See, this is the problem with not being widely read. My warnings go unheeded:
This is bad. Shockingly bad. Heinously bad. If we wrapped Jim Henson's coffin in copper wiring we could probably power Berlin for the remainder of the World Cup.
The abomination is named Goleo VI, and as the name suggests, he ought to be shot into deep space, never to return. His buddy is Pille the Talking Football, who seems pleased to offer himself for ninety minutes of kicking several times a week until it's over. Given that we can't do that to the designers of these things, we'll settle for second-best. Really, who couldn't enjoy kicking Pille, savoring the cries of shock and pain, the "Mein Gott, why? Why me?", and giggling like a schoolgirl if it should come down to penalties? I'd string the nets with razor wire to make it happen.
Then we could set Goleo's mane on fire and use him to fuel the rioting in the champion country. Good times!
(w/t to DJ Gallo of ESPN.com's Page 2)
update - there can be only one! Jumping Judas on a trampoline, what's wrong with these people?