Sat and watched the cup final at my grandad's the other day. Grandad asks my girl twice if she really likes football. I'm kinda hoping she says, 'Actually no.' just to see if he will whip out some knitting or washing for her to do while we eat peanuts and criticise the overpaid and arrogant Chelskis and Manyoos on show (Spurs players, of course, get just the right amount of money and give humble lessons in their spare time). Second half comes on and my grandad is making us all tea (incidentally, it tastes much nicer than my tea- we agree it's all in the use of a pot and china cups) and we've been chatting about footy in general, work and old people stuff and not listening to the commentators. Grandad notices that Robben is on the pitch. ''Who's he taken off? he wonders aloud.
''Is it Makalele?"
'No.' (in the distance I hear the faintest 'Cole' but put it down to birdsong)
'Wright-phillips?'
'No. I can see him.'
'Cole.'
'Well I don't know then.'
'Me neither.' The pundits are stumped.
'Cole.' says S.
'Oh yeah,' I say.
'Are you sure you like football?' asks my grandad.
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