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World Cup draw today, who cares? Brazil are going to win, they're due. A European team has never won the World Cup when it's been held outside of Europe so we can discard them. Argentina have a nutter in charge, which only leaves Brazil.

Since 1962 South America and Europe have taken turns winning the competition - Italy won it last time as it was held in Europe - it's South America's turn in 2010 and since it's being held in a country and continent that's never hosted the tournament before it can only be Brazil who can win it.

One has to have a degree of arrogance and contempt for ones opposition to win things like this no? And familiarity breeds contempt. When a team is not in familiar surroundings they cannot perform to their best ability. This must surely go some way to explaining why European teams never win this thing when it isn't held in Europe and vice-versa for the South Mercan lot.

Brazil are just an enigma. They're the only nation team who have consistently over-achieved in World Cups, who knows why? All that matters people, is that they do. I suspect it has something to do with their kit and the tits of their fans.

The fact remains, whenever it's held in a weird place Brazil always win. Sweden - Brazil win, United States - Brazil win, Japan and South Korea - Brazil win, South Africa - Brazil win. Simples.

The 4.7 on Betfair for Brazil doesn't seem so bad when you look at it in those terms. Of the top ten teams in the betting seven of them are Europeans all of whom can be chucked out. This leaves us with Brazil, the Argie bargies and the Ivory Coast.

I'm having a big bet on Brazil and possibly a few quid at 125/1 on South Africa just because they're the home side and they may do a South Korea and engineer their way through to the semi's at least.

Alas Mexico have no chance so I'll be brought down with Lasser fever before World Cup fever.

** Just watched the draw, could have been better for Mexico. Still should qualify mind.

I feel rubbish people. I've felt rubbish most of this year in all fairness. I've stubbornly refused IV treatment for the past two years, relying instead on a combination of painkillers, soup and good old fashioned British spunk to see me through. Unfortunately, I'm out of painkillers, I'm sick of soup and I have not a drop of spunk left. Sam Fox has left the jungle just in time. I therefore give in. I surrender. I relent. I hereby declare that my shunning of modern medicine has been counter-shunned.

I did receive a message from a Slovenian gypsy earlier today, delivered by a monkey, who claims my nasty goo and infections can be tackled with a treatment passed down through the generations of her family that would see her open up the womb of a bear and spill it's mess all over my chest - but part of this treatment involves me having to actually remove the womb from a living brown bear myself - in this case a five year old 35 stone beast called Holly - whom one assumes might be quite protective of it. Genealogical investigation into the old crones family revealed many deaths at the clumping and raging fists of violated brown bear - I therefore thanked her for her offer but declined politely.


So then, my social calendar is not what one might call demanding, but for the next couple of weeks I am rendered house bound. One of the reasons I am so reluctant to accept these treatments is because they're just so darned inconvenient. They're not, in all fairness to them particularly nasty, just a bit uncomfortable and they do tend to give my urine the smell and colour of Dandelion and Burdock. But since they're administered every eight hours and I need 10 hours of sleep at least per 24 hours - they essentially give me no time to do anything else over the 14 days other than eat, sleep, inject and if I'm lucky, shoe-horn in a bit of light relief.

This will of course mean the Pigeon's game will be harder to win if I'm not there to provide the value, but I will save about £500 by not playing at the Fox. Hopefully when I emerge just in time to ignore Christmas, I'll feel better, maybe even well for possibly the first time this year. As George S. Patton said when the US Army finally got involved in the war when it became clear who would win, "better late than never."


In other news, it's the Pigeon's quiz tonight and while I may not feel 65% physically, I'm looking forward to our confrontation with the Barbarians. I know Sky Sports have gotten a little carried away with the hype as they are want to do, but I fancy this will be pure unadulterated quizzing carnage making the St Valentine's Day massacre look like a Tupperware party.

Tiger Woods is in "serious condition" in hospital after being involved in a car crash after leaving his home at 2.25am last night. I'm sure Tiger will be fine, but as he was the only one involved in this accident when his car hit a fire hydrant and then a tree and given the time of night, one has to assume this will not end well for the boy Woods.

