First the plan was to se the match in a sports bar but practically every bar and restaurant in London were filled witch men and women painted red and white so we decided to head back to hotel to se the match there instead and so we did, adding a pitcher of Pim’s to the equation. To my great joy we found that more than half of the guests who had decided to watch the game at the hotel were German, witch made it possible for me to sheer for Germany without fear for my life. 4-1 (should be 4-2, even the Germans most agree to that) and our plan to go to Trafalgar square to see the celebrating Englishmen was shattered. Instead we only saw the Englishmen walking home with their flags wrapped around them, heads sadly bent, most of them with battle wounds as proof that that they had screamed and fought as hard as they could for their country those hours of the game. Also we saw, and heard, some brave (read extremely dumb assed) Germans walking around alone, scattered, and just asking people to beat them up.
// What happened to me? Why the hell am I watching football? You’re messing with my head. //
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