My decision to back Forza Italia in the sweep could undo me
It's the game of death in the group of death, albeit the result may be irrelevant, because whoever wins, they may both die anyway.
And if they both die, I'm effectively dead, too.
This, clearly, is a serious situation - a Code Red - and it illustrates what happens to a grown man stupid enough to suggest a house sweepstake on a football tournament.
With England's finest ensuring they are fit for the next season's modelling commitments by sunning their backsides on faraway beaches, I thought I would inject interest into Euro 08 by organising a sweep.
Children, obviously, love gambling and the missus is partial to the occasional punt. I reasoned the lure of a whopping £3 jackpot (a quid for adults, 50p for nippers) would be sufficient to engage the family in the meaningless goings on taking place on the football fields of Austria and Switzerland; and in doing so, I might be able to watch uninterrupted classic confrontations - such as Switzerland versus Turkey - rather than having to channel-hop during the advert breaks in How To Look Good Naked.
Pulling names out of a hat (or, in our case, a Home Bargains shopping bag) seemed the fairest method of team selection, adhering to the diktats of today's noncompetitive, inclusive play agenda. All's fair in love and sweepstakes.
I decided to spice up proceedings by introducing the concept of post-draw "trading," which proved jolly popular, too popular in fact.
Trading in the McComb Household Euro 08 Sweep is significant for two reasons.
Firstly, it allows the interested parties to exchange teams, up to, but not including, the quarter-final stage, and explicitly, though regretfully in my opinion, excludes the use of harassment, intimidation or threats (such as, "If you don't give me team X, you'll damn well go to bed without any turkey twizzlers").
Secondly, I assumed that trading would give me, a male, a competitive edge in a household otherwise populated by females. I mean, what do girls know about football?
So it was that I drew out: Portugal, France, Russia and Austria, teams which I categorised, respectively, as "promising," "proven pedigree," "tough cookies" and "pants."
I was sick as a parrot not to have drawn Italy. Italy have always been my glamour team, even though they are often boring and are prone to implement the sort of rough-house tactics that make cut-throat Argentinian defenders look like Gary Lineker. The names are legendary: Baresi, Gentile, Maldini, Rossi, Scirea, Tardelli, Zoff. Men's men. Artists, assassins. I love the Azzurri.
Unfortunately, nine-year-old Olivia drew Italy, so I offered her Portugal in a swap. They've got Ronaldo, I told her. He's the best player in the world. And Italy's best player - although he's not half as good as Ronaldo - isn't even playing, because he got injured in training. The omens aren't good for the Italians.
"So why do you want Italy, Daddy?" asked my youngest.
"Because, because, because ... I just love Italy, darling." I replied. "They're an important part of my childhood. Like getting the cane."
And because they are masters of tournament football, and they will win, and I'll be £3 better off, and I'll be able to buy loads of chocolate, which I will scoff myself. Although I didn't tell her any of this last stuff.
Olivia refused to budge at first. Then Italy, the pros that they are, went along with my game plan and patently threw the first game, against Holland, going down 3-0, just for me. My girl wavered, said something about Ronaldo and Deco playing out their skins, and duly traded Italy for Europe's version of Brazil.
And then it went pear shaped. Italy's anticipated demolition of Romania ended in a draw, and Portugal marched triumphantly into the quarter finals.
Now, as of Monday afternoon, three of my four teams are in a list of shame for the leakiest defences in the tournament. France (pants), Italy (pants) and Russia (pretty pants) have a "goals conceded to games ratio" of two. Which means, on current form, they've got to score three times to win a match. Which, in turn, means they haven't got a hope.
The same trio has distinguished itself by taking star billing in the games with the "widest losing margin," all of them being on the receiving end of drubbings incurring three-goal deficits. Goalwise, my Franco-Italian-Russian triumvirate is in negative equity.
Tonight, Italy must beat France to progress. But if Romania beat the plucky Dutch in Group C's "group of death," they will be eliminated anyway, as will France.
And it'll be arrivederci Zurich, bongiorno heartbreak. I predict tears before bedtime.
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