Very rarely are people out driving around at 2:25am doing anything positive. They're reporting that he was not three sheets to the wind, which by my way of thinking leaves only one possible explanation for such an accident.

They're saying his airbags did not deploy - this means he was traveling at less than 30mph. I can only assume he was having his cock sucked by a hooker. It's the only explanation. And I'm going to go out on a limb and predict it was a male hooker.

Anyone who thinks such a clean living, quiet role-model type would never indulge in such a seedy episode of oral relief need only leaf through the papers of Hugh Grant's arrest some years ago when he was arrested offering up monies to Divine Brown for a gobble.

Fascinating stuff. I fear he's had his cock bitten off. More on this later.

In other news, Gillette executives are getting really pissed off and have been on the phone to Roger Federer pleading with tennis' world number one to just stay in for a while.



Disappointing Update**

Bah, it seems just for a change the media have exaggerated the nature of Woods' injuries. He's now been released from hospital and it appears he's just had a domestic with the misses, she's scratched his face up a bit, probably called him a bastard and he's hit several obstacles in a fairly embarrassing attempt to drive off in a huff. It now seems highly unlikely that he'll be arrested and humiliated for late night cottaging.

A 19 year old lad from Birmingham whacked a security guard across the back of his legs with a stick he picked up off the street and then made off with £25,000, then ran home - some forty yards away - where he was arrested by police moments later.

He was sentenced to two and half years in prison after pleading guilty and admitting to the judge that it was a spur of the moment thing and he hadn't really thought it through.

With the greatest of respect to the security guard who will obviously be sporting a nasty bruise as we speak, I'm laughing as I type this.

I've just been reading an article on the Daily Mail website about this whole climate change cover-up chicanery. I knew it was all bollocks - climate change, not the Daily Mail which is a paradigm of truth.

'Mother nature can take care of herself,' that's what I said the first time this whole climate change horse hockey was being offered up as having a potential murder death killing impact on the entire planet.

You can't trust anyone these days. Not even Science boffins. They just want money, that's what this is all about - money to pay for their insatiable lust for cardigans and nonsense research.

They get monies from the Government's to finance their obsession with figuring out stuff that doesn't matter to anyone, in return, the Government's are given faulty and bullshit scientific 'theories' to allow them to impose enormous green taxes on us, sap our morale and bish bash bosh before we know it we're all living in pods and covered in goo like in the Matrix.

Bastards.

Don't don't don't don't believe the hype. In the words of Bill Murray, "you wanna prediction about the weather? I'll give you a prediction, it's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life."


Sport now - It's Thanksgiving in the US of States which means a corking triple bill of Mercan football. I've placed wagers on the games with the intent on winning so much money I could make clothes out of it.

I fancy Green Bay, Dallas and Denver. All the D's - except Detroit. The D's and GB's if you will.

Bolivian police release this e-fit of a murder suspect - drawn by a woman who witnessed the murder and possibly the worst e-fit ever - yet they actually arrest someone on the strength of it.

One has to commend the professionalism of the police officer who drew the short straw and had to release this drawing to the Bolivian press while keeping a straight face. "Err,,,...si si, we are looking for a man with two eyes, a nose, also a mouth, with a distinctive middle parting, pale blue skin and a grid penciled out on his face."

If anymore justification were needed for staying home on polling day when the next General Election is finally upon us, surely this nonsense provides it. David Cameron sneaking into the Fields of Remembrance at Westminster Abbey with his personal photographer before the Remembrance Day service just so he can be seen to be paying his respects and looking all stoic and reflective.

Gordon Brown upon hearing about being out photo-opped begins frantically texting his people back at Number 10 insisting that he be snapped after the service strolling through the grounds too with his wife, looking equally stoic - and failing incidentally as his countenance never changes, he probably wears the same expression on his face when his wife is licking his testicles.

How does one become so cynical and so ruthlessly underhand as to be able to use the deaths of approximately 10 million people in order to try and win a few points in the opinion polls? How long does it take from birth to liberate your conscience from the scruples and principles which tell you not to do things like this through feelings of overwhelming guilt and remorse.

