To be or not to be...

Well, that really is the question.
When Shakespeare penned these words in 1603 it was entitled 'The tragedie of Hamlet' a play which weighed up the pain of life against the uncertainty of death and the possible damnation of suicide.

Little did he know that over 400 years later Ken Devine would wake up with this, the most quoted phrase is literature, on his mind as it relates to the Portsmouth v Sunderland game tonight at 8:00pm (Setanta Sports 1).

I should be ashamed when you consider what tragedies are unfolding this morning throughout the world, but I just can't stop thinking about it. Should we lose, it won't really be a tragedy and I won't be considering suicide, but I'll certainly stick my tongue out to Portsmouth as the ferry leaves for France on Sunday...I might even blow a rasberry so they won't be able to misunderstand my depth of feeling!

Anyway, it won't come to that. It's inconceivable that the Sunderland Woman Football Team who clinched promotion yesterday to the Premiership, should see their male counterparts leaving it.

The Tamil Tigers may have accepted defeat but I don't expect the 'Black Cats' to. (Sunderland are called 'The Black Cats' incidentally).

I expect to be throwing kisses and dancing a jig at the bemused onlookers as we leave the port.

To get back to the subject of 'To be or not to be', Did you know that 'The Bard' and I have something in common?

We visited Oxford a few weeks ago and stood at the font that he stood at to witness the baptism of his best friend's baby (it's rumoured that it was in fact his baby, but let's not go there).

I gazed at one particular part of the stone carving and imagined he did the same (which he probably did) and I touched it (which he probably didn't) so that the centuries could unite and we could connect by something more than just the visual.

We are both English and have looked at (and possibly touched) the same object, but I guess that's where we go our separate ways.

He was certainly talented but have you noticed that I'm the one who can spell tragedy right? It was always 'tragedie' for him. Never mind Will, you can't be good at everything.

Anyway, to change the subject. We've now got everything together for France into one area ready to pack, so I feel justified in moving on to that little football game, the significance of which is massive. I mean 'MASSIVE'!

If theytake the pitch as 'Pussy Cats' rather than 'Hungry Black Cats', they'll need more than just nine lives by the time we've finished with them. They'll be swung round by their tails and flung into obscurity, shame, embarrassment and certain wage cuts.

If they don't give 110% with raw passion right up to the very last second of injury time...
If every limb doesn't ache come the final whistle and their entire bodies aren't covered in sweat, blood and have broken bones to boot at the conclusion of 90 minutes, then we'll just be a 'teeny-weeny' bit disappointed.

No pressure boys!