It was the day when the World Cup finally came to life. Nothing to do with Argentinean enterprise or the lack of French resistance. No, Jimmy Magee reappeared in the gantry – or at least in a commentating broom cupboard somewhere in Donnybrook. And for a magnificent 90 minutes, the Nigerian and Greek players were simply a sideshow as Jimmy crooned a familiar tune. All You Need Is Guff.

Fresh from a cover-to-cover breeze through Ulysses before breakfast, Jimmy was straight into his stride:

“It’s a day late for Bloomsday but we are in Bloemfontein.”

An early Greek cross had Jimmy rummaging through his collection of personal stationary, embossed with the Memory Man legend:

“That was inviting but nobody to reply to the invitation card.”

Impatience wasn’t long setting in.

Neither goalkeeper has had a goose bump yet.”

As a host of bodies congregated in the Nigerian box, Jimmy was reminded of the uncomfortable crushes on the rush hour service from King’s Cross to Tennessee.

“Like a crowd in a tube station waiting on the last train to Clarksville.”

Don’t make Jimmy derisory. You wouldn’t like him when he’s derisory:

“There are a lot of people in Nigeria. Pretty difficult to keep a semblance of order about the country. And I don’t mean that in any derisory way.”

Unhappy with the theatrics that led to Sani Kaita’s sending off, Jimmy made John Cena and co sound like unsteady ward assistants:

“Torosidis went down as if he was working in a WWE.”

His famed thirst for blood certainly wasn’t sated:

“What’s even more annoying is that he is not fatally wounded.”

There were a few words for Kaita too. Incredible words:

“They have a few of those buildings around Ireland, way up on hills. There’s one outside Kells, you often wonder what it is if you are passing by. And it’s called a folly. Well that was folly there.”

Chances dried up as the vuvuzelas interfered with Jimmy’s ability to send out any more invitations:

“You wouldn’t be heard over a postage stamp with the noise.”

Bloodthirsty he might be but otherwise Jimmy is a man of modest needs:

“A touch was just enough. But enough is as good as a feast.”

It was time for the Greek gaffer to send for a noted trickster:

“Otto Reinhagle is obviously thinking here’s a man with the Jesus Christ looks who just might be able to conjure up something for the Greeks.”

Sure enough Samaras and JC worked the oracle. Poetic Jimmy wanted more:

“Another goal and the flowers will be dying in Bloem-fontein.”

Unhappy with the play of both sides, Jimmy set about forming his own republic:

“The real winner in this World Cup has been Vuvuzela. Sounds like a country. They must be leading about half a million to nil.”

It was then that a period of concerted Greek pressure against 10-man Nigeria brought about Jimmy’s Eureka moment.

“It’s only when you see these good players in action that you realise the importance of having the exact same number of players on each side.”

Unfortunately, his moment of clarity was marred by the sight of a topless Greek gentleman:

“Cool night in Bloemfontein, but there’s always a macho man. In a few years time, he’ll be going to the local hospital and wondering…….. why he has constant chest trouble.”

But abstemious Jimmy was delighted with the Greek players:

“They are using their numerical supremacy sensibly. They’re not trying any fantastic, pub-talk 40-yard balls.”

Unfortunately the Nigerian Jesus had nothing up his sleeve:

“Unless someone can produce a little sole piece of so-called magic… I think even the magician has killed the rabbit here.”

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