I posted the following short message on facebook, and received so many overwhelming offers of support, that I felt obliged to write about sport again, especially as it is the-weekend-when-no-bugger-reads-it.
“As you all know, I pride myself on my physical prowess, but tomorrow on the electric television there are two cricket games five rugby games and two soccer games, and they are just the ones that I want to watch. Any tips on
maintaining stamina during such exertions are welcome.”
Of course I did not enter this lightly. I was well prepared, having watched young Sachin score his celebrated double century this week. I am sympathetic to the views of those who do not allow a Murdoch box into their house, but, well, you missed it, you fools. The only time he came close to getting out was when he ran for a two and was nearly run out – he had already passed 150 by this time and must have been severely knackered. Exquisite shots and perfect timing.
Having completed today’s marathon, (I watched 4 rugby games, 5 if the England qualifies as rugby, a soccer match and last week’s ‘Rugby club’ – I still have a cricket match and the ‘Super 14’ show recorded) I can report that I feel quite well, and ready for another session tomorrow. I am as lithe and supple as I was at the start of the day and I am also able to bring you up to date on the state of the planet’s sport and address some of the issues brought up on facebook.
I wish it were not the case, but the sports coverage on Sky is way better than anything the BBC do. There are a few commentators who are less than satisfactory (Willis, Croft and others) but none as dire as the whining twassock Jonathan Davies. Hugh Bladen, who is a rugby commentator from South Africa, has a voice that sounds like the rusting engine of a 1962 Hillman Minx being dragged slowly across coarse gravel, and his delivery is so monotonous that he makes Bob Willis sound like Gielgud, but he knows how to pronounce the names of the South African players. I defy anyone to hear him say “Doppies La Grange” and not to be aroused, if not actually achieving orgasm. (For those of you not fluent in Afrikaans, La Grange is not pronounced the way you would think). I only truly appreciated how erotic Mr Bladen is when I heard the New Zealand commentator try to get his tongue round La Grange today, missus.
I am sure that there is a strong relationship between the names of the players in the southern hemisphere and their prowess as compared to the current bunch of second rate clowns who adorn the six nations. Bismarck du Plessis, Hosea Gear, Aled de Malmanche, De Kock Steenkamp, Quade Cooper, Israel Dagg, Josevata Rokocoko, Junior Poluleuligaga (he would have passed you three times and scored before you could say his name) and Tendai Mtawarira – these are proper names, worth a ten point advantage before kick off. The French, who are the only decent team in the six nations currently, tried to adopt this tactic, but peaked too soon with Harinordiquy. They couldn’t keep up that standard and now have to resort to names that sound numeric – Trinh-Duc and Dusautoir. The elegantly named Andrew Hore scored a try today that was better than any I have seen from a northern hemisphere player in the six nations this year, and he is a hooker.
Of course, one of the great pleasures in watching the super 14s is to regularly see Australian teams being the worst. This doesn’t happen anywhere else.
Some of my correspondents suggested that I might turn my attention to the Olympics. I believe that they were alluding to the Winter Olympic Games that I believe are being conducted somewhere on the North American continent. Oh dear. Snow and sport do not go together. Most of the “games” involve sliding in one form or another, much of it downhill; yes, you can win a gold medal by being the best at obeying the law of gravity. In the UK we do this once a year – it is called the Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling competition. We recognise that there are some people with a morbid interest in falling down hills and paralysing themselves, and provide an annual outlet for this perversion. No one gets any medals for it. I saw, quite by accident, those prize morons Torville and Dean once. I prefer to be non judgemental, as you all know, and recognise that there is no accounting for taste. Some folk like musicals, after all.
13 comments:
Oh! You knew I'd have to respond to this, didn't you?
You and I are so often not singing from the same page, but today sees us so in-tune some people might accuse us of a lack of decency.
Australian Rugby is bobbing about somewhere in the Doldrums.This will change, of course, once they give the new lads a chance. Same deal across the Tasman.
I suspect that you also share my opinion (no, it's NOT a humble one!)that sports reporters should be trained. It's simply wrong to give a retired "star" a microphone and let the bugger loose on us listeners/viewers. Wrong.
Oh! And of course Hore is a hooker!
First, let me congratulate you on your auditory induced orgasms. Second, I forgive you for comparing our Olympics to cheese rolling. However, being a Canadian, I must say you should do yourself a favour and watch tomorrow's hockey game for Olympic gold - Canada against the Yanks. That is far superior entertainment than watching a bunch of men in shorts muck around the field with some sort of ball or macrame paddle.
I think you are on to something here Vicus. Perhaps you could start a campaign for uphill skiing to be introduced into the Olympics.
As someone who can't be arsed to get Sky, and who hasn't got time to watch telly during the day anyway, I thank you for the updates on all the latest sporting events.
The winter olympics have, mercifully, passed me by, but I am aware of the League cup final due to be played this afternoon. I regret that my happiness is almost totally dependent on Man Utd losing, and pray that my yogic abilities will kick in pronto should they win.
Good post, much enjoyed. Thank you.
1. Harinodoquy is French Basque, where the language they speak is like no other. His first name is Imanol, which is Emmanuel in disguise. Trinh-Duc (who plays for our local club, Montpellier) is half Vietnamese. You pronounce his name by saying 'tran' without pronouncing the final n. As always, the French are good at casting their nets wide.
2. I was in S. Africa one winter during the Atherton era. Watching the Cape Town test on television, I was surprised to find the commentary passed indiscriminately and without warning (or subtitles) from English to Afrikaans to Xhosa and maybe other S. African languages, making it impossible to judge who was boring and who wasn't.
3. I was thinking of writing 'Torville and Dean: the Musical'. Your timely comments have completely scotched this beastly notion. On behalf of all mankind, thank you.
My dear Vicus, instead of viewing adverts for price comparison websites between every second over, can I recommend a perusal of "The Reverse Sweep". I am related to the author and, given that he spends far too much time updating his blog, he may as well build a discerning audience. You will do too.
So - how do you pronounce Tony Greig?
what Ellen said. Canada against the Yanks. there might even be some weird surnames to pronounce and stuff.
You know you want to.
;-)
Dinahmow. The Aussies are good enough to make the games interesting, but not good enough to win. This is as it should be.
Ellen. Stop being so silly. Hockey, or Ice Hockey to give it its proper nomenclature is very silly indeed. We have an equivalent in the UK. It is called "cage fighting". Even Sky won't show it.
Dave. I would make the winter games more interesting with the introduction of polar bears.
Tom. You are the silliest of silly buggers.
Christopher, thank you. I think listening to Keats translated into Xhosa is better than watching Atherton bat.
VVB. I will go over there and make sure the young man is on the right tracks.
Kaz. It is pronounced "Lanky Twat".
Clippymat. No, you are so very wrong. We had that sort of entertainment in my youth. It was called "The Keystone Kops".
I like musicals! (well, some of them)
I,LTV. I am so sorry to hear that.
The winter Olympics would have been improved immeasurably had the headmaster come out and sprinkled salt over the slides, just like Mr Crossley used to do at primary school. Mind you, we did have a habit of making them on along the route his Ford Anglia took across the playground to his dedicated garage in the corner.
I done a huge LOL. You are hilarious. This line "a voice that sounds like the rusting engine of a 1962 Hillman Minx being dragged slowly across coarse gravel" nearly did me in.
I find it disconcerting that you are so televisually enthralled with such insanely tedious pseudo-athletic events, but, if it deters you from streaking in front of the tourists at Buckingham then so be it.
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