I'm a fairly smart person.
I can string a sentence together.
If needed, I can edit a 2000-word yarn to well under 500 and keep the gist.
I remember being asked by an editor once to cut a well-known national columnist's work by at least two thirds. I did it, then rang the bloke to let him know.
It was never going to go well, but that was life in the world of print. Indignant, he told me that it was a "well-crafted" piece. Pushing back at his preciousness, I told him "c'mon, you know that everything can be cut" and emailed him the new version.
He hung up on me.
Half an hour later, he sent me a grumpy email of approval. The crowd in my head went wild.
Despite the theatrics, we just made deadline. It was a good result.
I'm usually alert. I can assess within a few seconds of talking to someone whether they are going to annoy me. This is an exceptionally rare skill that helps me sidestep time-wasters and low-level aggravation.
Unlike precious and well-paid columnists from back in the day, I'm not trying to grandstand here. Rather, it's a strategic play to highlight my outstanding ignorance of soccer (aka football).
In this arena, I'm a dud.
I realised there was a massive hole in my general sporting knowledge when a mate told me he was embarking on a travel odyssey. I was a tad envious, then confused, as he mentioned his first stop was the World Cup.
"What? World Cup of what?" I thought.
"That sounds great," I texted.
"Don't forget your little drink bottle and hat, as you'll need them when you are watching that World Cup action, and that."
This is where it gets stupid. I googled "world cup and cricket" (no, that's over), followed by "world cup and golf . . . surfing, hockey, synchronised horse racing".
How about soccer? Doubt it, I would have heard something about that. I gave it a go. Bingo! Somewhere in Google headquarters the Dummy Alarm sounded.
When I visited FIFA.com it didn't even have an "About" menu option that sets out, um, what it's all about, Alfie.
Everyone knows.
Attempting to be on the ball, I have watched a few games. But, like when I was forced to watch my brothers' stupid soccer matches, I still don't "get" the game. At least, back then, I did get a Wagon Wheel and a Fanta for my trouble.
I caught the Australia vs Tunisia game. I knew it was a big deal when we won because the SBS commentators blew a collective blood vessel. Showing my commitment, I got out of bed to see the second half of the match with Denmark (BTW, I wonder who Princess Mary supported?)
To be honest, it was excruciating. I missed the only goal, so there was nothing to see, apart from a good-looking referee with some smashing sideburns.
OK, I've shown myself the red card.
I'm going to have to let all discussion of The Beautiful Game go through to the keeper . . . again. Or, is that a cricket term?
It's all turned a bit Messi.
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