This post may contain adult language. Reader discretion is advised.
Drawing against Russia and Slovakia are one thing. But losing to Iceland? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
In some ways, the story of this minutely populated country hogging their way into the deep end of the Euros is fascinating. Even more fascinating, perhaps, than Leicester finishing top of the table and leaving my Chelsea to despair, and rejoice in the deliverance of their title to their former boss.
What the hell has happened to football?
The sport is not a welcome place for surprises. Unpredictability is only served in small doses because in the end, let’s fucking say it, the big boys usually end up on the top. Leicester’s achievement, however brilliant it may be, gave people reason to believe even if their lives are hopeless and full of disappointment. Because, by the newfound definition, you can fuck up your life until the age of 28, and still beat Ruud Van Nistelrooy’s record.
But beating everyone else to the top of the English Premier League is one thing. You get to buy players and trade players from the money courtesy of your billionaire owner. Yeah, you have to get really lucky, but it’s not as impossible as the deviant country of Iceland beating the immensely drum-rolled England.
Iceland. A nation of 330,000 people. Incidentally, there are less professional footballers in the volcanic country than there are volcanoes. Huh.
There are some things in life you don’t know the origins of. Like how the toothpaste gets inside the tube. Or how the world was created. Or, and this is slightly more concerning, how Roy Hodgson came to be the Three Lions’ manager.
I mean, the guy managed West Brom after failing miserably at Liverpool, for fucks’ sakes.
What aspect of his C.V. told the English F.A. ‘yeah, this is the perfect guy for the job’ has left me dumbfounded. He started his managerial career at Halmstads in Sweden at the age of 28, and led them to two league championships. Fair enough.
Then, he decided to join Bristol City as an assistant manager and stayed there until two years later, when he was appointed the manager at Ashton Gate. He was fired within four months at the job after a poor run of results. So, he went back to his comfort zone in Sweden and led Oddevold, and then Orebro immediately afterwards.
The new pinnacle in his managerial career came after he took over Malmo and led them to two league titles. Then, after a short stint as the manager of Switzerland, he was appointed the manager of Inter in 1995. Took them down to a 7th place finish, and reached the UEFA Cup Final, but lost to Schalke, so there’s no point in talking about it. Fast forward to 2001 after a brief period of what the F.A. might’ve decided to call ‘success’, he was appointed and consequently fired as the manager of the United Arab Emirates. After that came a stint as Finland manager, which he quit after failing to qualify the side for the European Championships in 2008. Periods of mellowed success followed at clubs like Fulham and West Brom, but he never settled in at Liverpool. And this up-and-down catastrophe somehow convinced the F.A. that he could handle the mountainous pressure that comes with the England job.
Either Hodgson blackmailed the F.A., or the decision was made over a keg of drinks at his house.
I mean, seriously?
The group-stage exit at Brazil—Brexit?—was not convincing enough for those in power to relieve the charming man of his duties. His sweet talk after constantly failing to deliver must’ve had more of an effect than I originally imagined.
It took the biggest upset in footballing history to get the 68-year old grandpa to resign out of his own humility. Whatever you’ve been crying about, at least this news must’ve given some joy to your desolate heart.
When will there be people instead of imbeciles running the F.A.?
