cristiano is not homosexual – although he does like Glee,” confirmed weary agent Luis Tubole, “in fact he is so straight that he is prohibited from sharing an enclosed space with Chuck Norris in case their rampant testostorone tears a whole in the fabric of reality.”

Mr Tubole also confirmed for press that the only man Cristiano fancies, and will ever fancy, is himself, although he did not rule out the possibility that the fickle footballer may change his mind when he ages significantly. The father himself is said to be delighted but ultimately ‘exhausted’ after spending the last few years gazing adoringly at himself and shaving off his body hair.

Cristiano Jesus Ronaldo Jr weighs 8oz and is doing well. Crab Football wishes them all the best.

Taking calls day and night ladies...

Money grabbing Chelsea star Ashley Cole was hitting headlines for all the wrong reasons today after the Sunday Mirror broke news that he’d been ‘bombarding’ pretty models with salacious texts before and after crucial England World Cup matches.

An anonymous model told reporters that the sex crazed pillock had hounded her with 139 separate text messages begging for dirty talk and ‘reelly durty pix.’

However football fans will be stunned that dirty-pillow-obsessed Cole also sent pictures of his naked torso to the hussy – thereby locking her into a 12 month premium rate sex service for Red Hot Cole INC.

SHOCKING

“I couldn’t believe that Ashley was actually sending me pictures of his surprisingly scrawny upper body,” said the anonymous attention grabbing slapper, “but when I received a text stating I’d been charged £6.50 for the pleasure I was outraged. Now I appear to be a subscriber to his ’service’ and can ‘look forward’ to more of his exclusive photos. I feel so used..”

Now the penniless model faces the prospect of paying for a further eleven months of candid Ashley snaps, whom Chelsea officials have applauded as ‘a chip off the block.‘

“Most people would be shamed by these revelations,” commented Chelsea spokesman David Hampton, “but due to medical reasons, we all know he has no shame. It’s a foreign concept to him, like loyalty. Him and John Terry will also be appearing on Wife Swap. Not just for one episode either. Every week. Forever. Even if they’re not invited. They can’t be stopped.”

Crab Football suggests that women and men avoid texting Ashley at all costs and if confronted should chase him away with meat cleavers. Or fidelity.

It no longer hurts....

Hello again! It is I, your lord and saviour Michael Owen, I apologise for not writing sooner but I’ve been digesting last Sundays result and letting the cold hard reality sink in. It’s all over loyal fans. It appears we’ll all have to wait patiently for another four years before I, Michael Phillip Owen, can once again attempt to hold the Jules Rimet trophy in my clammy tinny hands. By the 2014 World Cup I’ll be 34 years young, meaning that thereafter the probability of me being a World Cup winner slips from the realms of ‘inevitable’ to ’slightly unlikely.’

Even with a weeks distance from that capitulation it is difficult to comprehend how we crumpled so badly against the Germans, they’re not that good. Last time I played them I netted a hat-trick. And I got a hat-trick against Wolfsburg  if you’re interested. Which you are.

So why again Fabio left me sitting on the big bench behind the small bench is beyond me. I phoned Jason MacAteer the following evening and he told me that the fans and pundits alike were scathing in their appraisal of our performance. I don’t particularly care for his opinion it’s just as his AA sponsor I have to legally phone him once a week and check he’s not dead. But the possibility of a public backlash worried me. I hadn’t done anything wrong… I hadn’t even been allowed to shine on centre stage. Even in our darkest hour Capello plots against me.

Macca had a lot of other questions for me; “why didn’t you get on the pitch?”, “why is Heskey allowed to live?” and “Is this opened can of corned beef I found still okay to eat?”

