As you’re aware, the England nation team—or “my Eng-Lads,” as I prefer to call them—is playing the European Championship semifinal today against Denmark. England has never advanced to the finals of this tournament, which was been won over the years by 12 different countries, three of which no longer exist. More notoriously, our Eng-Lads haven’t won a World Cup since 1966. Given that England is the UNDISPUTED BIRTHPLACE of “football,” as it’s called over there, their national team’s struggles over the past five decades and change have left not only Britons but the greater world wondering, with great apprehension: When is it coming home?
Reader, I’m here to put your fears to rest, because … ISS COMIN’ ‘OME.
Don’t let all the anti-Englites on Twitter and at this very website kill your buzz. All these posers are like MEW MEW MEW ENGLAND IS BAD AND SO IS CAPITALISM MEW MEW MEW. They’ll tell you that the Royal family is inbred, which is true, and that the Royals are boring, which is EXTREMELY untrue. Imagine being bored by incest. They’ll tell you that putting malt vinegar on your fries is weird and scary when we all know it’s delicious. They’ll tell you, “Frankly I never found Monty Python all that funny,” because they are sucky losers. You have my official permission to NI! these people into submission. NI! NI NI NI NI NI NI NI!
Because what are you gonna do, root for Denmark? FUCK Denmark, my lads. Denmark is home to melancholy, poorly lit indie movies about shitty husbands, and overzealous bicycle enthusiasts. It has no greater value to mankind. It’s not even a major television market. In fact, I can’t even name a single player on the Danish squad. They’re probably all named Fleuren Malkvork and live in sparsely appointed apartments and wear solid color outfits every time they go out for a herring fizz. They have no juice. And Italy? What, you’re gonna root for that used napkin of a country? With its population of glorified pickpockets and its roster of players who spend half of every game doing their best impressions of a fucking fish? I’ve been to Italy, okay? Every train station in that country is a SHITHOLE. Italy has no juice, either. THEY NO LIKE-A THE JUICE.
Meanwhile, England has STARS. We’re talking more than just THREE Lions here, mates. They have ‘ARRY KANE, who used to be good but now gets injured whenever he goes to buy some HP sauce at Sainsbury’s, but is now back to scoring important goals. They have Raheem Sterling, who has ALWAYS been good, even when I used to audibly groan every time he made one too many passes deep in opposing territory. They have Kieran Trippier, who has more SCRAP in him than Manchester has in all of its abandoned shipping docks. They have keeper Jordan Pickford, who has an amazing ass. In fact, England has TWO Jordans. TAKE THAT, DENMARK.
If you don’t like this England team, well then you really don’t like soccer. You may not even enjoy life in general, if I may be serious about it for a moment. You’re a needless contrarian. A walking Slate article. And you’re ALONE. The rest of the world wants this title to come home so, so badly. Take a look at this footage taken during my lads’ quarterfinal victory over some random old table scrap of the Soviet Union:
That video was taken in DOWNTOWN ATLANTA, mind you. That’s just how badly America wants it to come home. Because there’s nothing more American than England. No one is out here being like ISS COMIN’ AWAY! That would be hella beat. A cheer against England is a cheer against happiness. Against conviviality. Against democracy. Against Oasis. Against the use of “fab” as an earnest adjective. Against ethically challenged tabloids that contain softcore porn on page three. Against silly walks. Against finding ANY excuse to drink at lunchtime. Against clotted cream. Against expensive golf courses that play like you’re walking around an abandoned feed lot. Against the druids. Against nightclubs that people actually enjoy going to. Against amusingly provincial swear words like “sodding,” and “bloody,” and “croff.” Against THE WORLD. You’re a terrible person, and karma will be paying you a visit today, and then Sunday when the ‘Omecoming becomes official.
Because you know which country deserves all the GOOD karma? You guessed it: England. It’s jolly, it’s old, and the sun never sets on mankind’s ardor for it. It’s coming home, and you can hop aboard now, or you can be Mister Soccer Knower and root for Denmark like a RIGHT FUCKING TOSSER. I hope England embarrasses you and your filthy children. I hope swingin’ England takes Denmark and plants them into the fucking sod at Wembley, at which point strange fungi will grow out of their corpses and Rene Redzepi will make a robust stock foam out of them and then overcharge sucker tourists like you for that corpse foam.
And guess what? All of my hopes WILL come true. It’s coming home. Fuck you. COME ON YOU ENG-LADS!!!!!