By Derek 'Robbo' Robson The Tees Mouth

What's that abour four strikers?

Friday 9 June

Wake early, my mind is buzzing. Today it begins. I've got 11 hours to kill. Go to the supermarket seeking something Costa Rican, come back with a jar of Fairtrade instant coffee and one chop.

Go to pub. Time afternoon nap perfectly and miss opening ceremony. We're off! Delighted by German approach - Klinsmann's defence (which sounds like some obscure chess manoeuvre) is all over the shop. Wanchope, two-chop, tickly under there! Frings' goal was stolen from a recurring dream of mine.

Start to go home from pub, realise there's another game at eight, so turn round and pop back. Poland are woeful - half their team look like they're in Dungeons and Dragons. Get home. Wife asleep. How can you sleep when England are playing next day? Eventually nod off. Have nightmare that England have only taken four strikers.

Saturday 10 June

Wake up very early. Swear at wife. Swear at son. Swear at Nicky Campbell on Five Live because he's Scottish and remaining detached from whole thing. Can't eat. Can't sit still. Wife gives me Ikea futon to assemble. Cunning cos it keeps me busy. Even though he's Swedish, can't imagine Eriksson putting together such a thing. He'd keep changing the formation every half-hour.

Now you see him...

Go to pub. Great start. Superb goal by their skipper but we've seen it all before. Don't need to be Nostradamus to predict the second half. England wilt like warm lettuce. Owen's off but England team don't realise and keep passing to him. Hargreaves comes on - we really are in trouble. Paraguay are pretty dismal, thank God, and we scrape a win. Trinidad and Tobago are both magnificent! By 'eck we're in the next round already! Sleep soundly until have nightmare that England have only taken four strikers.

Sunday June 11

Give pub a miss. Get call from pub asking if I'm OK. England players moaning about heat. Thank God they weren't playing Holland at two in the afternoon. If the sun doesn't blind you, the Dutch fans will. It was like looking at a mighty vat of Tropicana. Our 1-0's looking better and better, now that everyone's flagging in the second half. It's The Aussies tomorrow so I'm off to the shops in the morning to buy some Japanese food - not my favourite really - you can't buy a deep fat fryer in Tokyo, me mate says. Try to sleep but have nightmare that England have only taken four strikers.

Monday June 12

Up in time for pub lunch, Fatty Viduka and the rest of the soccerooligans. The Aussiess keep going to the final whistle, damn 'em! Why didn't we get Hiddink? High hopes for the Black Stars of Ghana but they defend like the Black Cats of Sunderland. The Mrs says she likes Totti. I tell her she's welcome to experiment as long as she keeps me informed.

Tuesday June 13

France! Ha! Vieira was like a depressed stork. And Thierry Henry? More like Lenny Henry! Not that Brazil were up to much. Ronaldo makes Viduka look like a drinking straw. There's no-one to fear here! We can win it as long as the wives and kids keep out of the way. I mean this is footie's greatest footie tournament, not a glorified bleeding creche.