The Italians are a goal down and may go out if things stay the same. Heh.

FIFA rankings? Warya A&T, bax. Tag. FIFA RANKINGS? Grrrrrrrr!

The Somaliland presidential election is in two days time and regardless of one being a supporter or detractor of SL, this promises to be an interesting event for any follower of politics. There is an analogy floating around the back of my head but refusing to come out. In fact, there are several. Maybe it's a metaphor. Perhaps a simile! I am not sure what it is, but what I am sure of is that we still have not been told enough about the nitty-gritty details of this election. Yes, yes, I see all those raised eyebrows at the use of the word 'we'. I can even picture a few of you hurrying to your keyboards to post some inane nonsense about Somalidiid and other related nonsense. Bear with me though, this is a thread that is meant to put the cut & paste crew on the spot. You see, I have read the articles about UCID’s excellent campaign, UDUB’s crumbling shambles and KULMIYE’s taking over of the world. I (and you) have seen the endless threads about defecting minsters, cheerful crowds and confident presidents. We also read about the now familiar winks and nudges from supposedly impressed international community/powers. We followed the various threads about muggings, postponed elections, quadruple registrations, sacked election commissions and, finally, the certainty of an election date that has not (as of yet) been postponed or put back. All that is good and well, it is interesting in the eyes of some and very futile in the eyes of others. However, how does an SL election work in practice? (The sneering non Somalilanders may also want to pay attention here, for educational purposes if nothing else). Ok. I’ll try to put you in a more comfortable position and paint you a picture you may feel comfortable with (women are more than free to feel excluded again). Here we go.. Imagine yourself in a restaurant with myself, A&T, Norf, LST & Maaddeey. There we are at the table. We know we are here to eat. The food that we will eat (in typical Somali style) is either going to be RICE or SPAGHETTI! One or two might prefer to have eggs but it is unlikely that the chef would make it at this time. We’ve been here before and we’ve sampled this food before. Some of us like Rice, some like Spaghetti and some don’t even like the restaurant (“it has not licence” says one, “the meat is not halal” argues another). My worry is not related to the rice, spaghetti, the licence or even the halal meat. What I would love to know is if the food is supposed to be eaten with hands or with a spoon. Do I get a bowl of water to wash my hands with or do I have to go to the toilets to do that? Is there one waiter serving us or several? If one waiter, will there be others loitering about (like we see in most Somali restaurants)? Anyway, cuntada naga daaya... The Somaliland election is the topic and how it will exactly work. My good friend JB is going to wake up on the morning of the twenty six of June and he is going to leave his house to go to vote. He will come back a few hours later and post here that he has indeed voted. He might even talk about it on Facebook. But, how exactly will he vote? What does the actual process involve? Does he know? Have the people been informed of the actual process? Is there a leaflet somewhere or some advert on SL TV? Surely there must be some lengthy article about this particular act on some local SL papers. Surely one can find it on the net (I couldn’t). I say this as a result of hearing of one Somali kid in London who got confused with the recent British election. The boy was born and bred in the UK and this was his first ever vote. When he got to the polling station, he was shocked to see that there was no proper polling booth (with curtains). He was so lost that he ticked on the first name on the list that he was given, passed it to the polling station volunteer forgetting to fold it and then walked out. “I expected to see pictures of the candidates next to their names” he feebly protested when his friends mocked him. Marka, JB & Co, how does the process work here? I have also asked about the transition of power should the current incumbent lose and how it would take place. In addition, how long did they say the counting is expected to take? There are many questions about details that the cut & paste crew are not telling us about. And now we return to where we started, Jacaylbaro wax ma sheego yaakhi.

^^ The confedration cup was a FRINDLEY tournament, saaxib. At any rate, would you say New Zealand is a good team? They did well there and, arguably, did we in this world cup.

^^ Notice? War can't you see the gif above?

^^ No muran, just being helpful.

^^ What would happen if you started baiting a lion, Ibti? Same with a guru.

Norf, Here, have some education. Milner or Lennon? How about Veron! Torres?

What do you think this is, America? One does not get too passionate about one's own team. It's the English way.

Ibti, he's not alone there. Che is not covering himself in glory either.

