"Oh My, And A Boo Hoo"

Well, the England football team wasn't entirely convincing against a plucky Kazakhstan, but 5-1 is a comfortable victory in anyone's book. And in football, it's the result that counts. You grind 'em out and take the points, right?

Take a trip to a trip up Stamford Hill to N17 on any grey Wednesday afternoon and ask the residents of that grotty postcode how they'd feel about achieving a few dire victories with a four-goal advantage -- or even for that matter, a paltry one-goal up. I'll wager they'd swap the entertaining but goalless worst start in over a century for a bit of that as quickly as you can say, erm, Danny Blanchflower very quickly..

And that's my point and why I'm so incensed at the cowardly and unsporting booing by the Wembley crowd -- and the equally banal bleating of the tabloid backpages -- of Messrs Cole (A), Lampard and Gerrard whenever they don the lilly white Three Lions.

Yesterday, Ashley Cole was booed at every touch after haphazardly gifting the visitors a sitter. Hey, everyone makes mistakes, and I'm sure Cashley would be the first to admit he's made more than his fair share. Don't get me wrong, I'm no fan of the puking, preening adulterer either, but he is giving it a go on the left.

But frankly, I resent the griping, booing and hissing of 'fans' from Scunthorpe, Market Harborough or Telford -- or whatever God-forsaken parochial hole these morons come from.

In football it's club firmly over country.

The boys, more habitually in Blue or Red, have more important priorities in their obscenely over-paid day jobs. These silly national games are a mere distraction and potential threat of costly injury.

I was pleased -- pleased, I tell you -- when England tumbled out of Euro 2008. No more of this international silliness. For what's the point? If the nation hates Super Frank and Stevo, then why should they bother? What thanks do they get for their efforts?

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

So chaps, let's just throw it all away, again, and get back to what's really important -- the Premiership and Champion's League -- and leave the provincials to their piffling Conference League tedium.

Carefree.