I keep saying "Real Football" though many will not know that this is a decidedly second string affair.
Because even the very rich Olympics can't afford strictly "real" footballers, they confine the event to the under-23 teams of each country, plus a limited number of "over-age" players per team.
(How terrible when 23+ means you're over age!)
So, by the time of last night's semi-finals, the only player on the park anyone had ever heard of before was the ancient 28 year-old Ronaldinho.
A mixed night.
The first game saw Nigeria finally knock Belgium off their perch.
A mystery to me how Belgium got this far ... but there one has it.
And the good thing is that they lost -- 4-1 I might add -- to genuine football.
My support -- the family jockstrap passed down from father to son from the pre-war days when the Trovatores were rich Italian landowners and had servants; said apparel believed to have been originally owned by one such, an ancient maggiordomo fondly known as "lo Scrotum" (a wrinkled retainer) -- did Brazil no good in their match with the Argies.
(Note the stripes in the family colours: shit and custard)Still it was a great advert for the game, as was the whole night with no fewer than eight goals: putting paid, I hope, to the reputation the game has among those who like their large-ball games to result in cricket scores.
It was marred only by the commentator twice saying "in the offering" when he meant "in the offing".
Two of the Argies' goals were scored by Aguera who looked pretty good.
Turns out, he's shagging Maradona's daughter; so he should go far.
Diego himself -- that cheating Argie bastard -- was in the stands watching.
Looked in good shape ... round ... but no doubt had gone to the venue by mistake when he should have been watching the handball, his specialism.
He was caught on camera with what looked like a drinking straw up his nose.
No doubt playing a private game of blow football.
Sledge
