Most sane and sensible football fans hold no truck with silly superstitious mumbo-jumbo. Not for them the lucky socks, lucky shirt, match-winning hat or Championship winning lucky knickers (have you still got them Andrea?). They, the rational majority of followers of the beautiful game, firmly believe that winning a match has altogether more to do with the form and fitness of players, the ability of the coach to pick the best available team, tactics, quality of the opposition and the occasional piss-poor refereeing decision. I beg to differ and am firmly in favour of the superstitious nonsense.

I put it to you that England’s poor form in the World Cup was due entirely to the minimal use of lucky shirts. Just what percentage of England fans chose to watch the games bare-chested I’ve no idea, but it was far too high. Whatever the numbers it was certainly enough to have a drastic effect on the outcome of the games. With so many ‘Ing-er-land’ supporters having discarded their lucky shirt in favour of a naked torso the odds against an Ing-er-land victory became astronomic.

What depressed me most, apart from the obvious fact that every naked torso seen belonged to a member of the wrong sex, was that these blubber laden hoards in ditching their lucky shirts must hold total responsibility for Owen’s injury, Rooney’s red card, not to mention the ice-pack on Beckham’s leg. Had those lucky shirts all been worn it was is quite obvious that instead of hitting more shots off target than anyone else at the tournament Lampard would have performed as he does in front of blue-shirted punters at the Bridge and hit at least three rather jammy deflected goals. Sven’s depressed sullen look on the bench and his total lack of histrionics were clear indications that he too was almost suicidal due to the obvious lack of lucky shirts.

If you want proof just ask yourself where it all started. Can’t remember? Then I’ll tell you. This whole silly saga of the shirtless naked blubbery torsos was made popular by an insane Sheffield Wednesday supporter known as ‘Tango’. He made appearances in both the FA Cup Final & League Cup Final at a time when Sheffield Wednesday were a top side back in 1993. Well I say top, they were in the top-flight back then, but had Chris Waddle playing for them. They also had the misfortune to be managed by Trevor Francis, David Pleat, Ron Atkinson and Peter Shreeves (twice), proof indeed of piss-poor luck. Tango’s mates all thought it was hilarious to bounce their flab around at matches in the middle of January just to get on TV. The result was that not only did the Owls lose two Cup Finals in a season but within ten years they plummeted as far as the Second Division.

Now normally I would take no heed of such matters were it not for the odd naked torso observed at our Final in Paris. Was it yours? Were you responsible for Jens’ dismissal by the hopelessly biased ref? If so I plead with you to revert to your lucky shirt and encourage the Scum, Chavs and Mancs to remove theirs.