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Match Thread: Norway vs England
England : Green, Jones, Jagielka, Lescott, Baines, Milner, Gerrard, Parker, Downing, Young, Carroll. Subs: Hart, Kelly, Henderson, Barry, Oxlade-Chamberlain, Walcott, Defoe, Adam Johnson.
Referee: Michael Weiner (Germany) <--- Weiner lol
England 2 : 3 Netherlands
N.Ireland 0 : 3 Norway
He has 5 assists, Ashley Young since the world cup for ENG.
Especially curious to see Norway's line up.
Yeahh come on!
Can Stuart Downing shine again? He has 4 assists for ENG since the WC.
Only a handful goals have been scored between Norway and ENG in the past.
You would have expected Hodgson to play a stronger line up.
Scotty Parker looks extremely British in this photo.
& The skies are clear for the day, lets hope it stays that way.
Arsenal youngster Chamberlain is expected to play in the 2nd half
Rain is still not expected.
Steven Gerrard is the captain for the day.
Every eye is on Carroll to see him shine in an England shirt.
Not much chance of a thriller considering the line up.
A repeat of 1992 should please the England critics.
Left back for England is expected to shine.
Chance to see Roy's tactical approach more than the squad's ability in this match.
Hodgson playing a very rested and balanced side.
Every eye on the new manager as the press are already thinking of what to blame tomorrow.
Lescott needs to shine to impress.
Sweet victory for Hodgson should be enough to let the press off his back.
Every Journo is rubbing his hands in anticipation.
Ashley Young has to win over the rest of England after his antics, he has a shot.
Cole is not in the squad.
Has Milner more suited for the flank?
A suspension for Wayne Rooney means he misses out.
Matt Lawton thinks Chamberlain should have started.
People are underrating Carroll. This system suits him.
So a repeat of 1991 not enough for England.
19:45 BST - Kick off
And we are off!
00:48 - Foul by Stuart Downing
03:46 - Downing with an excellent cross as Carroll heads wide.
04:50 - Young with a fantastic pass to the opposite team's keeper.
07:17 - Scotty Parker with a fantastic pass to Norway's #1. Top lad, top lad him.
08:10 - Hangeland with some bad ass defending.
08:34 - GOAAAAAAAAAAAAALAAZZZOOOO. Ashley Young scores!
11:50 - Green saves. Yes you read that correct, Green saves a shot!
14:24 - The match is still Young and Ashley chips one over the bar.
16:00 - Scotty Parker clears like a top lad.
16:08 - Downing gets a touch in there somewhere.
17:25 - Braaten heads way over the bar. Not a good header Bra.
18:30 - We have confirmation coming in that Green has the ball in his gloves.
21:50 - Scotty Parker valiantly dives infront of the shot and blocks it.
25:19 - Pedersen gives Stevie G a "See you in the Premiership" tackle.
26:50 - Carroll mucks up a 2v1 opportunity by passing just wide of Mr.Young.
29:20 - Downing with another hair raising, defense splitting cross, keeper punches away.
30:00 - Corner for England, headed away.
30:42 - England fans have brought with them a whole lot of instruments to keep amused.
32:27 - The shot comes to Lescott but bounces away after hitting him.
33:12 - Milner runs down the right flank, does a Messi and shoots but the shot is saved.
34:33 - Lescott jumps higher than everyone and heads the ball to Downing who clears it.
34:50 - Crowd fired up as corner for Norway, shot blocked.
35:50 - Abdellaoui shoots wide.
36:33 - Stevie G with a bone crunching tackle, Hogli ded.
38:01 - New reports coming in that Hogli is injured and will be subbed.
39:40 - Mr.Ruud steps in place of Hogli as the crowd boos every touch of Gerrard, very Ruud.
40:00 - Things getting fiesty as strong challenges are being made, latest on top lad Scotty P.
42:50 - Norway's corner is headed clear by the first man.
