TV SCRIBBLE Sun June 27: My crazy World Cup / EastEnders claim – what an idiot I’ve been.

HONESTLY, I feel such a fool. An idiot. A clueless, ill-informed nincompoop. Possibly even a twerp, if you’ll pardon my language.

But then it serves me right for trying to be so clever.

In my last TV Scribble, you may or may not recall, I declared that there were three footballers in the last 16 of the World Cup whose surnames are the same as the first names of former EastEnders characters. And I generously offered – well, all right, I hinted that I might offer, there were no actual cast-iron promises – an Ant & Dec Greatest Hits CD (yes, it really does exist) to the first person, or was it the first people, who correctly named those three individuals.

Well, here’s the thing. It turns out there were more than three. In fact, before the USA kicked off their final game, I counted as many as five – although the fifth is the subject of some dispute.

The three players I originally had in mind – I may as well tell you now, for fear that I may be accused of making more of this whole topic than it strictly merits – were England’s John TERRY and Gareth BARRY, plus Wotsisname BRADLEY from the USA.

Well, Bradley’s obviously gone now (I’m writing this shortly before 10am on the morning of Sunday June 27), so according to what I originally claimed, the two should now be reduced to three.

Except of course, I’d forgotten someone. Namely, England keeper David JAMES – James having been the first name of EastEnders’ nasty Wilmott-Brown chappy from heaven knows how many yonks ago. So there were actually at least four. Like I say, I am a buffoon.

And the questionnable fifth? Well, Ghana have a guy who’s referred to as Jonathan. And EastEnders has certainly had at least one of those in its ranks, according to my sloppy research – played, believe it or not, by Jonny Lee Miller, albeit in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-him fashion, way back in 1992.

And I dare say, although I really can’t be bothered to check, that Walford has had at least one more Jonathan since then. Bound to have. It’s not exactly the rarest of names, is it?

But there’s a snag. From what I can make out, this guy from Ghana’s surname isn’t really Jonathan. It appears to be his first name. He just prefers people to use it.

Now, if I were a more cynical kind, I might suggest that this was a devious, underhand ploy on his part to get a mention in TV SCRIBBLE – the sort of behaviour which I couldn’t possbly condone.

But luckily I’m not. The cynical kind, I mean.

I am, as I was saying, a fool. An idiot. A clueless, ill-informed nincompoop. Possibly even a twerp.

As I suspect you’ve already concluded.

TOMORROW: World Cup referees whose middle names are the same as Blue Peter tortoises.

TV SCRIBBLE Sat June 26 – The World Cup’s amazing EastEnders link. And the best bit of marketing you’ll ever see.

IT has just occurred to me that, at the time of writing, there are at least three players in the last 16 of the World Cup whose surnames are the same as the first names of former EastEnders characters.

I find this quite intriguing, which says a lot about me.

My question is, can you name them?

There may, of course, be even more than three – I haven’t conducted a comprehensive survey. If this is indeed the case, I shall be even more excited than I am already. Imagine that.

Please click on the comment thingummy at the bottom of this post to offer your suggestions. There is, I must stress, no prize – although, come to think of it, I do have three copies of an Ant & Dec’s Greatest Hits CD kicking around somewhere – seriously – which I’d happily give to a loving home. I’d intended  to give them away in a competition about a year ago, until I suddenly realised I couldn’t be bothered.

In the meantime, take a look at the picture at the top of this post. In fact, to save you the trouble, here it is again, slightly bigger:

Isn’t that an inspired piece of opportunistic marketing by the estate agents around the corner from me? Somewhere in their ranks they have an absolute genius.

Never mind your Coca Colas and your Visas and your various other official World Cup sponsors, all pumping billions into their football-themed promotional campaigns.

Here’s an example of how a modestly-sized enterprise, thanks to the initiative of one of its employees, can truly seize the moment and send its humble business into the stratosphere.

Whoever you are, my good fellow, the nation salutes you…

TV SCRIBBLE Mon June 21: How I stupidly chose not to Tweet my Very Funny Joke™

I’VE been watching so much World Cup football that I fear my head may soon explode.

Not that every match has been getting my full attention, or in some cases even as much as three-eighths of it. I seem to have developed some kind of attention deficit disorder. I make a big deal of freeing up the time to watch a match, then I end up barely watching it at all.

What a waste of a life.

My problem is, I’ve become more and more of a football fidget these past couple of weeks. I’m forever texting or Tweeting during games.

I don’t even know why I do it. I’m rarely texting or Tweeting anything so urgent or riveting or amusing that it couldn’t wait a little while, possibly until around the time the polar ice caps melt. Why I don’t just put my stupid phone away and concentrate on watching the football, Lord only knows. I’m sure I’d enjoy it a whole lot more.

Having said that, I did come up with something really funny to Tweet while I was watching the Brazil v Ivory Coast match. I noticed that the Ivory Coast’s manager, former England boss Sven-Goran Eriksson, was once again wearing that white Puffa jacket he currently seems so fond of. And it suddenly occurred to me: “Hey, the manager of the Ivory Coast is wearing . . . an ivory coat!!! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . !”

Etc.

Once I’d picked myself up off the floor, having spent a fraction short of 23 minutes in convulsions of laughter triggered entirely by my own extraordinary wit, I decided I should put that gag on Twitter, thereby sharing it with those nice people who’ve opted to follow me.

Maybe it’ll even be retweeted, I figured to myself excitedly, by one of those really important celebrities on Twitter who have about 20 billion followers but who only actually follow about three people themselves (the clear message from those statistics, unless I’m missing the point, being: “Everything I say is extremely interesting. Everything said by almost everyone else isn’t worth my time or energy, you dreary plebs…”).

And then I realised that if they’re not following me, they’re not going to see it. Oh, well, their loss.

Anyway, I then had a further thought. My further thought was, what’s the point in me sharing my hilarious ivory coat gag, someone else is bound to have thought of it first, and no doubt Tweeted it already, maybe even right back at the start of the tournament when Sven and the Puffa first became an item.

So I didn’t bother. I couldn’t see the point. And, worst case scenario, I feared I might even end up looking like one of those people who Tweets a gag that everyone else has already heard a week or so earlier, thinking they’re the first to crack it. Like that one about the incessant droning noise throughout every match, where the pay-off is: “But the BBC / ITV could easily stop it by getting rid of Mick McCarthy / Jim Beglin!

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . !”

Etc.

But I’m kicking myself now, although not literally, because I’ve just tapped into Google the words “ivory coat”, deliberately without the S, and it looks very much as if nobody else on the entire planet has come up with the same hilarious joke.

Instead, my Google results page just includes lots of links to stuff about the Ivory Coast (I like the way it’s become such a sophisticated search engine that it doesn’t even bother with the usual query you get if you mis-spell a search, along the lines of: “Are you sure you don’t mean ‘Ivory Coast’, you illiterate twonk?).

That, plus it gave me a couple of links to shopping websites, where you can actually buy an ivory coat.

“Shop for Ivory Coat at Shopstyle UK” one of them says. But I’m not going to, because I look rubbish in ivory.

So, anyway, if you do feel like Tweeting the gag yourself, possibly even claiming it as your own, then please feel free to go ahead and do so. It’s in the public domain now, there’s not a lot I can do to stop you.

The simple fact is, I missed my opportunity. I was a damn fool. But I only have myself to blame.

And at least I’ll know better the next time I come up with a fabulous World Cup witticism.

Once every four years, though: that’s a hell of a long time to wait.