The 298th last day of my 20s

My dad loves penalty shoot-outs. He loves the drama, the spectacle, the fact that the whole match hinges on a single moment. He was really excited about watching the first one of the World Cup last night, with Japan bowing out against Paraguay.

Myself, I hate them. I reckon they can find a less cruel method of finding a winner after an extra-time dead-lock. Maybe they should line up the players on the halfway line and get them to take turns hitting each other in the face until only one side is still standing. Or maybe they should be allowed to use their hands after the second extra-time. Or maybe they should just let them play extra-time ad infinitum until one team scores. That's what happened at Wimbledon, and everyone loved that match.

It looks like we're going to sign Laurent Koscielny after all. He's another French player I've never heard of, cheaply bought from an obscure club, with a good season at a weaker league. He's a bit of a gamble, and I'd rather we went for a defender that everyone rates, but if Wenger thinks that Koscielny is worth it, why not? Wenger's still got a great eye for talent.

So on the 298th last day of my 20s, I skipped Spain versus Portugal in favour of more sleep. I'd drunk too much coffee the day before, and couldn't get to sleep. Because I couldn't sleep much last night, I ended up drinking more coffee at work today...which will mean a shortened night of sleep tonight... which means more coffee tomorrow... which is the beginning of a tortuous cycle of a World Cup fuelled by caffeine fumes.