42:50 EDIT - We have received info that the first man was Scotty Parker, top clearance that.
45:00 - Cruical moment in the game as Green picks up the ball. Now thrown away correctly.
The match is half way in and so is my Beer, HALF TIME at the Ullevaal Stadium which is located in Oslo.
And so it begins! The second half gets underway as England fans have increased their volume with the input of a nice old pint.
45:35 - First touch of the half by Downing. Fun-fact Stuart shares his name with a famous movie.
47:03 - Freekick or ENG outside the box which Baines takes, saved by the keeper.
48:45 - Jones takes a shot which bounces off a defender's face and hits the post. Phil makes his usual "I don't understand quantum physics" face.
49:50 - Bored camera man zooms in at a WBA and England integrated flag. Nice flag though.
51:34 - Norway now attacking with some motivation. An equalizer might be inevitable.
54:30 - Theo Walcott! The fast one! The quick player! The runner! England's legs! is ready to come on. He shakes hands of all the other subs, even those who were half asleep.
59:40 - Theo gets the ball on the right wing, he runs towards goal! He runs against the goal! He runs ?away from the goal? Ok he is running back now towards his own goal. Walcott passes!
61:50 - What a shot from the left flank as it surprises Green but he saves! Corner
62:00 - Pedersen is subbed off. He looks as unimpressed as he always does.
63:23 - The corner does not amount to much.
64:33 - Panic sets in as I am all out of beer, the match though is actually slowing down in tempo.
65:30 - Hassled clearance in the England box as Abdellaoui goes down convinced for a penalty.
66:00 - The Russian commentator on my live stream is now reading out pre-season schedules of different teams during the match. I do not of course understand any Russian but it is still very obvious what he thinks about this match.
68:01 - Grindheim instructs his team mate to step away from the lay off and then successfully launches his shot to follow the SpaceX project shuttle.
71:20 - Stewart Downing has just won England a corner. Fantastic display by the maestro.
71:25 - Chamberlain is now coming on, Ashley Young confused why he is being subbed off but ties up his shorts and goes off anyway.
71:30 - Confirmation that this was not a mistake by the official with the board, it was a decision by the new ENG manager.
73:50 - Braaten makes way for Huseklepp. He had a good game Bra.
76:50 - A shot blocked by Ruud blocked by Milner, so very Ruud.
77:50 - The crowd have now switched from "I'm England till I die" to their National Anthem with full instrumental back up.
78:48 - Carroll jumps for the ball but the keeper catches it. Carroll very confused.
79:50 - Walcott on a spectacular run as the ball is taken away from him. He carrys on the run regardless.
80:35 - The crowd not appreciating Downing's tough approach to win the ball. The player who has been capped for England and has 4 assists after the world cup not even fazed.
83:30 - We have a total of 6 minutes 30 seconds + ET left. Next minute we will have 5 minutes and 30 seconds + ET and so on.
84:10 - ENGLAND'S NUMBER 11 STUART DOWNING HAS JUST BEEN SUBBED OFF. The journo's are certainly writing the headlines now after this decision by Roy. The maestro still gets applause by the England faithful and steps off the pitch. The air seems calmer. Adam Johnson takes his place.
88:40 - Riise goes down holding his head, somewhere Salamon Kalou sings his own chant.
90:00 - Final minutes of the match have just started as the ENG fans gather around together for one last round of Karaoke.
90 + 4 - The match ends 0-1 to England. Journo's now picking their pessimistic yet infuriating titles for tomorrow's paper. The DailyMail have already reserved "Average" as their starting line while the Mirror are going for "Another cup another abysmal year".
Post match events : Stuart Downing comes off the bench and shows amazing sportsmanship by shaking the hands of the opposing team after his controversial substitution.
Post match events : England fans sing "You know who you are , you know who you are. Norway, you know who you are", as Norway's fans reassure them that they do know who they are.
