With the opening credits of BBC’s 2010 Wimbledon coverage came joy, happiness, extortionately priced strawberries and the horror of John McEnroe’s new hair. I say new hair, it’s probably quite old hair, but it does look different. And not for the better. Here are 7 Reasons – in a nicely packaged video format (just to show I can’t be outdone) – that explain why Mr John McEnroe should not have been tempted to rid the old look.
Tag: 2010
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7 Reasons To Love French Football
Sometimes, words are not enough. But that’s okay, we can always fall back on music and pictures.
7 Reasons To Love French Football
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7 Reasons That Vuvuzelas Are Annoying
1. The Obsession. The nation is obsessed with the vuvuzela. It’s impossible to read a newspaper, listen to the radio, watch the television, go to the pub, or read an internet humour site without someone bleating on about vuvuzelas. But I think that this focus on the vuvuzela is causing us to miss out on other World Cup stories. We’re just not getting enough ill-informed conjecture about problems with the ball: Is it that it’s too round? Is it the altitude? Does it fly too straight? Doesn’t it fly straight enough? Does it look too much like a fly?
It's a fly! All of the coverage of the vuvuzelas is preventing us from having what we really want. 24 hour per day coverage of the ball. And more Robbie Savage.
2. The Name. The English language is a fusion of many languages from around the world and a lot of our words come from other countries. We get bungalow from India, sepia from Italy, mammoth from Russia and surrender from France (rather unsurprisingly). Yet it’s safe to say that our language wasn’t aided in its evolution by anyone who had been involved in professional football as, in the past week – from various players and former-players – I’ve heard “vuvulas”, “vuvuslas”, “the horns” and from Sir Geoff Hurst, no less, “uvuvezlas”. The awful mangling of the word vuvuzela is possibly the only thing that’s more grating than the sound of the instrument itself.
3. Stadium Atmosphere. The din of the vuvuzelas drowns out everything else occurring in the stadiums. This isn’t always a bad thing, as it drowned out the sound of happy Germans on Sunday, but it drowned everything else out too. The crowd reaction, singing, cheering, chanting, abuse; in fact, just about all of the things that reflect the partisan nature of football. The drone of massed vuvuzelas is a relentless unremitting cacophany that doesn’t abuse the referee, ask Fabio to dance, play the theme from The Great Escape (sorry, poor argument); doesn’t do anything fun or interesting at all. It’s just noise. An incessant racket that drowns out everything good about the stadium atmosphere. Everything.
4. Domestic Atmosphere. The vuvuzela operates at a similar pitch and tone to the human voice which means that, when you’re viewing the World Cup at home, you’re trying to filter out the frequency that other people in the room are speaking at. Thanks to the vuvuzela, if my wife turned to me during a match and said, “Would you like a beer?” or “Jennifer Aniston’s at the door, she wants to know if you can come out to play,” I probably wouldn’t hear her. Experience tells me that she’s unlikely to say either of those things, but what if she did and I missed it? Catastrophe. I hate going to the fridge.
5. Envy. It’s substantial, straight and three feet long, and I must say that I’m quite jealous, as there’s no way I could take anything like that to a football match in England. I’d probably be fed to a police-horse or charged with possession of a vuva vovos avuvuvu…“I’ll let you off with a caution this time sonny, now on your way”. We don’t even get trusted with bottled water over here.
6. Sound. The sound of massed vuvuzelas is like the sound of a swarm of angry wasps, but deeper. Usually, the larger an animal is, the deeper the sound that they make – so it’s giant angry wasps that we’ll hear the sound of all summer. Giant angry wasps! Well I certainly won’t be falling asleep during a match, or at any time at all during the summer. Except when Andy Townsend’s “analysing” the action, that is.
7. We’re Stuck With Them. There is only one thing that would be worse than enduring the sound of the vuvuzela: That would be banning the vuvuzela. Just because we Europeans have our own expectations of how a football match should be viewed, it doesn’t mean that they should be forced on the rest of the world. This is South Africa’s World Cup, and god knows they’ve earned it. World Cup 2010 should be a uniquely African spectacle and, much to my annoyance, this includes that giant dung beetle thing from the opening ceremony and the bloody vuvuzelas. But we shouldn’t be downhearted about this; sometimes the most memorable parts of World Cups are the unique things that the host nations bring to them. Mexico ’86’s wave, Argentina ’78’s ticker-tape, Italia ’90’s Three Tenors and USA ’94’s blank incomprehension about some sort of soccer-ball tournament going on. Long after many of the matches and incidents are forgotten, these are the memories that remain. And so it will be with the vuvuzela. We will have to suffer it for a month or so, but in time it’ll be the thing that the tournament is remembered for. We may even feel nostalgia for it. Eventually.
