Semi-clad Brazilian lovelies, school bags for goalposts, enduring

BONJOUR mes petits! Or in English, 'Hello my smalls'. Getting to grips with the language, isn't it?

Marvellous. And so to St Etienne for the England versus Argentina match.

St Etienne? The useless, pop group with the pretty singer, you know, Sarah Cracknell, isn't it? Marvellous.

No, not them. St Etienne the town. The football stadium. Goalposts for goalposts.

Small boys not allowed on the park.

Tickets changing hands for GBP 500. England fans striking fear and loathing into the hearts of our charming hosts. You know, it's a long way from when I was a lad, school bags for goalposts, playing three and in, buying bangers before Guy Fawkes' day, there's a frog, shove a banger in its mouth. Splat!

Enduring image, isn't it? Happy, happy days.

Into the Stadium and up to my seat.

Who's that next to me? Mick Jagger? You know, I can't get no satisfaction, Mars bars, rebellious youth, tax avoiding coffin dodgers, stop it Granddad you're embarrassing me? Yes, the very one. Hello, Mick, penny for your thoughts? Sorry Ron, you'll have to speak to my accountant. It's only rock and roll. Marvellous.

England? Oh my England. You know, misery, sorrow, pain, isn't it? And now, the end is near, and so I face my final curtain?

Frank Sinatra, you know, wonderful voice, Ava Gardner, the rat pack, horse's head in the bed? Don't knock it if you haven't tried it, hmmmmm? Mia Farrow, Nancy Reagan.

What a life it is, isn't it, you know, marvellous? Dean Martin, what a liver.

Teetotal? It must be lousy to get up in the morning and know that's the best you're going to feel all day. One of Dean Martin's.

Marvellous Wonderful. I'm sorry, I'm just a sentimental old fool.

And David Beckham. Lovely David Beckham. Lovely, lovely David with the highlights in his hair, a cool breeze ruffling his dress. Becksie wecksie Becksie wecksie, kicksie wicksie. What's that?

Offsie woffsie? Redsie wedsie cardsie wardsie? Oh dear. The nation jumping to their feet as one man and demanding his blood. What a long, strange journey it's been, you know, roller coaster, isn't it?

First off there's whingeing Becksie: "I'm gutted Glenn's left me out."

Play him, Glenn, play him, shout the nation, you know, popular clamour, isn't it? Then marvellous Spice Boy goal against Colombia, curling one in, all the skills, weeks of practice pay off. Do you think he practises curling them in with Posh Spice?

You know, Victoria on the five-star hotel bed, a diaphanous piece of silk hugging her shapely figure, Beckham fiddling at the end of the bed? "Stop playing with your balls, David, you've already curled one in".

Enduring image, isn't it?

And after Spice Boy with all the skills comes the Demon Beckham, the man who lost us the World Cup. Funny old game isn't it, you know, not so much the hand of God as the foot of Satan, hmmm?

"Mummy, mummy, everyone hates me, can you make it better?" "No, son, I hate you too." Enduring image, isn't it? Oh well.

Roll on Brazil against Denmark. You know, colourful fans, isn't it? The Samba, carnival atmosphere, semi-clad Brazilian lovelies, that's it cameraman, pick them out, you know, gagging for it. Marvellous.

See you next week, hmmmm?

Ron Manager is available at: [email protected]

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