1) We don't have to listen to Mick McCarthy's gruff Yorkshire co-commentary turning football matches into Hovis adverts.
2) If you're a Liverpool fan, don't worry about any European giants matching your club's asking price for Steven Gerrard.
3) Likewise, if you're a West Ham fan, no worrying concerns that 'big' clubs might pinch your 'star players'.
4) Tournament horror led to some pretty witty text circulors such as:
At England's training camp, a turd was discovered on the pitch. "Who's shit on the pitch?" growled Capello? "I am boss," replied Heskey. "But I'm pretty good in the air."
And following England's exit to Germany... Severe weather warning: shower of shit headed over from South Africa.
(Plus, plenty of others we can't print).
5) No more fucking reports about Ledley King's knee.
6) No inexplicable urge to tune into James Corden's very rubbish post-World Cup programme, just because it's the done thing and you're still excited.
7) Pubs are emptier, less sweaty and not full of girls squealing whenever a ball rolls within 10-yards of the penalty box. Plus, it no longer takes an average of 53-minutes to get a fucking drink, and an extra 12-minutes trying to navigate your way back through to where your mates are sitting, bumping into a load of drunk twats singing 'Three Lions' in horribly close proximity of your lugholes along the way.
8) It makes an interesting twist supporting Howard Webb as England's only remaining World Cup participant, and shouting "great decision, ref", rather than groaning at another cack-footed Glen Johnson foul.
9) Annoying tits like Terry and Ashley Cole will never ever EVER get a knighthood now. Unless they sell their souls to charity and single-handedly catch Osama Bin Laden.
10) No more watching Emile Heskey lumber around up front and then fall onto his arse like a sidekick from a 1920s Laurel and Hardy short. Surely this really IS THE END of Heskey's international career, isn't it...?
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