NOR 0 - 1 ENG
(HM) (MF) Charlie Slater and the fight with the delivery boy.
Charlie Slater and the fight with the delivery boy.
I feel like shit. Where’s the remote? I can’t listen to these idiots anymore. I used to like chat shows, people mulling over their lives and careers with a man in a nice suit who really looked like he was interested and knew all the right questions to ask. I used to like a lot of things; movie stars and rock bands and popular culture. Then this new decade happened and everything just got fucking annoying.
Charlie scrabbled around the seat for the television control. He switched over from the light-hearted daytime talk show being hosted by a young man he didn’t know the name of talking to an old actor he’d forgotten the name of, and onto ‘antique hunters’, which was basically a lot of people without real jobs running around a car boot sale. He did this whilst simultaneously pouring himself another mug of ouzo and coughing violently. Charlie was a man who could multitask.
Jesus this is boring. It’s the sort of thing Kelly made me do. Put wellies and a windbreaker on and chasing around a car park at 7am looking for useless rubbish people are willing to sell for pennies. I might be miserable and alone but at least I’m not freezing my balls off trying to look excited about an old lamp.
It was lunchtime. The television and Greek alcohol had kept him occupied for the last couple of hours and now it was time to feed. He had peculiar eating habits did Charlie, and they’d become even more peculiar since he was left to his own devices. Kelly would always try and get him into a routine, whereby he would eat three square meals a day, with an equal amount of carbohydrates, proteins and roughage, but he’d never really taken to it. He would try to find ways out of sitting down for dinner at normal time; say he’d hit upon a purple patch, that he was really getting somewhere with a character and had to stay in the study to write. And if she nagged he would pretend to yield and take his plate into that dimly lit room with him, but instead feed the neighbour’s cat through the window. Over the years that little tabby grew plump, whilst Charlie just got leaner and leaner. Charlie was 6”4, and weighed on average just over ten stone. His doctors would say he was underweight, he would say he was svelte. His bones were brittle, and as a teenager he broke his arm in four places, his leg twice and his collarbone once. He kept all his old casts, sweaty and signed, in a cardboard box in the airing cupboard. Every so often he would get them out to show guests, almost as proof that at one point in his life he had friends. He reached for the nearest takeaway menu. He had hundreds of them scattered around the house, Chinese, kebab, pizza. There was even a leaflet from a place that only sold roast dinners, full roast dinners with gravy and Yorkshires and all the trimmings, delivered straight to your door by a man on a scooter. But these glossy little menus, all brightly coloured and screaming for your intention, were scattered out of reach and Charlie had no intention of moving from his groove. He grabbed at the only one he could. It was a plain and poorly put together leaflet, with bold Helvetica font on the front that simply read ‘The Tandoori Palace’.
What time is it? Can I eat curry at this time in the day? This place gave me the shits last time. I’ll just order some bahjis. And maybe some sag aloo. That’s onion and spinach and potatoes. All vegetables and the healthier I eat the more alcohol I can drink without feeling guilty. That’s actually three of my five. Then if I ask for some of that mint yoghurt stuff aswell I’m basically sorted for the rest of the day. Free delivery on all orders over £7…I reckon that’ll come to £7. They shouldn’t charge me for the yoghurt though. Should come gratis.