If we really want to pay our respects to the fallen, to all those men who died to protect our way of life, then we can all just stay at home on polling day. They didn't fight for our right to vote, they fought for our right to choose. Not voting is as much a part of a true democracy as voting.

They fought so we didn't have to vote for people with a sateless lust for power - men who in those days had funny tashes and ostentatious uniforms, easy to spot they were...but these days they look just like us and are harder to identify - or at least they would be if they didn't insist having their fucking picture taken every five minutes.

Personally, I'd rather spend polling day eating my own ear wax and then vomiting it back up in half hour cycles until the polls close. I'd also like to lie David Cameron down in the street, have him bite down on the curb and stamp on the back his head until his head caves in like a boiled egg. I'd then like to hang Gordon Brown up by his neck from London Bridge with a length of his wife's knicker elastic and have Iraqi and Afghani orphans belt him with a stick as he boings up and down like some gruesome piñata. We can't have everything in life of course, so I'll settle for a hung Parliament.

I've said me piece I'll bid you good day.

When I said yesterday that the Mob hasn't always done itself justice in APAT National events, I was mostly referring to Alan and I really, as Paulie Two Tumbs hasn't made it to too many of them.

When he does play, he finishes third - usually luck-boxed out of a win by someone sporting appalling facial furniture - and so it was on this occasion too. Paul's blog here for details.

After having walked to Luton from West Oxfordshire for day 2 Paulie manoeuvered his way through the remaining 32 runners only to have the title snatched away from him at the last moment by the Poker Gods who will always side with the player with the most hair - the German female will regret the three hours of waxing induced agony this morning.

The Gods: hairy

Two Thumbs on day 1

I've spent this morning sifting through the charred and broken remains of my APAT experience yesterday - alas there has been nothing to salvage. I was prosecuted to the full extent of Murphy's Law.

Everything that could have gone wrong did, and a few things that really shouldn't be able to go wrong also did - I can only assume - because of my unsympathetic dismissal of the Irish protests earlier this week over the Thierry Henry controversy.

It would have been cheaper and far less distressing had I just woken up yesterday about 11am, set fire to £200 and gone back to bed.

Still, you've got to laugh. Paulie "two thumbs" Townsend is in great shape for day 2 and as we speak probably regretting offering up a 10% deal prior to the tournament as he is sure to take this one down with just a few closet transvestite Germans between him and the title.


Today is a new dawn, a new day and I shall spend it in my Marks and Spencer's lounge-wear watching cowboy films inbetween snoozes.

The reputation of the Mob once again rests in the hands of Paulie "two thumbs" Townsend. 

It's been a c@nt of a day in real terms

I've placed a few wagers this morning. I'm backing Madison Du Berlais in the Betfair Chase. by my way of thinking a French horse has to win this one given the week that lot are having, but I can't be backing Kauto Star - not at odds-on and not with an Irish jock. There's just no way an Irish-French combo has got a prayer of succeeding in anything this week. There's a natural order to things in this universe and this is entirely disorderly.

Football wise I fancy Liverpool to beat Man City today - a shocking game though with maybe a crappy single goal separating two teams who have ideas well above their respective stations. Coventry win today too today as do Manchester United (eventually after a scrappy first half ending 1-1).

So there you are then. I shall now have a poo and then off to Luton.

So this weekend all three bosses of poker's most ruthless Cosa Nostra - the Witney inc. Carterton Mob - will be in Luton for the European Amateur Poker Championship - or "Eeeeepk" for short.

The Mob has not always done itself justice in these events mostly because we tend to get too pissed - Paulie "two thumbs" Townsend's third place finish in Dublin a couple of years ago remains our best result - but I fancy us to restore the honour of our Coscas this weekend.

Paulie "Two thumbs" Townsend

I've been reading about what the pseudo-psychology boffins call "poverty consciousness" today. They say that people from humble origins - i.e. proles - who happen across huge sums of money through lottery wins or inheritances, are flat broke again a year or two later because they just can't accept the idea of themselves being wealthy, so they contrive to lose it all.