All good questions my loyal friend. From a personal point of view I did everything I could to press upon Herr Capello my desire to play. I trained (alone), I abstained, I carved his name into my pallid belly and screamed outside of the hotel until the wee hours. When you put in that much effort you should be exempt from criticism. Like disabled children. Had I been on the pitch I would have put things right …

Anyway I’m not going to worry anymore about what cannot be changed, all this worry chips away at my hamstrings, the only option I have is to redouble my efforts and show Capello/Beckham/Redknapp I really care. That I’m an option. Either that or apply to be England manager? I am, after all, our countries very own Maradona; footballing legend, superstar, both arrested in connection to cocaine and prostititues but acquitted due to lack of evidence and eye witnesses disappearing because they’re dead. The parallels are uncanny. I could probably grow a beard too if I start taking hormone therapy. And Macca could be my assistant! He’s a World Cup legend too and could do with some work after all.

Anyway. I’m off to write a CV but I’ll leave you with a joke to lift your flagging spirits.

Q: What is the difference between a BMW and 10 dead babies?

A. I don’t have a BMW in my garage.

Ha!

Until next time,

Michael Phillip Owen

Goal !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ...... wait, what?

Although England were dumped out of the World Cup yesterday, comprehensively being beaten 4-1 by Germany on actual goals, they still came away with a victory in excuses making them the real winners on the day.

The team’s performance was uninspiring for the first half hour falling behind to two German goals — however in an action packed couple of minutes, England turned the dire performance around being awarded a solid excuse to send the Squad and English Press home happy with someone else to blame.

On the 37th minute England’s joint top goal scorer for the tournament, Matthew Upson, scored with a cushioned header from Steven Gerrard’s cross. Then shortly after the restart Frank Lampard came up with a piece of magic to give the England team what they were looking for. “I knew I had caught the ball sweetly from Jermain’s scrambled knock down and could see the keeper was scrambling” said a jubilant Lampard “at first I thought it was just an equalizer but when I caught sight of the referee not giving it we all celebrated the rock solid excuse, it’s better than a goal!”

England managed to hold on to the excuse for the remainder of the match. A clearly emotional Capello said after the game “it was important that we didn’t score after the disallowed goal to fully cement the excuse. Therefore after falling further behind it was of upmost importance not to send on Peter Crouch as he’s stupid enough to actually score a goal, instead I was able to once again rely on Emile Heskey…… and people thought I was stupid to pick him ……. who’s laughing now?!”

A confused Joe Cole added “We can really push on from here and I think we’re in with a great chance of winning the World Cup”.

So another World Cup campaign is over for England, seemingly moving ever closer to the day they take their ball back declaring “it’s our game, you’re not allowed to play any more”.

The question of whether Lampard and Gerrard can play together has finally been answered, until that is the qualifying games for the Euro 2012 begin, when the question will once again be asked “can they play together?” …… “no” …… “you’re right. But can they?” …… “no!!” …… “ok yep get ya. But can they?” It seems much in the same vein as John Motson, Death is the only true conclusion to this nagging quandary.

Though one thing for sure is flags of support will be coming down in England quicker on Monday than they did in Germany the day before ‘VE Day’ in 1945.

Suited and booted and ready to rock bitches.

Well loyal readers the  World Cup is going great isn’t it? The first game against the US of A highlighted exactly why I’m here and why Emile Heskey should be put out to seed. Preferably in a mine field.

On a personal level it was hard to watch the game knowing that Capello was probably saving me for a more important clash, I sat on the big bench behind the little bench the players were on, either watching through my fingers or yelling for him to bring me on. I kept pleading, “Fabio! Fabio! Now is the hour! LOVE ME!” But the distance was too great and my brittle voice was drowned out by the cacophony of fans around me, the vuvuzelas and a brass band.

I was patient though, just as my therapist told me to be. I thought the boys would show an ounce of fire and brimstone against Algeria and that I’d soon be unveiled in the second round but alas, they were as listless as a anaemic Latvian hooker chained in my basement. After the game I made my feelings known to the gaffer. I put down my vuvuzela, climbed over the hoardings and wandered to the dressing room – whistling non-chalantly to myself before bypassing the stewards with a bit of ol’ Michael Owen magic.

