Thanks to Tirathon for reminding me about an essential part of the World Cup that should be in this story: vuvuzelas! So, i tweaked it a little bit towards the end to introduce our favorite noise. Hope you like!

The Failures

Carter stepped inside the barracks. "New prisoners," he announced.

The men got up and went outside to see the fresh meat. About twenty British infantry hopped out the truck, surrounded by just as many Wehrmacht guards. There were three Wehrmacht officers: a Colonel, a Captain and a Lieutenant. There were also three British officers of the same ranks. The Wehrmacht grinned smugly at the defeated looking Brits.

Colonel Hogan wandered over while Schultz went to go get the Kommandant. Hogan went up to the British colonel.

"Colonel Hogan," he said, introducing himself. "Senior POW officer. Though you probably outrank me by age." The colonel certainly looked older than him.

The colonel gave Hogan a half-hearted salute. "I don't really know or care." Hogan tilted his head at the accent. It was certainly not a British one. It actually sounded Italian. The Colonel introduced himself. "Fabio Capello." He looked to his two junior officers. "This is Captain Steven Gerrard and Lieutenant Wayne Rooney." They both just gave Hogan glum nods.

Hogan cocked a confused eyebrow. There was something funny about these prisoners. "How were you guys captured?"

"Well, we got thrown out of England," explained Capello nonchalantly. He swore in some Italian. "I should have never agreed to this."

"Excuse me," said Hogan. "Agreed to what?"

"Agreed to coach England's national team," said Capello. "It seems like their record in the World Cup just gets worse since 1966."

"1966?"

"Si." Capello looked around. "I know, confusing right? We get thrown out of England—sent to France to rot with those failures—and the next thing we know it's nineteen-forty-something and we get captured by them." Capello shot baleful glare to the smug Wehrmacht.

Hogan shook his head. "Ok, um, I have no idea what you're talking about…but we'll take care of that later. Do you know these guys?" He looked at the Wehrmacht.

"Of course I do," said Capello. "It's the German national team. They're the ones that beat us."

"Wait—lemme guess—the beat you in the…World Cup?" Hogan grimaced when Capello nodded. "What year?"

"2010."

"2010?"

"Shocker, right," said Gerrard. "At least you guys won't be humiliated."

"What's that supposed to mean," asked Hogan.

"Well, the Allies win the war," said Rooney. "You guys are the greatest generation to ever walk the earth. Us—well we're the men who made the recession just feel worse." He winced as flickers of a commercial showing the stock market falling. A newspaper titled England in Roo-ins withRooney's face plastered on the front.

Hogan was just staring at them all as if they were crazy. "Look, um, did you guys hit your head or anything? We have a medic. Maybe it's the shock of getting captured."

"Trust me," said Capello. "It's probably the shock of losing 4-1 to a German squad that is so young. Not to mention, England can't seem to get past the quarterfinals anymore."

"And we'll never play again in the World Cup," said Rooney. "We'll be too old next time. Probably."

"David could have played," said another Englishman. He looked over at a man with a bunch of tattoos and an odd hair style.

"Oh, shut up, Green," said someone else. "If you hadn't let that stupid goal in, in the first place, we wouldn't have had to even face Germany right off."

"It was just a mistake," snapped back the man called Green.

"Right," said another man. "The 'Hand of Clod' of yours made us tie the Yanks! We could've won the group if you hadn't let that happen!"

"Alright, alright," said Gerrard. "All of you stop this bickering. Probably why we didn't make it anyway; always thinking of each other as individuals, never as a team. Weren't any of you paying attention to the French?"

"What happened to the French," asked Hogan.

"Didn't even make it out group play," replied Rooney. "Because some players' egos were too big for the team. Coach trouble too. They didn't even win a single game."

The Englishmen went silent, everyone contemplating the past they now had no control over. Hogan was still trying to sort things out about World Cup, the dates 1966 and 2010, Allies winning the war, and all these people who seemed to think they were actually football players.

"So," said Hogan after a moment. "Those guys—" he pointed to the Wehrmacht "—are actually players on the German national team?"

"Yeah," answered Gerrard. "The Colonel is Joachim Loew, their coach. The captain is Philipp Lahm, and the Lieutenant is Miroslav Klose." He shook his head despondently.

Kommandant Klink came out. He shared some words with the colonel (apparently coach Joachim Loew) and with a great smile turned to the English prisoners.

"Welcome to Stalag 13," he said. "This is the toughest camp in all of Germany. I trust you will try nothing foolish, seeing as you have already been thoroughly defeated." Klink smiled fiendishly. "Schultz, take them away. Put them in barracks that have room."

"No," cried a veteran English prisoner. "If they lost to the Germans, we don't want them. Put them in the cooler."

Some of the new prisoners groaned.

"Yeah," said Newkirk. "Those guys dishonored us. And you make it sound like this isn't the first time. Did you actually tie the Yanks?"

"What's wrong with that," asked Carter.

"It's a disgrace, Andrew," replied Newkirk. "That's what's wrong with it."

"Well," said Carter. "Maybe America has a good team in 2010."

"You actually believe this," asked Hogan.

"Hypothetically speaking," said Carter.

"Hypothetically speaking," said Newkirk. "It's a disgrace. Tying the Yanks, and losing to Germany in the same World Cup…doesn't matter when it happens, it shouldn't happen."

Capello smiled. "Just wait till 1950."

"Why?"

"England loses to the US."

"WHAT?"

The English population of the camp was in an outrage. It looked like there might actually be a riot. Guards started pushing around, but instead of whistles, there were long, trumpets making the loudest noise ever. It sounded like a swarm of bees were coming after him or something.

"Oh, Lord," said Rooney. "It's the vuvuzelas."

"The what," asked Hogan.

"Vuvuzelas."

But Hogan could barely hear him over the drone. "WHAT?"

"VUVUZELAS!"

Hogan just pinched the ridge of his nose while shaking his head. This wasn't be happening…

"Raus! Raus! Everybody up! Roll call!"

Hogan wearily opened his eyes. He looked around his room and shook his head. What a dream.

At breakfast, he said, "I had the weirdest dream last night." He went on to tell his men about it.

At the end, Newkirk got up for another helping of coffee. He shook his head. "Yeah, that is a strange dream. Us…losing to you Yanks. No offense, but you guys aren't the best in football. Maybe your football, but definitely not our football."

"You never know, Newkirk," said LeBeau with a smirk. "Maybe you English really do degrade."

"Louie, don't look so happy," said Newkirk. "Didn't you hear the part about the French in there?"

LeBeau didn't have anything to say to that.

Newkirk sat down again. "No, sir, I can't say that dream will ever come true. We would never lose to the Yanks. We wouldn't tie them either. We'd bury them. Not to mention, we'd never have an Italian coach either."

"And you're sure about this," asked Kinch.

"Positive," answered Newkirk with a firm nod.

How could the fathers of football ever fail them like that?

(1) From the Nike commercial "Write the Future". You can view it on YouTube or if you watch the World Cup enough it eventually comes on.

(2) Referring to David Beckham, who might have played in the World Cup if he hadn't injured his Achilles tendon. Many think he was too old to play anyway.

(3) Referring to Robert Green's howler when he let Clint Dempsey's shot in, resulting that England draw against the US.

In the 1950 World Cup in Brasil, the US beat England 1-0. It was such a shock that some newspapers printed that England had won, thinking they'd heard it wrong on the radio.

In 1966, England won the World Cup on home soil.

Ever since 1966, England has met terrible ends in the Cup; they've lost in PKs, because of foolish red cards, or because of just bad play. In case you couldn't tell, I'm not a fan of England when it comes to football.