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7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Write 7 Reasons While Watching The Football
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ghana v Serbia, one of those games that I’m not desperate to see, but because it’s the World Cup I feel I should. So I did in the knowledge that it would also give me 90 minutes (plus half time) to write 7 Reasons. Easy.
1. The Girlfriend (Part A). She knows I’m watching the football whilst trying to write 7 Reasons. She asks me what the topic is. I say, ‘Darling, it’s 7 Reasons you shouldn’t write 7 reasons while watching the football’. She muses for a second, then replies, ‘Multitasking. Men can’t multitask’. I look around. She’s on the kitchen floor, watching the football, talking to me and cleaning a barbecue grill with a toothbrush. I feel admiration for my girlfriend. She can multitask with the best of them. But now I feel challenged. I must finish my 7 Reasons piece before Ghana finish Serbia. I don’t like the pressure.
2. Spelling. I spend more time concentrating on the football than on the page in front of me. This is dangerous, as when I don’t concentrate I have a habit of miss-spelling ‘tootbrush’, writing the incorrect version of ‘peace’ and adding multiple erroneous apostrophes. I also spell ‘eronous’ incorrectly.
3. Clive Tyldesley. Nothing is really happening in the game. Ghana have a throw-in just inside their own half. If I am ever going to get a chance to write something while watching the football, this is it. I look down. But as soon as I do Clive gets excited. I can only assume this is coincidence. I look up. Nothing is happening. Serbia have a goal-kick. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. I feel my neck. It’s beginning to hurt.
4. Immaturity. I see a player called ‘Panstil’. This amuses me. I spend ten minutes desperately trying to think of a joke that involves the word pants. I finally think of one. All I need is for Panstil to make a sliding tackle and lose his shorts. If he does I can say, ‘Lucky he’s still got his panstil’. I then realise this isn’t very funny. I note I still have a lot of growing up to do.
5. The Girlfriend (Part B). We are into the second half-time. The score-line reads Reasons Done 3 – Reasons Still To Go 4. My girlfriend – now attacking the grill with a brillo pad – asks what I’ve got so far. I read them to her. I wait for the laughter. It comes. Eventually. But then, so does, ‘You have a very strange brain’. I would have preferred her to compliment my shorts. I am wearing nice shorts. Clive gets excited. I look up.
6. Other Sport. Watching the football means I am missing all the other sport that’s on. I still am not sure which position Jenson Button is on the grid – and the F1 coverage has started on the other side. Nor, by watching the football, am I keeping up to date with the domestic cricket scene. I stop writing reasons for a minute. I also stop watching the football. I check cricket scores on my iPhone. I look around. My girlfriend is looking at me. I realise I am not doing much in the way of multitasking. Clive gets excited. I turn back to the screen. Nothing is happening. I have fifteen minutes to think of a final reason.
7. The Girlfriend (Part C). I am struggling to think of a seventh. My girlfriend asks me how I am getting on. I say, ‘Darling, I am struggling to think of a seventh’. She replies, ‘Well if you manage to think of a seventh I know that you can multitask. So next time the football is on you can peel some potatoes too.’ I am conflicted. She has just given me the seventh reason I shouldn’t have written this while the football was on. I have done it. I have proved men can multitask. But I have also proved why men shouldn’t multitask. Clive gets excited. It’s full-time. Ghana have won. And so has The Girlfriend.
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7 Reasons It’s Outrageous The BBC Have Cancelled Last Of The Summer Wine
1. It Has Sunday Written All Over It. Last Of The Summer Wine is Sunday. On it comes at around 6pm and immediately the nation realises it will soon be Monday. That is Last Of The Summer Wine’s job. Getting people depressed so they start the week off in the right way. Now what are we going to do? We can’t be happy on Monday morning. That would be wrong.
2. The Joke. It’s the same one. It always has been. I haven’t watched every episode of every series. In fact I don’t think I’ve watched even thirty seconds of every series, but that doesn’t matter. Because I know what the joke is. Three blokes flying down a hill in a bath tub. Or on a sofa. Cue two policeman looking alarmed as it buzzes by them. (One of them drops a sandwich too). They don’t write jokes like that anymore. Where am I going to go for my sofa fix?
