It really doesn't make sense to have a 3rd place game. Who really cares?
It really doesn't make sense to have a 3rd place game. Who really cares?
It's another 70,000 tickets that can be sold, so I think the answer to your question would be "FIFA." Would you leave millions on the table just because the match is ultimately meaningless?
Nobody I know. You'd be hard pressed to find something so stupid and meaningless in professional sports.
However, it is usually an entertaining game as the two teams will mostly come out to play a very open free flowing game. The cagey strategic defensive posture of the elimination matches will be long gone...
The Dutch will be very much at a disadvantage. Having played extra time and just two days break. That is one of the things that their manager is complaining about.
The Dutch will be very much at a disadvantage. Having played extra time and just two days break. That is one of the things that their manager is complaining about.
That is true, but first is generally where they send the weakest penalty kicker. Missing the first shot, especially from the "weak link" isn't so bad as if someone like Messi set's it off with a miss. Obviously, it worked out, because of that brilliant save on Sneijder, but it could have went bad.
I find Messi fun to watch, he is just at stand by all the time and then awakens and is away. Messi the sentinel.
HAHAHAHAHAHA FUCK YOU ALL! 1 game to go and we be 13k richer!
^
To all the haters towards my BF!
JesiWhen the tall, beautiful Germans begin scoring at will on the weak, impotent Argintines, and as you begin to wornder what exactly you're doing with this penniless, impulsive shrew, I hope you stop and take a moment to appreciate the beautiful game.
When you're darning socks that your destitute boyfriend cannot afford to replace, washing tin foil to use again, or burrowing through the dumpsters to find something to eat on a Friday night, stop, turn on the television (or watch through someone else's window) and appreciate the beautfiul game.
When you've had it with your impecunious, inadequate boyfriend, and you're sifting through the trekkies and furries on match.com, trying to find a goiterless, somewhat socialized manchild that can pass for civilized, I hope you turn on the highlights of the Germany-Argentina match and weep. Not for the result, but for the beautiful, beautiful goals, raining like mana from the heavens, as though the lord himself came down and annointed the German footballers, and each footballer was Jesus. Precrucifixion.
Your boyfriend didn't just bet against Germany, he bet against God.
And ten Jesuses (Jesei?).
When the tall, beautiful Germans begin scoring at will on the weak, impotent Argintines, and as you begin to wonder what exactly you're doing with this penniless, impulsive shrew, I hope you stop and take a moment to appreciate the beautiful game.
When you're darning socks that your destitute boyfriend cannot afford to replace, washing tin foil to use again, or burrowing through the dumpsters to find something to eat on a Friday night, stop, turn on the television (or watch through someone else's window) and appreciate the beautfiul game.
When you've had it with your impecunious, inadequate boyfriend, and you're sifting through the trekkies and furries on match.com, trying to find a goiterless, somewhat socialized manchild that can pass for civilized, I hope you turn on the highlights of the Germany-Argentina match and weep. Not for the result, but for the beautiful, beautiful goals, raining like mana from the heavens, as though the lord himself came down and annointed the German footballers, and each footballer was Jesus. Precrucifixion.
Your boyfriend didn't just bet against Germany, he bet against God.
And ten Jesuses (Jesei?).
If only I could have put this as my sig. :biggrin:When the tall, beautiful Germans begin scoring at will on the weak, impotent Argintines, and as you begin to wonder what exactly you're doing with this penniless, impulsive shrew, I hope you stop and take a moment to appreciate the beautiful game.
When you're darning socks that your destitute boyfriend cannot afford to replace, washing tin foil to use again, or burrowing through the dumpsters to find something to eat on a Friday night, stop, turn on the television (or watch through someone else's window) and appreciate the beautfiul game.
When you've had it with your impecunious, inadequate boyfriend, and you're sifting through the trekkies and furries on match.com, trying to find a goiterless, somewhat socialized manchild that can pass for civilized, I hope you turn on the highlights of the Germany-Argentina match and weep. Not for the result, but for the beautiful, beautiful goals, raining like mana from the heavens, as though the lord himself came down and annointed the German footballers, and each footballer was Jesus. Precrucifixion.
Your boyfriend didn't just bet against Germany, he bet against God.
And ten Jesuses (Jesei?).
I was watching "World Cup Tonight" and just saw all seven goals in high speed with yakety sax playing over them - funniest thing I have seen in a while...
When the tall, beautiful Germans begin scoring at will on the weak, impotent Argintines, and as you begin to wonder what exactly you're doing with this penniless, impulsive shrew, I hope you stop and take a moment to appreciate the beautiful game.
When you're darning socks that your destitute boyfriend cannot afford to replace, washing tin foil to use again, or burrowing through the dumpsters to find something to eat on a Friday night, stop, turn on the television (or watch through someone else's window) and appreciate the beautfiul game.
When you've had it with your impecunious, inadequate boyfriend, and you're sifting through the trekkies and furries on match.com, trying to find a goiterless, somewhat socialized manchild that can pass for civilized, I hope you turn on the highlights of the Germany-Argentina match and weep. Not for the result, but for the beautiful, beautiful goals, raining like mana from the heavens, as though the lord himself came down and annointed the German footballers, and each footballer was Jesus. Precrucifixion.
Your boyfriend didn't just bet against Germany, he bet against God.
And ten Jesuses (Jesei?).
I heard the fix is in and Argentina will win.
One simply does not humiliate the host nation.