The same principles apply to poker tournaments and I've undergone extensive treatment in several sessions with my therapist today - a chimpanzee from Congo called Doc - to iron out any doubts or insecurities one may be harbouring in ones subconscious about ones right as it were to win these events and respect for ones own abilities.

Unfortunately the final session was cut short after Doc went mental trying to swat a blue bottle. He hates flies. He followed it outside and could be anywhere by now. My chances of winning this weekend rest on his returning to complete my therapy before I leave for Luton tomorrow at about midday.

Doc irritated by a fly earlier today: gertchaaaa

Hooray, Philip Roth is on the shortlist for the Literary Review's Bad Sex Award for a scene in his novel The Humbling involving three people and a green dildo.

I haven't researched this thoroughly, but it's a travesty if he hasn't been a mainstay of this list throughout his career.

I'm generally not enthusiastic about American Jewish fiction, but I've read a lot of his books mostly because of how filthy they are and with the exception of Portnoy's Complaint - which is mostly about wanking and therefore probably doesn't meet the criteria for this prestigious award - each and every one of them has left me a little short of breath and slightly uneasy about how much I enjoy his deviant sexual prose.

Sabbath's Theatre remains my favourite novel. The story of Micky Sabbath, a dirty old man ex-puppeteer, who goes mental after his long term mistress dies, a Polish woman with a sexual appetite to exceed his own who was often pissed on (even after her death) by Micky Sabbath and thrashed about in violent sexual encounters fueled by his jealousy and insatiable lust for kinky nookie.

Brilliant stuff. If there's a betting market for this award however, I think my £10 would be on Paul Theroux - father of Louis and Marcel Theroux - whose books are shit and rammed with perfunctory redundant sex scenes all littered with tedious clichéd sexual metaphors which are the very essence of this award - Neal's blog "entries" about Annabel Croft have more subtlety.

A newspaper called La Capitale has offered up ten reasons to hate us! Us of all people. What on Earth have we done to upset the world, besides conquering it and educating it and making it feel inadequate? Here it is, here's the article right here

1. They are self-centred. (Literally: They think they are the belly button of the world.)

I think if you look closely Belgium you'll see we are the centre of the world. Look at the map, we're at the top in the middle. Time begins in London.

2. Their language is universal. So they refuse to even try to speak ours when they get lost over here. (80 per cent don’t even want to take a phrase book on holidays with them!)... but they look at you condescendingly if you speak bad English.

Our Language is universal so it's us who are in the wrong for not learning some weird dialect that requires litres of phlegm to speak and carries with each conversation the risk of drowning, just so we don't upset the locals two weeks a year when we're asking for directions for how to get the fuck out of there? OK fair enough, but.....

3. They can't do anything like everyone else (drive on the left etc).

Erm...like speaking the same universal language? You're saying driving on the right is universal and we should change? This only applies to driving then does it, not language? You want us to speak French, but it's OK for you to bitch about driving on the left when you visit us temporarily? Hypocrites.

4. They have the worst cuisine in the world

Belgium is famous for chips and chocolate. Jog on.

5. They drink warm beer, much to the despair of even our least talented brewers.

Should we all be drinking Stella Artois and similar lagers?

6. They are such drunks! According to a study, the English drink 8 alcoholic drinks a day during the holidays.

At chucking out time when the fighting begins at taxi ranks and kebab shops and the sex begins in alleyways have these people been drinking Wychwood's Hobgoblin or Stella Artois?

7. Their climate is even worse than ours.

No it isn't.

8. Their tabloids only think about bums and scandals.

Tab•loid |ˈtabˌloid| - noun - a newspaper typically popular in style, dominated by headlines and sensational or lurid stories.

9. They unfairly knocked out the Red Devils from the 1990 World Cup... we haven't forgotten that goal, in the last second, by David Platt!

Unfair? One of the greatest World Cup goals in history was unfair? You should try playing Argentina.

