Monday, May 29, 2006

Having spent the day visiting regions that would be best served by a guidebook penned by Mr Dante, I find that I am wrong on so many counts, and need to open a new thread to respond to all the fond messages from my adoring public. You do read on a Sunday, and write so attractively as well.

Mike: Yes, the Super 14. Very sad. Does puff have the same meaning where you are as it does here? I personally don’t having any opinion on Mr Carter’s sexuality – his being the greatest rugby player alive would excuse him for performing oral sex on Jeffrey Archer on centre court at Wimbledon as far as I am concerned – but you must get up to date on the local vernacular if you propose to move to Monmouth. And, alas, my anger was only a literary affectation used for rhetorical purposes only. (and if you say any different I’ll kick your fucking head in). I suspect there was some residual anger left from watching Michael Moore’s films this week. Both Fahrenheit 9/11 and Bowling for Columbine were on, and I watched them on successive evenings, never having seen them before. I am not entirely supportive of Mr Moore – I suspect that some of his arguments could be presented more coherently, but I am grateful to him for saying it. (For those of you who have not seen the films, but would like them summarised, here is my attempt: No matter how much of a complete cunt you think that George Bush is, you have grossly underestimated, and if you guessed that his IQ reached single figures, you got that wrong as well). But I don’t normally get angry about sport. Actually two of my favourite moments in sport come from sports that I dislike, Arthur Ashe winning Wimbledon and Tiger Woods winning the tournament (Masters? Masturbators? Honky Domination Cup?) at Atlanta – as poignant as the black power salute at the Olympics.

Raincoaster – should that have been “Ask any of us who were there”?
Raincoaster – should who have been “Ask any of us who were there”?

Raincoaster - all of the Don Cherry clips were too long for me tonight – I might try them another day, but you have uncovered a morsel of patriotism in me that I would have sworn did not exist. I think that these royal islands are undisputed home of the awful commentator. Henry Blofeld? Bob Willis? John Motson? Trevor Brooking (so bad he can’t even pronounce his own name)? Murray Walker? Bob Willis? Nasser Hussain? Bob Willis?

Richard boasts of being nabbed by the fuzz in Leicester. Happened to me too, old boy. I feel proud to be the donator of however much it was to the coffers of Inspector Knacker. I, however, was nowhere near the Tigers’ ground when it happened. You should always approach sites of great religious significance in a mood of respect, reverence and calm. How do you expect to benefit from the prospect of sharing air breathed by Austin Healey, if you whiz around like a demented cheetah?

Tom corrects me again. Will my gratitude to this man never end? He points out the value of the build up to the competition, helping us to identify all of the participants, and chastises me for preferring classical music to ‘Big Brother’. Well, dear old friend, of course you are so right. Were I to quit my mortal coil now, and not know the names of the children of Paraguay’s reserve centre back, or the favourite colour of the Venezuelan goalkeeper’s pet goat, then I would, quite rightly, be denied entry to the celestial kingdom. No, Tom, complete bollocks as you well know. Whilst on my journey today, I invalidated my claim that I would not listen to lobotimised knuckle-dragging throwbacks, and drank in the wisdom of Mr Dwight Yorke. What seemed like ten minutes of the babbling of a drunken four year old. Nothing to say, but a great compunction to say it anyway. I was glad to that I stuck it out to the end, because I was rewarded by a moment of BBC brilliance that lightened the day. (Mr Yorke is noted for his ability to ‘score’ off the field more often than he scores on it, allegedly).
At the end of the interview the interviewer said “That was Dwight York from his hotel bedroom” to which his colleague riposted. “Remarkable, being able to find him in his own bedroom”. Yes, Tom, record the collected wisdom of all of those who will be interviewed before the world cup. If you play it to your horses, the RSPCA will be round quicker than the next inappropriate cliché or meaningless platitude issues from the lips of that squeaky voiced twat of an England captain. Also, you are quite right, in another 200 years, no one will be listening to the overture to the Marriage of Figaro or Beethoven’s 4th piano concerto, they will all be too busy watching recordings of some fatuous quadruped tart who was famous for 3 weeks on “Moron TV” in 2006.

MJ. Much as I love you all, as each day goes by I feel myself less likely to ever visit Vancouver.

Kat – please note I am urging everyone to read your comment. It was poetry.

Geoff – who is Neneh Cherry? I think you make these names up.

Zoe – you little tease. If you carry on like this I will have to publish those pictures of our weekend in Bridlington.

Kyahgirl says that she doesn’t talk much about football so has nothing to say. All of you – listen to this very carefully – having nothing to say will never be an obstacle to posting here.

Frontier editor. Welcome – not sure whether you have ever commented here before, but I have seen your lovely face and lovely comments elsewhere. Yes, you are quite correct. Einstein and I. Unfortunately, I do not have the original photoshop file, I had to scan that picture. You may not be surprised that most people assume that I look like that in the alternative universe that we don’t mention here. The original was done as part of a departmental Christmas card at my place of employment, (and done by those more expert and patient than I in those techniques) with the caption “Of course light has to bend to get round that fat bastard” or something similar.

