AC: Hey guys! I wrote this exactly half way through the match, which I decided to watch in an attempt to write this fanfiction. But then OH MY GAWD it finished like that 1-1 so, I had to write with the match if you know what I mean which you probably don't because I don't really. But by the time I finished it it was 11:30 and I was horribly tired and needed to sleep (which i didn't 'till 1:29. So I wanted to put this up before I went to the land of marshmallow men. So hastily I put this up, as such it's horribly rushed, un beta-ed, un-proof read. And I hate reading my work so HA live with it.

I shall be narrator for this god awful story, ENJOY!

10:02am GMT

Arthur Kirkland was getting tired of being civilized. The teapot was taking too long to boil. And he needed caffeine, NOW! His eyes repeatedly flicked towards the kettle as he tapped his fingers against the work surface, he sniffed, the familiar smell of burning reaching his nose, he jumped up straight, quickly dashing to the toaster on the other side of the room. A small line of black smoke was curling from the shiny machine, he quickly slammed a finger onto end button, making two burnt crumpets pop up just as the teapot on the hob started whistling merrily. He sighed, sadly gazing at the crumpets, before opening a cupboard and taking out a jar. There was nothing a liberal coating a raspberry jam couldn't solve.

2:02am PST

The sound of a straw slurping up the tiny amount of drink at the bottom of the cup filled the room. Alfred F Jones stared blankly at the TV screen, he wasn't really looking at it, and the voices of the sitcom he was watching went through one ear and out the other. It took several minuets before the bespectacled American noticed his coke had all gone. It looked down to see only a few melting ice cubes lying forlornly the little water they produced being sucked up by the straw. He got too his feet, leaving the room and returning shortly later with a cup of very milky coffee. He slurped the frothy white liquid and once again stared blankly at the 50 inch plasma TV screen. His deep blue eyes were half close, dark bags formed underneath. He hadn't slept in a day or two, the only thing keeping him awake was the caffeine, which he was by no means short of. He had hundreds of energy drinks, coke and a never ending supply of coffee.

Although he wouldn't admit it. He was incredibly anxious about the game today

I have to face Iggy…

There was a slight clatter as the coffee spread across the white sofa, America was slumped, deep snores rumbling under the noise of the TV.

11:58am GMT

The sandy hair glistened in the sunlight, as small bead of sweat trickled down the males forehead before he shivered as a huge cold breeze battered against him. England was hot, the sun as shining directly on him, and hardly any clouds blocking it's rays. Dressed in his usual formal attire, Arthur was currently practising, a deep frown creased his forehead, pulling his horrendously huge eyebrows so close that that he appeared to have a only one. He expertly weaved the ball in and out of the posts he had put up. After only a few minuets however he sighed deeply and stopped dribbling. Dejectedly we walked inside, dumping a tea bag into a cup and flicking the kettle on.

11:55am PST

It was a laughable sight, America nearly chocked on his hamburger as he saw England. He was standing, a slight blush was visible on his cheeks. He was clad entirely in white, only the detail of his kit in red. He looked extremely sheepish. Below the white shorts his knobbly knees shook slightly, not from the cold, but from anticipation. But then for some reason, the brit burst out laughing.

"HHHA! YOUR KIT, IT'S AWFUL!"

America looked down at himself, personally, he thought he looked good. Blue with a white stripe and red outlining. Obviously the old man had no idea what fashion was. Alfred himself thought he looked quite sexy and heroic.

"What ever Iggy!"

The America grinned mockingly, his voice excited and hyper. Underneath this, he was worried.

He had to win.

He just had too.

There was no way he could loose to Alfred. He wanted to beat him, to show him once again that he was perfectly able to do so. Also, Arthur thought he was far better than himself at soccer. He'd show in.

"Hey Alfred!"

Said person was brought sharply back to reality as the British accent shouted at him.

"You seem awful cocky. Remember, I'm the one who invented football!"

Alfred scratched his head for a moment, Nantucket being pushed around slightly.

"Hey Arthur, I'm confused, I thought we were playing soccer, not football!"