“Hey, aren’t you Michael Owen?” I said to one as I slalomed past.

Smooth.

By the time the confused sap had recovered his composure I was already in the dressing room door and re-introducing myself to David Beckham by way of crutch to the face.

“CRUTCH TO THE FACE!” I yelled as I exploded into the dressing room, jaws dropping around me like Jodie Marsh’s underwear, “And why Capello….why WASN’T I SUMMONED?!”

I had some other choice words to share with the Italian piss lantern, I wanted to unleash years of pent up fury and anger at him in a totally non gay way, but again I was foiled by nemesis; men who are over 5′7.

I was then unceremoniously dumped in the street and left to mull over where this latest incident left me in the pecking order for Slovenia. As it transpires passion and aggression are not qualities that Capello appreciates and I was again left in the wings for the Germany game, poised and ready to help guide our beloved nation to glory. Sweat sweat glory… I must say I was roused by James Milner’s performance, what a tantalising duo we would make! He had more crosses than my last fitness test and that is the sort of service I, Michael Phillip Owen, thrive on.

I vill crush ze Germans.

See. You. On. Sunday.*

Michael P Owen

*If you don’t Capello is going to meet my little friend.**

** Hint: Not my penis.

"They treated me like a piece of meat."

Cape Town, South Africa – The Jabulani match ball today finally broke her silence on this years World Cup and sensationally put the boot into French football, claiming the Les Bleus were technically inferior to other footballing nations and couldn’t use her properly.

The oval whore, seen in the company of numerous football players this World Cup, accused French footballers of being  “complacent, inattentive and sloppy” and accused ace midfielder Ribery of being “arrogant and very French like.”

However the spherical slut didn’t stop there, adding that the French surrender monkeys deserved to be dumped out at the group stage before positively purring over the Spaniards superior skills, adding that France’s rivals could “stroke her around the pitch all night long.”

ACCUSATIONS

“Part of me was glad to be introduced to the French squad,” revealed the the plastic coated slapper, “but it became clear that I was something of a passing novelty to them, something to be looked at and poked but not understood. No sooner had a group of them started batting me about for a few minutes than one of them would suddenly air some new grievance – usually about who would sit where on the bus – and whip the others into a frenzy. Before you knew it they were arming themselves with pitch forks and charging the managers door whilst I lay there neglected and un-used like Peter Beardsley’s baby maker. The only one who cared was Thierry who’d sometimes man handle me when no one was looking.”

However a spokesman for the French national team was quick to deny these claims and offered an alternative hypothesis:

“Once Ribery, Cisse and Gignac heard the words ‘under developed’ and ‘virgin’ they wanted nothing to do with the ball. Once bitten twice shy..”

Leaving Movida with John and Frank: "They were very heavy handed. I'm still sore to this day."

"Rooney was shit the other night." "Yes, yes he flipping was."

Cape Town – South Africa. Team morale in the England dressing room reached it’s lowest ebb yesterday after an unsightly fracas at Fabio Capello’s 64th birthday party. England’s pampered superstars fell out when a simple game of pass the parcel highlighted the growing divisions in the camp and an inability to work cohesively.

Stuart Pearce told Sky News that tensions peaked when a nonchalant sideways pass from Wayne Rooney resulted in Glen Johnson fumbling the parcel before Emile Heskey “ploughed into him with an ill judged two footed tackle.”

“The boys had struggled for a while and were beginning to get frustrated. We had a brief break after 45 minutes into the game to see where we all thought things were going wrong. It was clear that we need to bring on some new players and change the formation of the chairs, but Capello declared that it was ‘his party’ and pretended he couldn’t speak English. Twenty minutes after the restart I had to intervene and strip the first layer off, without proper supervision it could have gone on for hours. Maybe weeks. And the paper cuts were mounting up on Ledley’s hands.”

