There is the controversy over the new ball, the vuvuzelas, the concern that the South African infrastructure was going to collapse and the fear that the citizenry would butcher and pillage their guests.
We have the quadrennial reminder that nobody in FIFA’s tower can be bothered about whether the matches are refereed properly and that if the players, coaches, media and fans want answers they can shove a Jabulani where even Beckham can’t bend it.
The French are having an epic farcical collapse, the Italians are one loss away from joining them, and don’t fly into Heathrow without a parachute if England falls to Slovenia tomorrow (What if the sodding Yanks get in??!!).
Which brings us to the universal language, the only hierarchical need that approaches soccer these 31 days. Who’s getting it from whom and who’s upset about it? Who’s deprived? Will the English dames arrive in time?
Will John Terry need a scorecard? How does a celebrity romance become an international incident? Enter here and here and here and here and if you aren’t otherwise occupied you can keep doing it all day and night.