As the World Cup final dragged on and on, with Holland fouling every attempt at a Spanish goal, only my faith in the psychic prediction powers of Paul the Octopus kept hope alive.
It was a bit like monkeys on a typewriter. Eventually someone was bound to score a goal if it went on long enough.
And sure enough Paul was right. His tentacle had reached out and touched the right mussel. Eight predictions and eight times correct. Those are some odds.
Although Babe was probably turned into rashers, let’s hope that Paul doesn’t end up as calamaris. The Spanish government have vowed to save him from this fate – but knowing their fondness for tapas I don’t hold out much hope.
But just suppose you had your own personal Paul – what would you like him to predict?