Own goal

‘I guess we’ve a month of this nonsense?’ Emma said, entering the living room. ‘Ten hours a day of twenty men chasing a ball.’

‘Twenty two,’ Tom said, not looking up.

‘The goalkeepers are not chasing anything.’

‘Still …’

‘Still, nothing. Ninety minutes of tedium, diving, fouling, grown men throwing tantrums, dodgy refereeing, then a panel talking shite.’

‘And a few goals.’

‘What else is on?’

‘Ah, come-on, it’s the world cup!’

‘And Ireland’s not there.’

‘So?’

‘Seriously, you expect me to watch wall-to-wall football for the next four weeks?’

‘And fetch me beer.’

‘Talk about scoring an own goal.’



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.