Football is a game I cannot appreciate and do not understand. When it comes to the so-called Beautiful Game, I simply catch no ball. Not only figuratively speaking but also literally, because the last time I tried to play some football, I hurt myself quite badly – an ankle heavily twisted, a wrist lightly injured, and the whole body aching everywhere. Yes, foosball can be a rough sport.
Even football betting is too tough for me. Highly technical terms such as “odds”, “home”, “away” and “draw” confuse me. Bookies baffle me further with jargon like “tips”, “handicap” and “half ball”. How the hell do the players kick half a football around?!
My idea of “half ball” is a low-cut blouse. Speaking of cleavage, the only aspect of football that I find remotely entertaining is the English premier league of WAGs – Wives And Girlfriends.
A term invented by British tabloids, it refers to the attractive women attached to high-profile, highly paid footballers. Think Posh and Becks, arguably the most famous football couple in the world. There are better players and hotter partners, of course, but the original Beckham dream team from England is still a big name in the business.
The only thing I have in common with the great David Beckham is my first name. I don’t have his demigod-like good looks, nor his health and wealth. But thanks to my profession as a motoring journo, I do spend quality time with WAGs, albeit of the wheeled variety.
