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.