3. Sex In The Countryside. There is something beautifully innocent about old women sitting in a lounge, eating sticky buns, talking about their husband’s inability to remember to take off their muddy shoes when they come home of an evening. That’s what women should be talking about. We won’t have that again. Instead we’ll have repeats of four forty-somethings, sitting in a New York restaurant, discussing the size of Samantha’s latest pepper grinder conquest. Disgusting. You hear me? Disgusting.
4. Holmfirth. For the uninitiated, this is where Last Of The Summer Wine is filmed. I have never been. Because I don’t need to. Every year, if I want to, I can see how much the place has changed on the TV. Along with all other eight regular viewers. But what are we going to do next year? When it’s no longer on. I’m going to have to go on a coach trip to Holmfirth with eight randomers. I don’t want to go to Holmfirth with eight randomers. It’s bloody miles away.
5. Something Else Not To Watch. I don’t watch Last Of The Summer Wine. No matter what you may think. When the final series finishes though, I won’t be able to not watch it. So that means I’ll have to find something else not to watch to restore the happy balance in my TV viewing. This is pressure. I can’t choose Loose Women because I already choose not to watch it. I’l have to find something I don’t know about on some channel I don’t know about and not watch that instead. What a waste of time.
6. Potential. It promised so much didn’t it? And it was so close to achieving it. What with Russ Abbot playing a milkman who thinks he was once in MI5. What a shame to cancel the show just as it was reaching its climax.
7. 2010: The End. What with Lost ending this year. And 24. And Heroes. And Flashforward. It feels a bit like a salt in the wound to also have Last Of The Summer Wine ending on us. And this comes from someone who didn’t even watch 24. Or Heroes. Or Flashforward. Or Last Of The Summer Wine. Which only goes to show how ridiculous and painful the BBC’s decision is.
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7 Reasons U2 Have No Excuse Not To Perform At Glastonbury
So, yesterday, U2 had to pull out of their scheduled headline appearance at this year’s Glastonbury because Bono needs to rest his back. As excuses go, that’s up there with, ‘My imaginary dog ate my homework’. And this is why.
1. Posture. Now, I know ‘rockstars’ like to own the stage. Nothing gets them more erect than running across the stage and whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Given that Bono is a prick most of the time, it will come as no surprise that I believe he falls into this category. But, do you know what? There is no rule that says you have to ponce around the stage. You are allowed to sit down. Or even lie down on stage. So why couldn’t Bono have done this?
2. Location. The Edge and the other two – who don’t actually have names – could easily be on the stage at Glastonbury with a video link to Bono sitting at home, in front of his webcam. He can afford one.
3. Orifices. The last time I checked, Bono didn’t sing out of his back. He talks out of something close to it, but singing out of his back? No. He uses what most of us use. His mouth. Saying he can’t sing at Glastonbury is a bit like me saying I can’t bend down because I have a cold-sore on the side of my mouth.
4. Miming. Bono doesn’t actually have to sing. People will understand. He could just stand there and open his mouth while U2’s roadie presses play on the tape recorder round the back.
5. Geoffrey Knight. I wouldn’t blame you if you have never heard of Geoffrey. Up until ten seconds ago neither had I. But he is arguably the world’s greatest Bono impersonator. Don’t take it from me, visit his website. Now, I know a thing or two about impersonation* and, the truth is, a lot of people – mainly those who don’t bother to read – will believe just about anything. So all Bono had to do was get Michael Eavis to write somewhere on the Glastonbury website that Geoffrey would be appearing instead of him. Simple.
6. Holograms. Yes, so supposing Geoffrey isn’t available – maybe he is out impersonating Bob Geldof – well then it’s time for the lights and projection systems and all that jazz to take over. With all the strobing and flashing lights that happen on these stages, no one is really going to notice if Bono is actually being played by a hologram. And let’s be honest, after all the alcohol that has been consumed by the crowd, the whole thing is just a blur anyway.
7. My Mum & Everyone Else. My mum has a bad back, but she’s the kind of woman who wouldn’t let you know it. Not once has she phoned up the owner of Tesco to cancel her appearance in the aisles later that day. Instead, she gets in the car, does the shopping and then carries everything into the house. Sometimes I think it’s quite harsh not to open the front door for her. And then, like I say, there is everyone else. Everyday, all over the world, people are injuring their backs. Do they cancel their appearance at Glastonbury because of it? No, they do not. Bono, you are pathetic.
*It’s really quite an art.
