Was forced to watch quite possibly one of the most boring games of *any* sport ever since I had the misfortune of watching Matt Williams' awful Scotland flounder like a cross between a pre-2000 Al Gore and a dead trout. 1. Fancy footwork: So this Ronaldo chap can circle a foot over a ball, so what? He wasn't going anywhere with it! All fancy talk and bugger all action, he got nowhere all afternoon because the defender had the good sense to stand there and watch the magical tap dancer from Portugal prance around in front of them. Best footballer? ********. 2. Negativity: the teams spent too much time passing the ball around, again, without doing anything attacking or actually, anything that would remotely danger the opposing sides goal. Careful now lads! Best hold out for 120 minutes and try your arm at penalties, don't, repeat, DON'T risk your bonuses for gods sake! Heaven forbid we actually have an interesting contest! 3. Total lack of skills: Even when (once in a blue moon) the ball accidentally just happened to reach the opponents penalty area (I stress, by pure accident by the way) could anyone actually put the final touch to put ball to net? Could they f***! All I saw all afternoon were pikey gypo tink Rooney, Brown and the magical tapdancer from Portugal bouncing into each other on one end and this so called "amazing player" Drogba falling over every five seconds on the other! In fact, when one player (Robben I think his name is?) decided to stun both teams, managers and the 80,850 present and actually RUN at the Man U defence, causing problems and actually putting the money where his mouth was, he seemed to have broken an unwritten rule in this strange gentlemans agreement that nobody should (heaven forbid) score a goal or even look at the opponents goal and so, nobody spoke to Robben for the rest of the day. I suspect he was left at the Stadium when Chealsea PLC decided to go celebrate by setting hungry lower class Glaswegian prize fighters at each other and laying down bets (probably in excess of Â£100 million pounds a go) on who would win before going home drunk in their solid gold bentleys. These guys are, I must stress, totally upstanding and genuine working class heroes by the way, the fact that they have more money than Albania has done nothing to change their character...except possibly the spitting on homeless people and watching replays of Hillsbourough CCTV footage and laughing at "those working class fools" and egging on the Police. 4. Why am I writing this?: The sport isn't a sport at all, its the new WWF, ergo, actually, Mite would love Football, its like WWE or UFC, except with shirts and no cage. Its a commercial enterprise complete with scripted outcomes, corruption, over dramatised scripts, occassional feuds between players and teams which then turn into friendships and tag teams which then, in turn, go back to being fueds. Jose Morihinigtogtt-I'macock-ho is a heel (Wrestling language - Mite would know this, he watches wrestling, or UFC, both the same thing - for "bad guy") one minute and a face (Wrestling language for "good guy") the next. Its all structured to create as much cash as possible, and all those who waste money buying shirts, tickets and David Beckham memrobilia are all utter idiots. Imagine the amount of useful stuff like beer, holidays, hookers to cheat on your missus with, and other cool stuff you could have got but noooo I have to pay Â£2,000 to sit at the back of a huge stadium and watch a load of dots run around and fall over, faking broken legs or, nooooo I have to pay Rupert Murdoch or some pair of Irish tinks (Setanta Sports) megabucks to tar my driveway, insult my intelligence and give me the occassional Premier league match. Its a con. The biggest con in the world, so in the words of that famous 19th century diplomat Bismark: "you can shove yer feckin' football up yer arse!"