Belgium. Hate the place. Full of smartarses, especially their journos.
“You lost your five last games and you play against the fifth best team in the world. Are you afraid to play against Belgium?
“Yeah…terrified.”
“It could be a sixth.”
“That’s very true, but it could be one. It could be the first (win) couldn’t it?”
Who am I fuckin’ kidding. I look at transfermarkt like the rest of the football “experts” and then they expect me to beat a Belgian starting XI whose transfer value is $300 million compared to my sorry looking $25 millon Socceroos XI. My team worth half an Axel Witsel. What I’d do to have half an Axel Witsel in my team. Instead, I’m stuck with Millsy.
Belgium. Hate the place. Not even a country. Half of them even hate being called Belgians. No bloody wonder, what are they famous for…waffles, pommes frittes, fruity beers made by monks and that’s about it and now centre backs, they can’t stop producing them, they don’t even bother with left and right backs any more, they’re just taking the piss. Joke of a country.
“Can you name one famous Belgian?”
Trust that prick of a journo to start playing that game. Who does he think I am? I’ve been around.
“I can name three and then you can piss off. The Tin Tin guy, what’s his name…Herpes.”
“Hergé”
“Yeah, him…and the surrealist guy who did those paintings with the floating men in bowler hats…Rene Margaret.”
“René Magritte”
“Yeah, him…and number three is The King of the Divan…Plastic Bertrand.”
“That’s impressive, you know Plastic Bertrand?”
“Do I know him?
Ca plane pour moi, Ca plane pour moi, Ca plane pour moi, moi, moi, moi, moi
Ca plane pour moi, Ooo! Ooo! Ooo! Ooo! Ca plane pour moi”
I watched him on this show called Countdown when I was thirteen, this rock radio station called 3XY wouldn’t stop playing the song, had no idea what he was singing…but shit I loved bouncing around to Plastic Bertrand.”
“You do realise he’s our Milli Vanilli.”
“What the fuck…what are you on about?”
“Plastic didn’t sing Ca Plane Pour Moi. It’s not his voice. It’s the voice of Lou Deprijck, the song’s producer. It took an expert linguist three months to work this out after Deprijck was taken to court by a record label in 2010.”
Fuck, I hate Belgians.
The same hack corners me after the game.
“Two nil, you were lucky you didn’t lose by more. If it wasn’t a friendly you would’ve been down to nine men by half time. How does it feel after the sixth?”
“Piss off smartarse!”
“Don’t take it so hard Mr. Postecoglou. That song you liked, Ca Plane Pour Moi, has perfect advice for you. Allow me to translate,
Oh yeah, get busy, don’t worry, don’t touch my globe,
today’s not the day when the sky will fall on my head,
or when I’ll lose my neck.
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
That’s alright by me”
Belgium. Hate the place.