10. We havent forgotten their hooligans either, responsible for the death of 39 people at Heysel in 1985.

39 Italians, not Belgians more's the petty. I think you'll find it was the wall collapsing in that decrepit stadium that killed those Juventus fans not Liverpool's fans directly. Shoddy architecture, poor workmanship, shit policing and strong aggression inducing Belgian beers were the main contributing factors.

We shouldn't be too hard on Belgium I suppose. Given that practically every European nation has rifled it's way through Belgium at one point in history or another on it's way to somewhere else, it's not surprising they've become such a bitter and twisted nation. No doubt their irrelevance and national sense of inadequacy has led to them now being the globes leading paedophiles too.

A recent poll showed that nearly 80% of all single Belgian males over the age of 35 have a bespoke dungeon underneath their homes in which they imprison children kidnapped from all over Western Europe and in many cases their own progeny. This figure up 14% from last year.

It's estimated that almost half of Belgian females will lose their virginity to a member of their immediate family and 25% of those will never see daylight. Ironically, this trend was highlighted in the Agony Aunt column "Dear Monique," of La Capitale in which a 14 year old girl asked..."Dear Monique, I am 14 years old and still a virgin, does this mean my brothers are gay?"

A Belgian paedophile yesterday

Additional**

Erm..just figured out what the second set of ten points are. They basically say despite the ten reasons to hate us they still like us and give ten reasons why: We saved them in the war, London is lovely at Christmas, our music is the best, our football is the best, our Royals are still around despite the scandals (quite right too), something about nice gardens and Scotland being pretty and Agatha Christie is awesome for making Hercules Poirot the greatest detective.

Well, OK then good. Good. Sorry about the er.. paedophile stuff then.

Now now now Ireland, come on now stop crying, I know it hurts to miss out on the World Cup, I would still blame Ronald Koeman for England missing out on the 1994 World Cup if I gave a shit, but don't let's pretend every single Irish player wouldn't have handled the ball in the same way as Thierry Henry last night had they been in his position.

Well, I say in the same way, perhaps not to so delicately and with such nonchalance as Henry, as if he were teasing a moist pussy from behind. No, the Irish may not have fingered the ball with the same Gallic sexual dexterity as Titi, but they would have thumped it over to the waiting striker nonetheless.

Some facts: If the game is to continue with this luddite attitude towards the use of technology in the game, then controversies like Henry's part in the France winner last night will remain as much a part of the game as own goals, freakish deflections and the intervention of outside agents.

Ireland have had two years to qualify for the World Cup, so blaming this single incident in a 24 month campaign to reach the finals in South Africa is just self-absorbed navel-gazing. You had your chances, you blew them.

Don't hate the player hate the game as the kids say. If the rewards for cheating are to remain so high, while the risks remain so low, then player exploitation of the patchwork quilt manner in which the game is officiated will remain as much a part of the fabric of football as all the other myriad of things in the game that make us tear our hair out and cry our wee hearts out with joy all in the same 90 minutes.

A disappointed Irish fan yesterday

Henry: hands a defeat to the spud faced chancers.

Queen's speech today. Splendid stuff. Shame about the weather. When one considers that this speech is essentially irrelevant due to the forthcoming election, I'd like to see the Queen exercise her power as head of state. Why not stretch her sovereign legs and ad-lib a little?

This is an election broadcast on behalf of the Labour party thinly disguised as the Queen's Speech - there's not enough time left before an election has to be called for any of these bills to pass through Parliament. It's only an opportunity for Gordon Brown to hit the ground running with his campaigning and politicking and beating Cameron to the punch. Don't let him Ma'am. Don't let him.


I'd like to see her smuggle in a copy of the Racing Post and read the form for today's meeting at Lingfield before embarking on an epic foul mouthed tirade against those who feel the Monarchy are parasites who don't deserve to have people squeezing toothpaste out for them and a President would be far more preferable.

Queenie: ....and in the 2:00 on the All Weather track at Lingfield one fancies Alfresco.
Now then you cunts, about my Royal privileges...