Adam gives a frightening report on the harsh regime in an American college. Not for the faint-hearted. Neither is Adam. Adam, sweety, escape while you have the chance. You can come and live in England. One more illegal immigrant, one more right wing ignoramus, one more silly person, who would notice?

Krusty. A better sport than the world cup is running a competition as to who can use the current space-filling, meaningless word or phrase of the moment in the highest concentration. At the moment the phrase is “to be honest”. It superseded “basically” on 14th November 2004 at 17:36. I heard Dion Dublin being honest 7 times in 3 sentences. He may already be in an unassailable position, as most interviewees can neither start, construct nor finish a sentence. Andy Gray, on Sky Sports, uses the phrase “if I’m honest” (only once or twice a minute). “Stuart Horsefondler did not have a good game, if I’m honest”. Well, Mr Gray, I have no means of knowing whether you are honest, and therefore am sadly lacking in information of how well Stuart played. My guess, however, is that as you work for Murdoch, your honesty is roughly on a par with John Terry’s ability to knit custard.

19 comments:

Richard said...

To be honest, I had actually approached the ground with a caution that could have been mistaken for reverence. The time of the offence was 20:07 so I postulated that the stragglers milling around the ground and balancing on the street furniture were not locals and as the away team that day was London Irish, their ability to remain at right angles to the pavement was probably questionable. I spotted a gap in the throng and chased through it with due care although I suspect that a demented cheetah would have had the march on me. Basically.

Frontier Editor said...

Better a relativist than a Trotskyite, I always say - this coming from a country full of people so dense that they bend light on their own.

Martha said...

I'm commenting so that next time you write a post of individual comments, I get one.

raincoaster said...

Vicus: not everyone who was there was a person. Some were Tories.

zoe said...

i wouldn't want you to mention that sordid weekend we had together - you'll frighten too many people - even those that you think are your friends.

Vicus Scurra said...

Hands up all of those who want to see the photographs of Bridlington?

tom909 said...

Vicus, at the end of the day you are of course correct. Sadly I realise that I am living my life on a level with those people who can really only be described as 'common scum'.
From this day forth you will never again hear me slag off such things as, reading fucking books, watching twatty arty farty films, talking about fucking 'rugger', and listening to fucking screechy old music written by fucking genius's.
I am going to make a fresh start. I will turn the clocks back to where it all started to go so wrong for me. Now then, what was it I was reading, oh yes, Chauntecleer and Pertolote, a pair of twatty fucking chickens. Still, it's early doors yet.

tom909 said...

And yes, I'm definitely up for seeing those photos. How come you never showed them to me before.

Mike said...

Does puff have the same meaning where you are as it does here? - obviously not ... puff, as in puff on a cigarette .... oh, I see, POOF ... no, that's another word.

Frontier Editor said...

Clarification - the country of black hole-dense people I was referring to was my own

Adam said...

You want me to come to the UK? Allright then, if my application is accepted, I should be in the country sometime next Janurary.

Really

jktsoc- British slang for "a jacket for soccer."

Pamela Troeppl said...

vicus, you could have made something up about me so I'd be mentioned in your post. Now I'm wounded.

Oh, and for the record, I don't know who the people are in Frontier Editor's country.

Frontier Editor said...

Sorry Pam, I was referring to the border counties between Connecticut and Texas.

krusty the baker said...

To be honest, at the end of the day it gets dark. I wish I could hear 'Lenin Of The Rovers' again. That's the only football of any interest to any sane man.

Frontier Editor - 'a country full of people so dense that they bend light on their own.' - the funniest thing I've read all weekend. Ta.

zoe said...

those photos are not to shown on a family-friendly blog such as this fucking one.

Vicus Scurra said...

She's a bit touchy, that Zoe, isn't she?

llew said...

I thought puff referred to an untried option for removing the fog...

But in the end, as one of the commentators quipped, the fogged out stadium would have reminded all the English there, fondly of Twickenham.

David said...

I think you can dispute the home of awful commentators. Mr Murray Mexted has some purlers:

"You don't like to see hookers going down on players like that."

"He's looking for some meaningul penetration into the backline."

"Spencer's running across field calling out, come inside me, come inside me."

"I can tell you it's a magnificent sensation when the gap opens up like that and you just burst right through."

"I don't like this new law, because your first instinct when you see a man on the ground is to go down on him."

"Darry Gibson has been quite magnificent coming inside Andrew Mehrtens, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of the same today."

"There's nothing that a tight forward likes more than a loosie right up his backside."

"Everybody knows that I have been pumping Martin Leslie for a couple seasons now."

Vicus Scurra said...

Welcome David. The tone of your comment fits very well. I take it that Mr Mexted is from NZ? What is the name of that awful South African whose commentary sounds as if his funeral had been interrupted in order to solicit his insights?