Last Sunday I found myself inexplicably sitting at the bar of The Crown, feeling poisoned and seeing the world through cotton ball eyes. Big Kiwi Sean sat next to me grumbling about the universe, as he's apt to do, being the grumpiest 32-year-old going on 70 that I've ever met. The world is like sandpaper to his nutsack - everything save rugby, lager, and reggae music, that is. The Serbia-Ghana game blurred on the TV. It was a boring match that I paid only lackluster attention too. More interesting than the match were the Serbian fans, who all looked misshapen and evil.
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