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7 Reasons That The BBC Election Night Coverage Was Weird
1. Fiona Bruce. Bizarrely, for their election special, the BBC decided to segregate the sexes, with the men downstairs and the women upstairs. Queen of the woman-zone was – of course – Fiona Bruce. She was obviously so determined to be seen as the prettiest of them all that she appeared to be wearing all of the make-up. I don’t just mean foundation, concealer, blusher and mascara (I have just reached the limit of my make-up vocabulary), I mean the BBC make-up department’s entire stock of everything. It was extraordinary. Her face appeared to be entombed in concrete. She’s noted for being calm and cool, but if she’d become hysterical during the broadcast it wouldn’t have become apparent until next Wednesday. They’re probably still trying to excavate her chin now.
2. Dimbleby. Down in the man-area David Dimbleby was firmly in command. Seated at the big table, he exuded authority and unflappable professionalism. Of course, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t have, he’s been covering elections since Gladstone was in power. I checked Wikipedia on election night to find out Dimble’s age and discovered that he is a hundred and fifty-four, and that he is immortal. Thanks Wikipedia.
The iMonolith. It's very perceptive. 3. 2010: A Geek Odyssey. Also upstairs in the woman-zone was Emily Maitlis. She was in possession of some extraordinary equipment; she had something that looked like a giant iPad (an iPad Maxi, perhaps). I wondered at first if it was a regular sized one and they’d shrunk Emily Maitlis, but that turned out not to be the case. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite work out why. Then it struck me. It was like a cross between an iPad and the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Presumably across the nation, Apple-obsessed-geeks were gazing in awe at the iMonolith, drooling, and thinking “I want one”. That was pretty much what I was doing too, though I wasn’t looking at the iMonolith.
4. Tradition. One of the best election night traditions that the viewer can participate in is the time-honoured custom of being aggravated by the ridiculous and vapid CGI effects that Jeremy Vine uses to illustrate election night events. Appearing baffled, rolling your eyes and criticising the stupidity of the CGI is the viewer’s traditional role on election night – it’s like being Paxman – but this year, something strange happened. I understood all of the graphics; I wasn’t annoyed by them; I didn’t feel patronised by them; in fact, they were quite good. I don’t pay my licence fee to not be annoyed by the election night graphics. It is my right. Next time, I expect them to spend more money on them and make them as vast, preposterous and inscrutable as usual.
5. Paxman. The third inhabitant of the woman-zone was everybody’s favourite pantomime dame, Jeremy Paxman. My god he was furious. Perhaps he was cross because he’d been put upstairs with the ladies away from the big table, or perhaps it was because Dimbleby refuses to die. Whatever the reason, he was angry, short-tempered and petulant throughout the broadcast. It’s a shame to see that a once fine broadcaster has become such a parody of himself. Even having two laptops wasn’t enough to placate him. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be there and I hope he gets his wish.
6. The Luvvie Boat. To cover an election that the Tories (who have promised to slash the BBC budget) were widely expected to win, the BBC chose to spend a vast amount of money giving free booze to celebrities on a swanky boat moored on the Thames. They’re obviously idiots. Captaining the good ship Lollygag was Andrew Neil, a man so creepy that spiders shriek and stand on chairs when they encounter him. It was Neil’s job to elicit the opinions of drunken celebs on the election and in this he was successful. Unfortunately, as is often the case after a lot of drink has been taken, the views being expressed were not as coherent and insightful as they might otherwise have been. Probably the best slurrer of the evening was Kirsty Allsop. I can’t remember exactly what point she was trying to make, and she probably can’t either. The soberest person on the boat appeared to be Bruce Forsyth, but his opinion wasn’t helpful either because he’s clearly mad. There is nothing in the world that can be improved by knowing Brucie’s opinion on it. Nothing.
7. The Result. We’re still waiting for the result, it’s been four days! Hurry up.
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Election Special: 7 Reasons I Managed To Stay Up All Night
Yesterday, there was a general election. You may have noticed. The results came in over night. I was there. Throughout. This is how I did it.
10:00pm. So we have an Exit Poll – which it turns out is very different from an exit pole. It’s going to be Hung Parliament time. I can hardly contain myself. So I don’t and have a biscuit. Ten minutes into the programme and the BBC have a screen fail. Unfortunately, there was no screen fail while Dorothy was walking along the Yellow Brick Road. Or was it Jeremy Vine bouncing down Downing Street? Who cares. The BBC try and talk to Michael Gove. He’s mute. I don’t blame him. Jeremy Paxman is asking silly questions. Oh no, Gove has stopped being mute. And worse luck, so has Harriet Harman. I note her choice of nose this evening. I’m not sure why I note it, but I do. Some twats in Sunderland seem to think they are on Record Breakers. Tossers.