When Charlie was eleven years old, his sister Claire took him to Margate for a weekend. Claire was born a decade before Charlie and had moved out when she was just sixteen, just as Charlie would when he reached that age. She had decided she had been spending too much time drinking and taking drugs and had been neglecting her little brother by leaving him in a sterile home environment with their overbearing mother and mostly absent father. She wanted to get him away for the weekend to experience some life seeing as the only occasions she had spent any time with him in the prior three or four years he had looked painfully bored and lonely, and whilst it had taken her some time to convince their parents they eventually relented. Claire picked Charlie up in her rusty Vauxhall Nova and on a road trip to the Kent coast they went. She booked them into a bed and breakfast on the seafront; being the early nineties and Margate still being popular destination amongst day trippers and holiday makers from all over the country this wasn’t cheap, but Claire was doing alright for herself working for an insurance company in the city and wanted to treat the little boy brother she had barely seen in months. On the Saturday night Claire took him to an all you can eat Indian buffet. It would be the first time he would sample food of an ethnic origin, and he sampled all of it. A little bit of something from every metal trough. He had Chicken Korma, Lamb Madras, Vegetable Jalfrezi and egg fried rice. He had onion bahjis and potato fritters. He had little garlic prawn skewers and chapatti and peshwari naan. He had dal and endless poppadoms. He ate until he vomited, and then he vomited for the rest of the weekend. When Claire returned young Charlie home on the Sunday morning, pale, shaking and still occasionally expelling Indian food from his stomach, their mother went berserk, hollering charges of recklessness and irresponsibility at her reckless and irresponsible daughter. What she didn’t realise was that something had stirred in her innocent and impressionable young son. What had stirred was a love of anything exotic, and a composition of dangerous compulsion.
“Hello can I make an order for delivery?”
Charlie sat upright on the sofa and adjusted his pants, still looking at the menu; still unsure of what it was he wanted to eat.
“I said go ahead”
“What do you mean go ahead don’t you need my address first?”
Technology had always been something that had puzzled Charlie. When he wrote he used a pen and pad, and only occasionally a vintage typewriter. He didn’t have a mobile phone, wasn’t a member of any social networks, and consistently refused to upgrade his 25 year old television. The fact that the young man that had answered the phone to him to take his order already knew his address had caused a panicked and confused look to appear on Charlies face, and when he was in a state of panic and confusion he had a tendency to get angry.
“I have your address. What would you like to order?”
“How do you have my address? That’s an infringement of my privacy”
“It comes up on our computer system. If you don’t like it mate call someone else…”
“I don’t like your tone.”
Charlie took a second or two to deliberate. Whilst he was extremely unhappy that his whereabouts could be so easily located, his stomach moaned at him in impatience.
“Can I just have some pilau rice, mushroom bhaji and some sag aloo please?”
“Is that all?”
“A thank you wouldn’t go amiss”
The line went dead, and Charlie cursed the abruptness of youth. Still, his food wouldn’t be long and he could then carry on his business of getting as drunk as humanly possible. The television spat noisy disorientating images at him; the sun crept in through a gap in the curtains and after what felt like a lifetime, the doorbell rang.
Charlie stood up for the first time in over an hour and his knees cracked. It was a sound he had always enjoyed, and frequently initiated by way of bending his joints and bones until they popped. At the door stood a slight Indian boy, no more than 17, holding a crash helmet and a vinyl bag full of hot pungent food over his shoulder.
“Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?” asked Charlie, with the intensity of a wronged man.
“Dunno what you’re talking about mate. Thirteen fifty yeah.”
“Don’t lie to me you little shit” he spat “I recognise your voice!”
The boy, not intimidated in the slightest in spite of Charlies hulking frame towering over him, laughed impudently in his face. In a sudden fit of rage Charlie lunged, knocking the bag of hot food all over the doorstep. They fell to the floor, grappling and wrestling for dominance. In a moment of improvised genius, the boy reached out and grabbed a plastic spork from the vinyl satchel and rammed it in Charlies eye, snapping it in two and causing immeasurable pain. Charlie let out a high pitched squeal, the sound a dog makes when you accidentally step on his tail, and clutched his face with his spinach and potato covered hands.
The boy sped off on his moped and left Charlie rolling around on the pavement. After a minute or so he regained his composure, scooped the bhajis and from the floor and stepped back into his house.
Charlie smiled to himself, a packet of frozen peas strapped to his eye socket. A free dinner, and all it took was the blunt trauma of some recyclable cutlery to the face and a bit of a roll around with a teenager.
The only downside was that he really fancied that sag aloo.