The music finally stopped while Rooney had possession of the parcel, with only the last layer of wrapping paper to come off. To every attendee’s suprise he dropped the parcel to the ground, declaring that he “was proper knackered like.” Which was a huge shock given how well he’d performed at previous bashes, notably Gary Neville’s cowboy themed birthday.

An FA spokesman dismissed the rumours in a statement claiming that the players were merely involved in hi-jinx and were currently bonding over a game of ‘pin the tail on the Robert Green.’

"I've never felt so deflated."

Killing you softly with our sound.

Pretoria, South Africa – An English football fan is recuperating in hospital after suffering perforated ear drums and mild brain damage in what is the first in an expected slew of vuvuzela related tragedies. The London man, 56, was admitted to Pretoria general hospital after collapsing during the Holland vs Denmark game complaining of severe head pains, piss poor zonal marking and an inability to hear himself think.

Michael Denning of Highbury told local press; “I’ve been to Scotland before and heard bag pipes – which I also assumed were designed to drive tourists from over crowded areas – but the vuvuzela doesn’t even have a second sound. Hearing one of them is equivalent to a sonic paper cut to your scrotum but the noise generated by 50,000 horn wielding piss lanterns is horrendous. It’s worse than hearing Germans sing.”

The life long Arsenal fan, unaccustomed to a football stadium with an atmosphere, was shocked by the cacophony of noise at the Soccer City in Johannesburg where the  sound has been measured in excess of 130 decibels which, according to the EU’s Health and Safety Directorate, is on par with the sound of a jumbo jet but ‘less pleasant.’

Dr Tobias Nestler, responsible for the NHS’s swine flu marketing campaign Catch it. Kill it. Bin it. warned that the repeated usage of the instrument represented a far more insidious threat than first thought. The prominent health official told BBC reporters:-

“The amount of flem produced by a single vuvuzela over the course of an hour is approximately 150ml. Which in lay mans terms means that unless you are sitting in row Z you are effectively being spat on by the surrounding public for ninety minutes. The back of your head is literally a petri dish for diseases and bacteria. Plus it’s minging. That’s not sweat on the fan’s faces… they’re literally dripping goblets of flob projected from vuvuzelas. If you buy a half time hot dog by the time you’ve returned to your seat it’s basically been licked by 30 random strangers. Foreign strangers too. You might as well bob for apples in a nightclub urinal or snog Jordan’s perineum.”

The British are known for their sense of humour, their ability to look adversity in the face and maintain their dignity and stiff upper lip in the face of certain doom. Shit just happens. We’ll moan incessantly about it afterwards, perhaps for years at a time, regailing friends with tales of injustice at any opportune moment. But we will laugh about it too, turning our pain into the gallow humour for which we’re renowned. The American’s could really learn a lot from the English. We’d just laugh off that ‘oil spill.’ (Do these two respective spills even themselves out? No?)

The exception to the above is when we lose a football game in front of the World and our collective ice cool façade shatters, instead opting to pointing fingers and running around with pitch forks and the like.

So after last nights game against the US of A, and having suffered the indignity of drawing to a bunch of sun kissed non leaguers by way of a God awful goal keeping gaff, the tabloids have reacted exactly as you’d expect; i.e. by crucifying Robert Green like he was Gary Glitter.

It took them hours to come up with that.

Ahhhhh comedy lead.

So does he deserve to be stoned to death? Or should we take a philospohical view on last nights events and remember that we still got a point? Crab Football asked the man on the street for their reactions:-

Gary, 31 - “Well I’m Scottish. So Robert Green is as funny as Billy Connelly or domestic abuse as far as I’m concerned.”

Linda, 19 – “I have no idea what you’re talking about but I’ll tell you this. Sex and the City 2 is amazing.”

Al, 24 - “I never thought I’d say this, but David James is less error prone. I feel dirty.”

Please go to www.twitter.com/crabfootball for all our sardonic musings on the FIFA World Cup.