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The National Symphony Orchestra always knew how to make their presence felt

Although I’ve spend most of this World Cup dreaming up unlikely scenarios that might actually play out if Ireland had got there, it has recently come to my attention that there is actually a very real, big-ass tournament going on in South Africa right now.

Even for a sports lover, it’s all a bit overwhelming at times; I can only imagine what it’s like for those who don’t know their Robinhos from their Robbens, and frankly, couldn’t give two shits either way.

Picture this, footie fans: it’s the equivalent of us having to put up with seven uninterruped hours a day of Eastenders, interspersed with analysis of the episodes, for five weeks. On every TV in every public house you could care to frequent. East end geezers instead of vuvuzelas. Perish the thought!

Speaking of vuvuzelas, I haven’t heard this much use of the word horn since Sven decided to allow the WAGs to dominate the press agenda at the 2006 World Cup in Germany.

Frankly, no caption I could come up with would do this justice

We won’t add anymore to an already tiresome debate – the volume of people complaining about them is more annoying than the vuvus themselves – except to note the ability of a simple instrument to bring out the knacker in us.

How else do you explain the vuvuzela app notching a million downloads? Great for playing on the bus I’m sure. Even stupider is the vuvuzela Twitter. More than 2,000 complete retards are following it. At least give me a non-sensical Twitter account that’s actually funny.

And it’s to twats we turn once again for the early front-runner for the biggest celebrity sore loser of the tournament award, “British” golfer Ian Poulter.

His faithful England side didn’t actually lose to the USA, but the New York Post sorta decided they had, and along with some typically poor Yank geographic know-how and questionable maths, it got Poulter’s knickers in a right old twist.

Naturally, none of this would have been necessary had poor old Robert Green not succumbed to the frankly hilarious curse of English keepers making cosmic fucknuts of themselves at critical moments. David Seaman, Paul Robinson and Scott Carson must have had a few knowing chuckles to themselves back in Blighty.

Because there’s no man scorned like an Irishman scorned, here’s Green’s baffling failure to hold Clint Dempsey’s daisy-cutter once more:

And, just because it’s even funnier this way, here it is again, as acted out by Lego men. Kudos!

All jokes aside though, we hope Capello sticks with the West Ham netminder for England’s next assignment against Algeria, if to ensure he doesn’t end up in therapy. Proving that timing is everything, he allegedly spent three hours between the sticks in training yesterday and saved 4,000 shots without the concession of a single goal.

We’re full sure (ahem) that Green has the backing of The Sun newspaper, who, of course, don’t even know the meaning of the word turncoat, as Football 365′s always-excellent Mediawatch section take great pleasure in delighting in.

But what about the other games, I hear you cry? Well, to be honest, they’ve all been a bit rubbish so far. The lowest amount of goals at this stage of any 32-nation World Cup hasn’t helped, while the majority of the game’s starts have failed to sparkle in their first outings.

This is the North Korean women's team. Do a search for the men's team, and if you can tell the difference, you're probably a ladyboy

With predictable Teutonic timing, Germany have waited for the one time the world’s media actually did decide to write them off to produce the tournament’s best performance so far, humping Australia 4-0.

This was despite the fact that the Aussies did their best to park the bus, going so far as to not have a single striker on the pitch. Which is, I’m assuming, the first time a group of 11 Australians haven’t been deemed to be in any way offensive.

North Korea have taken this sort of tactic to altogether stranger levels, after they were rumbled as having listened striker Kim Myong-won as a goalkeeper.

As I’m sure you don’t need me to explain, the western media have delighted in pulling the piss without a care in the world out of North Korea this week, and not just for the above anecdote.

So those of you who understand how football karma works won’t need me to tell you that they actually gave Brazil a bit of a fright last night, and managed to score one of their own, n’all. Dear Leader can rest easy for now, though I imagine he models himself on Thatcher and doesn’t sleep at all.

With unexpected defeats for Cameroon, and a nondescript draw for Italy against Paraguay – the highlight was George Hamilton’s “escape from Alcatraz” pun on the name of the latter’s goalscorer – it hasn’t been an easy tournament for those who make their living from punditry.

Of course, some of them just don’t make things easy for themselves. Isn’t that right, Graeme Souness and Robbie Earle?

To summarise: five days in, World Cup 2010 has been a load of hot air, on the pitch, in the studios and especially in the bloody stands.

Despite pulling the Germans and Switzerland in the office sweepstakes, we’re still hoping Spain will save us all from the torpor we’ve witnessed so far when they take on the latter later today.