Watching the England men's team crawl to a draw tonight was like living through a hangover induced by consuming a Trump-sized [and shaped] vessel of cheap lager. If anything, it has done more damage to my well-being than any chemicals could. My non-dampened senses only served to make me perceive the horror of a game where all our best periods of play were assisting the opposition attack even more keenly.
I'm not saying that Gareth Southgate's England are as woeful as Theresa May's England, far from it. All I'm saying is that they become less and less inspiring to me, and it's becoming an effort to watch them. On paper they're great individuals, with who knows how much potential, but then it seems they lack a plan, basic errors abound [tonight it seemed all the members of the team were trying to win a game of football chicken with Joe Hart] and I can't see us beating anyone. I'm quite miserable now, but at least come November when I'm back drinking [and when Scotland beat us] I'll be miserable and drunk.
Oh come on, would you really deny me pain relief while I sit through this stuff? That would be cruel.
If you're waiting for the punchline to this 'funny story', it is this: if I'd had my drinks tonight, I wouldn't be in any shape to write such a long and lifeless post, and you wouldn't have had to have read it. So is beer really all that bad?