"THIS IS FOOTBALL YOU BLOODY FOOL! WHY-"

He was interrupted as Brazil blew his whistle, signalling the start of the game. The two quickly stopped getting at each others throats and dived for the ball.

8:03pm GMT

Arthur darted past Alfred, the ball connecting with his foot and landing directly in the goal. Said Briton yelled in delight, raising both arms into the air, his green eyes sparkling with delight. The crowd cheered as Brazil blew his whistle, Arthur laughed at the look on America's face, it was screwed up in anger and jealousy. He was about to make a gloating comment to further annoy the younger country, but immediately ran to the middle of the pitch for the kick-off. His white socks already had brown mud stains on and his boots were filthy. Which was quite an achievement as it was only three minuets in.

12:31pm PST

Now the goal kick missed Alfred decided to make a move, a better move than all his others. He pelted forward, his left foot making contact with the ball, it was sent flying, with incredible speed into the back of the net.

"WOOOOOHOOOOO~!"

Alfred punched the air. His dirt splattered glasses nearly falling off his nose. He looked over at England, who by now was filthy. His formerly perfectly white kit now brown with dirt. But not much.. He looked dejected and also.. Slightly sad. Although America was determined to beat him, he seemed to be lacking that spark. After the first ten minuets, he had seemed to stop giving it everything he had. And simply played half heartedly. America shook himself mentally. Of course that wasn't happening.

I know! He's finally realised there is no way he can beat me! Yeah~ That's it, I totally rock at soccer!

As if just to prove Alfred right England took another aim at the goal, only to be blocked by a completely awesome America.

I need a burger…

9:00pm GMT

"YOU STUPID GIT! STOP FOULING YOU BLOODY ARSEHOLE!"

Arthur had both hands around America's neck, squeezing the life out of him as he yelled repeatedly at America to stop fouling. Indeed, Alfred had 'accidentally' committed a series of fouls in his plan to win. They had 30mins left and for the last 30 mins it had been a tie at 1-1. And both sides were getting more ferocious.

Why can't I give this more effort, for some reason.. I feel like I don't want to beat him.. Why… I do want to win… Don't I… I'm confused, usually I would have flattened him, but why can't I bring myself too win… He doesn't seem to have a problem.

He hadn't realised he had let go of Alfred until the ball slammed right into his face. Anger flooding through him, his face turning as red as a tomato, Arthur kicked the ball acting like a lunatic, even if he was reluctant to beat Alfred, he would still win!

1:30pm PST

It was over.. Finally. Alfred could see the sweat pouring off Arthur and knew that he himself must look the same. He could feel it for a start. He was tired, sticky and in desperate need of soda. He'd given it everything he had and yet, the score still remained at 1-1. He looked back o Arthur, who looking disappointed and exhausted marched off the pitch, gulping greedily at a water bottle, no doubt in search of a cup of tea. America sighed deeply. He hadn't won, but maybe it was better, at least this way, Arthur wasn't mad at him.

1:02am GMT

"Damn white… Footie kit… Damn bloddy.. Fowlsh… Fuck bloody… Harf Har-tednesh…"

A very wasted, a very irritable and very sorry for himself Arthur sat slumped over the table, drinking a lot of whiskey and drooling onto said surface. He looked up slightly, greasy hair falling over his eyes as a male sat down in the seat opposite.

"IGGY! Great game huh!"

Alfred sat down, his voice cheery and happy, seemingly oblivious too the fact that Arthur was completely pissed.

"You can shtick it up your arshe! Fuckin' American pp~rick. It wash shiteh…."

The drunk English man mutter just laod enough for everyone in the pub to hear.

"Well, I could have won, but I decided to be a hero and let it be a draw!"

Alfred quickly thought of a reason to answer for the tie. He decided this was perfect! It even showed him in a better light.

"CHU THINK CHUR REAL BIG DON'T CHU! YOU FUCKIN-!"

England stood up swaying and yelling, before suddenly falling back into his seat and lying his head against the oak table and sobbing his eyes out. America felt the heat rising up his neck as people started to stare, he was about too say something to England to hopefully make him shut up when a low snore came from the latter's direction. He sighed looking down at the slumbering man. Yet again he was going to have to carry him home…