I like the Queen and I'm pro Monarchy. I'd rather enjoy a debate about the irrelevance of the Monarchy and how shockingly parasitical and undemocratic they are especially at this time where we have a non-elected Prime Minister who is second only to Swine Flu in unpopularity and who is shortly to be superseded by a non-elected President of the European Union. Are you listening Ben Elton? Are you? I know you read my blog. I'm glad he's moved to Australia, bloody noisy hypocrite. Progressive, yet moves to a country that still finds golliwogs amusing.

The lefties want rid of the Royals because they represent a link to the past - historical continuity - and this is the nemesis of the average commie pinko. They represent the values that have sculpted our way of life over the centuries. Values that made us the most awesomest nation ever and values they so desperately want to destroy. Bastards.

Rather than being stored away and released only for ceremonial stuff and the pageantry of the opening of Parliament and so on, I actually think the Queen should express her opinions more frequently. She should have a column in the Telegraph at least.

I'm quite looking forward to Charles taking over if the truth be told, I've changed my mind about him - he might have big ears and may or may not talk to his plants - but he won't have a problem with giving his two penneth about the state of the country and expressing a genuinely conservative opinion that has been banned by all parts of the media.

Fair enough he couldn't satisfy Diana, but such an accomplished cocksmith would be a challenge for James Bond let alone an old duffer like him, but there's no doubt in my mind he represents an essential antidote to this sneaky socialist putsch that has turned this country's moral centre into mush. Yeah I said it - I said that shit. MUSH!.

Charles: Couldn't satisfy Diana, but an important figure nonetheless

Let us be clear also that the Monarchy actually cost us next to nothing. Despite what the lefties might have us believe, they cost us something like 70p a year, arguably most tax paying Britons have spent more on Gob Stoppers per year than the maintaining of the Monarchy.

Most people who whine about them being parasites have no idea how they're funded or how much their preferred alternative - a President - would cost. So let's break it down shall we. Some home truths before lunch.


The Crown Estate has an annual income of about £200m - this is the Monarch's property portfolio - all of which goes straight to the treasury. The Civil List is then financed by the Government which is used to maintain the Sovereign - expenses, salaries of her staff, pensions, garden parties and what not.

That Civil List has not increased since 1990. It's £7.9m and has been for twenty years. If our frugal politicians had to cope with a freeze like this they'd still be earning £25,000 a year. Pish-posh - they're on about £70,000 as we speak not including what they've sneakily stolen under fraudulent pretenses.

The Civil List this year cost something like £13m - the deficit was funded out of a surplus the Queen ran up because she lived within her means and spent her time at home frugally turning lights of in rooms that weren't being used and eating super market own brands for breakie.

The entire bill for having a Royal family is £40m a year - most of which is spent on maintaining places like Windsor Castle and Buck Palace - these are all owned by the state not the Monarch and would still be maintained if we had a President - just as the French do with Versailles and they haven't had a Monarch for 200 years - because of the tourist monies they attract.

The Queen and family's income comes from the Privy Purse, which is mostly income from the Duchy of Lancaster - the Prince of Wales income comes from the Duchy of Cornwall. None of their private expenses is financed by the tax payer. We don't pay for Charles' Polo weekends and the Duke of Edinburgh's collection of Roy Chubby Brown DVDs.

They may have a yacht and a golden coach, and use helicopters instead of cars on occasions, but none of their comings and goings can match the fraudulent over-indulgences of our elected politicians and none of the Royal family have opportunity of fleecing a dodgy expenses system.

A President would cost far more than a Monarch. See President Obama, the syrup wearing German fella Köhler and that media whore midget Sarkozy for examples.

Now then, it's a fair enough debate to have, alls I ask is before one embarks on an anti-Monarchy campaign, one should at least pay her Majesty the compliment of knowing what the fuck one is talking about before one begins.

Elsewise your Ben Elton style diatribe on one of the few things we have left in this country to feel proud of will sound really quite ignorant - and you won't have the excuse that you have a book to sell to justify your oafishness.

For many years I've had a song in my head that appears fleetingly and then disappears. It's not the whole song, in fact people, it's no more than a few chords of bass guitar. I've never been able to quite remember any of the lyrics, just this bit of bass guitar - du du du du duuuuu - so have never been able to use the Googles to identify the song and release it for ever from my mind as one might release an aggressive wasp from ones home.

