So it was all quiet which meant welding myself to my couch and watching the Ireland game on Tuesday and the Home Nations on Wednesday.

I should have realised there is a reason for the expression Luck of the Irish. I managed to liberate twenty quid from my emergency fund and thought the 2/1 on Turkey was just lovely. Minutes to go Turkey 2-1 up and game ambling into time added on. 

It is bad enough to lose a bet with the last kick of the ball but when the guy who scores it is fatter than the fat bird from Pop Idol it is too painful to contemplate. The game of basketball the Irish played in the box didn’t help my mood much either.

The following night my lovely lady was dispatched round to her mates to allow me full access rights to the remote control.

Despite flicking between all three games I saw nothing that resembled football. England, Wales and the Scots were all being sponsored by Horlicks I reckon. Just really really poor.

But just as you thought the night was a complete write-off step forward Mr Christian Dailly.

This is one of my regular rants. How on earth can be screaming f***ing cheats during a live interview with Berti Vogts be regarded as bringing the game into disrepute. I’m sorry I have had a gutful of  “I think when the referee looks again at the tape he will realise it wasn’t his best game” 

Bollocks. I want ranting, raving, swearing and physical attacks on dumb dicky TV reporters. I have often reckoned they should allow players that have just been sent off to be interviewed as they head up the tunnel.