I hate Holland

It will become apparent to you as the World Cup goes on that I have very little time for Holland. The reason for this is that they are brilliant. Fantastic. Touched by genius. So why do I hate them so? Because despite being all of the above, they continually turn up to these international tournaments and play the type of football that should be against their religion (their religion being the gospel of total football as preached by St Johann, in case you've forgotten). So often, the beauty of which they're capable is rejected in favour of negativity, cynicism, and out-and-out cheating. The Dutch are guilty of flushing more talent down the toilet than any side in the world. And I hate that.

So of course, I sat down for today's match daring to believe that the 2006 orange vintage could be the one to break the mould. What's this? Pinpoint 50 yard passes to dream about? Movement so clever, every Dutchman had an absolute age on the ball? Toying with the opposition before effortlessly upping the pace, and sending the lightning quick Robben clear of the LAST DEFENDER... GOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLL!!! Awesome. Sublime. Better than Brazil. Give them the World Cup NOW!

In short, I allowed myself to get a little carried away. For 20 glorious minutes I believed that this time was going to be different. It was clear that this game was going to be a rout, 6, 7, who knows? Who cares? Just sit back and enjoy. And then...they dropped deeper. Nooooooooooo!!!! I demand you throw men forward and put this shite to the sword! They don't inhabit the same planet as you damnit! Oi! Cocu! Van Persie! Look at Robben, he fancies double figures here, that full back's on his mantlepiece after the game! Get back in their half I say!

Need I go on? Serbia and Montenegro (feel free to do the 'two teams' gag by the way, they will actually become so very soon methinks) got so fed up with Milosevic and Kezman bumping into each other, they eventually packed them both off to the bath to be replaced by their version of Peter Crouch. There then ensued a game which (Big) Sam may have enjoyed over on ShITV, and the men in orange were content to head the ball clear for the entire second half. Bastards.

One second half incident provided the perfect microcosm of Dutch football. Van Persie pulled away to the right, and was supplied with effortless precision. In one movement, and with an electric injection of pace, he sublimely glided past the last, hapless, defender. Inevitably, but, and please note, unsuccessfully, the stricken full back's leg duly came out, hoping to put a swift end to the move. He was too late, however, to bring down the winger, who had left him for dead. With support arriving, Van Persie's run to the byline would surely have ended in a certain, glorious, second goal. Van Persie never made the byline, choosing instead to bring his own run to a premature end, without the help of his opponent.

Never has the phrase 'you're only cheating yourself' felt more appropriate.

I give up.