Alls I knew was it was a bad song sung by a poor man's Beastie Boys. And when I say poor I mean POOR. Poor like being reduced to suck on a homeless man's piss soaked trousers to remain hydrated and nourished.

Today though, I somehow induced some of the lyrics from the deepest parts of my memory - the places I usually reserve for my most traumatic experiences - fortunately without uncoupling anything sinister in the process - the most explicit details of the Glitter Gulch and the psychological abuse I suffered at the hands of my fourth year Primary School teacher Mrs Justin remain a hazy blur. Phew.


So anyway, I have Googled and the song is by Dog eat dog and is called "No Fronts." Sing along if you know the words. Why not wave your arms about too like the chaps in the video, as if you're troubled by that wasp still.

In all of my years of taking a casual interest in boxing - of watching the odd title fight and taking a fleeting glance at Friday fight night when I was craftily looking for porn - I think the only other fighter I've seen who was so superior to his peers and as phenomenal as Manny Pacquiao was the first incarnation of Mike Tyson from the mid to late 80's who destroyed his way to the top of the heavyweight division before developing a taste for the ole' snorting of the cocaine and the raping of the women.

Ooooooph: fucking hell

It's always the f*cking way isn't it? You bet an Irish barman £100 that Arsenal will finish above Manchester United in the Premier League and Robin Van Persie is immediately nobbled by an Italian.

Is it not about time we called time on international football? Does anyone really give a hoot about the World Cup any more? No..it's rubbish. Surely it's about time it was devolved to the amateur game and club football was free from this irritating diversion.

Back in the day the World Cup was something different. Exotic even, especially when it was held in South America. The poor technology of those days added to its allure. The commentators even sounded thousands of miles away. It was an opportunity to see footballers from all over the globe when the globe was oh so much bigger, 'specially the Brazilians in their famous yellow kit on a colour TV for the first time, it was magical stuff, but those days have passed.

All those players are playing in our domestic game now and technology has made the world oh so much smaller. The Champions League is the highest level of football as we speak. The World Cup has become redundant.

Pointless international friendlies clearly only exist now to reduce Arsenal's chances of winning trophies. Robin Van Persie is always odds on to snap a bone or two in these games. Ferguson's probably been on the blower to the Italians, sat in a leather chair in a big room in an underwater city, stroking a white cat and demanded our man be taken care of. It's a f*cking conspiracy.

I've just been handed a dossier on this fight by my chief of boxing "Tooko" - a Mexican chihuahua - who has forgotten more about the sport than I have ever known.

It makes for very interesting reading indeed. Or, I assume it does, it's in Spanish so I don't understand a word of it. But while I wait to run it through the translator, let's discuss what we know about this fight and possible outcomes.

Young Cotto is the bigger man - huge even - a natural Welterweight, not Valuev/Haye huge, but still significantly bigger. So big Pacquiao even stated in an interview a while back that he would not fight at Welterweight as Cotto would be too strong for him.

With only one loss on his record - to Antonio Margarito who may just have had a horse shoe in his glove or at least had his fists caked in plaster of paris as they were when he fought Shane Mosley and received a year suspension as a consequence - Cotto may well actually in all probability be favourite for this fight.

Pacquiao is the best pound for pound boxer in the galaxy, lightning fast and a nice chap to boot. Floyd Mayweather may have something to say about that, but he's such a prat I think we can give the decision to Manny. But "pound-for-pound" is the operative phrase here - as you move up the weights there are always going to be some dudes who are just too big no matter how fast you are.

Nonetheless, the betting is heavily skewed in favour of the cockfighting promoter from the Philipines because of his status, so we can dismiss these prices as casual punters lumping on Pacquiao because they probably haven't heard of Cotto and have assumed this will be an easy one.

From what I can tell, opinion amongst those who know, is divided and Cotto should be something like evens, possibly 6/5 - but certainly not the 21/10 currently on offer. A good big one always beats a good small one - except if the fight is under a circus tent - and Miguel is a very good "big one."

Cotto: A good big 'un