So, for the first 42 years of my life I learned to live with the various ways your national team can fail (tragically/spectacularly/comically/unexpectedly/expectedly ... delete as appropriate) to reach the second phaseof the world cup. But I left Scotland and came to live in Australia where ... ah ... final minute Italian penalty last time, four-goal lesson in German this time. It must be me! There's always 2014.
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