posted 24-06-2010 09:08 EMINENT AND EXCEPTIONAL ENGLAND ADMINISTER FIRM BUT FAIR KICKING TO THE DESPERATE, DANGLING TESTICLES OF SLOVENLY SLOVENIA 1-0 “Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Laibach! Your boys took a hell of a beating!” It is often remarked by association football commentators that you can “only beat the team in front of you”. England made a nonsense of this at Rorke's Drift, of course, when we beat the team that was not only in front of us, but also behind and to either side of us. Moreover, in beating Slovenia, we weren't just beating this spurious, new-fangled principality who only recently became aware of their own existence. We were also beating Argentina, Brazil, Italy, Germany and all the other upstarts who dare to issue propaganda to their own gullible peoples asserting that they would stand a fighting chance against our own Upson, Milner, Johnson and co. Tonight, clad in the red of Empire which in better times has splotched the buttock of the globe like a raw welt from the thrashing our imperial superiority, we showed that as a footballing fighting force, not even a nation which contains more mountains than people, whose principal export is glowering men in antlers playing timpani-based beat music for sallow young men in black suits, can best us. There is little to be said about the stray piece of Balkan jetsam that is Slovenia, except that nature, in Her wisdom, made their men unusually tall, so as to make them easier to spot in immigration queues, pull out of the line and put straight on the first boat back to Central Europe. Doubtless they have poets, but when every word ends in the syllable “ic”, it is a jolly sight too easy to shine in this department. The National Anthems were the mark of our disparity. Ours was yodelled lustily by every man jack of our players, except for Milner, who, being Northern and subject to the speech impediment common to the people of that region, wisely kept his mouth shut, realising that to do otherwise would be akin to smearing the flag with tripe, or delivering Princess Anne the brutal kick up her jodhpured backside she so patently doesn't deserve. As for the Slovaks, so tediously derivative were its strains that it will doubtless be the subject of lawsuits from the estates of half a dozen eminent 19th century composers. This alone should have entitled to us to a direct free kick at the opening of play. Instead, the game begin with England immediately on the attack, crushing the Slavs beneath our hooves as we thundered goalward. If Glenn Johnson's initial first touch was as adept as a that of a seal trying to grasp a bar of wet soap, if Matthew Upson's deceptive combination of slowness and gormlessness meant he might as well have worn a giant, deely bopper-style headpiece in flashing neon letters reading “LIABILITY! LIABILITY! LIABILITY!”, if Milner's opening contributions were as risible as if he were stumbling along the touchline with his shorts fallen about his ankles, then I, for one, certainly did not notice. Once again, England were playing with the sort of blood, beef, thunder, passion, gravy, wind, guts, fire, horsepower, sprouts, commitment and Yorkshire pudding that precludes the need to pass the ball calmly, and slowly, in a ******* straight line every ******* now and again. Inevitably our endeavour was swiftly rewarded as Defoe, who, for obvious reasons will be among those players travelling on the lower deck of the bus during the victory parade through London, showed his humble commitment to the cause by helping into the net a cannoned cross from Milner. One nation roared in unison, the rest quailed, not least our opposition the Slovankians, who were so bewildered at this stage they had no more idea of precisely which nation they were than the rest of us do. By now, it was simply a question of whether England need bother scoring any more goals, or simply declare and not come out for the second half. In grudging obeisance to a technicality in the rules we did, however. Steven Gerrard commanded midfield, varying bits of it, his resolved expression suggestive of a man whose brain resounds to more than the incessant, Scouse drone of a hesitant “Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”. Wayne Rooney was calmness personified, displaying none of the sort of superheated, hairy impetuosity that makes you wonder if he shouldn't be clad in an icepack bodysuit at half time in order to calm him the **** down and not keep chasing the ball like a famished ******* cartoon coyote going after a ******* road runner. As for mascot Capello, who, amusing to relate has been somewhat grumpy and downcast in recent days, like an organ grinder whose monkey is refusing to hold out its tin cup, he entertained us all, bounding about on the touchline like some comic opera buffoon, as if about to hitch up his trousers, reveal his garters and bellow “GO COMPARRRE!” One could even go so far as to say he has made a token, modest, inadvertent contribution to England's success, in at least preserving their good temper. Perhaps he could even be allowed onto the victory parade bus, in the capacity of driver. As the final whistle approached, the Slaves of the former central Europe showed their desperation by making a brace of efforts on the England goal, whose ineptitude only heightened the jollity of millions of English viewers. As the final whistle blew, celebrations were untinged with the sentiment that, Jesus H ******* Crapstick, in a group we should have conga'd routinely through given our players and ******* resources, we only just made it out of by the width of a flake off a ******* scab on a gnat's ******* kneecap. We are dead meat waiting to be ******* roasted. The crowning and memorial moment came from John Terry. “On the field, you can rely on him to be entirely focussed on the game,” remarked the commentator on the British Broadcasting Broadcasting Corporation. Yes, indeed, Mr Terry can, and deserves to be congratulated for not actually shagging players's wives out on the pitch during the match. But he deserves even more kudos than that. Who among us can forget the image of him, during a last ditch Slovenian effort on goal, projecting himself sideways on, swimming through the air head first? He was a spermatozoa, the ball his ovum. It was, for this old campaigner, in a very real sense the most stimulating moment of this tournament so far, the most engorging, most reverberating, most pulsating . . . Seppings! The bucket! Source

A&T, define a good team, saaxib? The US were in the worst group in the tournment and their defence still struggled. In fact, they really have no defence to speak off and their keeper (a certain Tim Howard) is crap. They should have taken the Villa keeper instead.

A&T, It's the knockout stage, saaxib. Anything can happen. I wouldn't bet against the English beating the Germans to be honest. Now that the loser is getting knocked out, both teams are starting from the same point. England might surprise us.

For a nation that does not even call the game by its rightful name, I have to admit that the USA has been the most entertaining team in the tournament so far. From the fluky goal they scored against England, the comeback against Slovenia and the goal in injury time against Algeria, every game they played has been dramatic. It's even more amazing when you consider how rubbish a team they are. Hollywood stuff. Bloody Americans.

Bloody Americans. I was happy until the 90 whatever minute it was when they scored. Grrr.

^^ They were not solid. They let in two goals. But they played well. Wax fahan.

^^ You do realise that the game finished 2-2, don't you? Since you always follow the ball, I'm sure you have noticed that Nigeria wasted two great chances that would have won them the game (if that had happend, you would be saying they played well). War kubbada baro dee.

^^ The striker that got sent off in their first game is back, saaxib. He was doing well before being sent off.

^^ I can.

Algeria to furstrate the Americans. Shame Sherban is not here anymore.

^^ Hada what did you want, a rousing speech? (I secretly hope that England lose this).

Stuff and nonsense.

Paraguay, Uruguay it's an easy mistake to make, you bunch of pedants. I never predict England games. It's all in the player's attitude really.

^^ No. No. They can ban whatever they like but what is the punishment for watching football or shaving your beard? That's the real important question.