America, the language we speak in England is rich and varied, with an eclectic mix of accents and tones which are steeped in history and tradition. We have a knack of coining phrases which aptly and deftly describe in great detail, complexity and dexterity, exactly what we are aspiring to achieve with the fluent music of language. Our great nation has exposed to the English speaking world such marvelous manipulators of the spoken and written word. I propose to you: Shakespeare, William Blake, John Milton, Jonathan Swift, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling, Oscar Wilde, C.S. Lewis, George Orwell, H.G. Wells, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, J.R.R. Tolkien – and the list could go on and on. Men who were masters of their own craft, and on whose genius did we inherit in the ways of the spoken word and form our dialect for it to evolve into an immense, all encompassing language of divine measure that today is simply and humbly known as ‘The English Language’.

And so for the last time, it’s not soccer, it’s fucking football.