11.00pm. The first hour wasn’t too bad. I feel relatively fresh. Mind you, I am not usually in bed by this time anyway. Not that I need to share my bedroom habits with you. And I hope you don’t want to share yours with me. (But if you do we have an email address: [email protected]). I’ve got the munchies now. My fridge shouts sausages at me. Not literally. That would wake the neighbours. I ignore them anyway. Another biscuit. Labour are winning 1-0-0-0 by the way. Jeremy Vine is playing virtual dominoes. Esther Rantzen is on my screen. It brings back memories of Hearts Of Gold. In the meantime, Fiona Bruce seems to be finding everything absolutely hilarious. I don’t know why. This is boring.
Midnight. And we are into a new day. The day we get a new government. Or not. Ken Clarke just made me giggle. Some sly comment about Paxman cutting away from him to show Gordon Brown arrive at his count. David Cameron has gone to the pub. It’s 00:33. Late license? Blimey I need a drink. Stricnine ideally. Only three seats in so far. Why is it so slow? Eyelids beginning to feel a little heavy now. David Dimbleby is angry. Very angry. It’s a scandal apparently. I think he’s talking about people getting turned away from polling stations, but I am distracted by thoughts of him in the boardroom. Not in a dirty way. In a Sir Alan Sugar getting annoyed with the candidates way. I wonder what Sir Alan Sugar is doing tonight. Subbuteo is my guess. I used to love that game. Time for another biscuit.
1:00am. The Tories still haven’t won a seat, but boy they’re swinging hard. Mind you the Baltimore Orioles swing hard every year and look where that has got them in the AL East. I’m talking about baseball now. How did that happen? Oh yes, I was thinking about swinging. Cameron just stroked his wife’s bottom. Nice touch. I feel drunk. Which is odd considering I haven’t had a drink since Saturday night. I think I need to start now though. Twenty-three seats declared. David Blunkett has admitted defeat. I think he has fired off a bit too early to be honest. But as the camera won’t pan downwards, I’ll never be able to confirm this.
2:00am. And we’ve made it to 2am. The Tories have won some seats, Labour have won some more seats and the Lib Dems appear to be going backwards. Which is odd. Nick Robinson agrees with me. It is odd. But enough of this election nonsense, I am back on the tea. Not that I ever really left it. It’s just been a while since my last cup. Like forty minutes. Now I’m having a look at Twitter. There is a lot of hate out there isn’t there? My political views – and they are mainstream – make me anything ranging from a ‘deluded prick’ to a ****. I chuckle to myself heartily. The Sex Education Show is on Channel 4. I’m not watching it, I just pressed guide to see what else was on. Now someone’s talking Welsh. What’s the point?
3:00am. My freeview box wants to do a daily service update. Cameron wants to talk. Seeing as I watched Brown do his speech after he held on to his seat, I’ll give Cameron his moment. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about though. Fair enough, he hasn’t been to sleep for months. We’ve got a race to the first hundred on now. It’s neck and neck. Not anymore it’s not… oh, yes it is! No, it’s not! Yes, it is! I’m doing Murray Walker impressions. And The Tories win, win, win! Well that was fun. That’s kept me going for the last thirty-minutes. Now I’m screwed. I’m not going to survive another hour before we get to 200. Fiona Bruce is still high I see.
4:00am. And now I enter my 7th hour. Nick Clegg holds on to his seat. But he doesn’t look too happy. Maybe someone ate his Mars bar. That is just about the worst feeling ever. I have a headache now. Sleep deprivation beginning to bite. And now it’s raining. I wonder if the Tories need less seats under the Duckworth-Lewis system? I ask Marc. He doesn’t know. His cat thinks he knows though. Marc has been talking to his cat. I wish I had a cat. Would be so much more interesting than talking to myself. It’s definitely going to be a hung parliament then. In that case I’m going to bed. I leave the situation standing at 224-167-36-26. It’s been fun. No, actually, it hasn’t.
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Election Special: 7 Reasons It’s Important To Vote Today
7Reasons.org is avowedly apolitical, but the 7 Reasons team are not. As individuals, the 7 Reasons team concur on some things politically – the colossal importance of Sussex in the world order and subsidies for internet humourists are two of them – and differ on other things. So when we go and vote today, we’ll probably vote differently: That’s a good thing, we live in a democracy. The important thing is that we’re voting: Here’s why.
1. Local Issues. Never mind the fatuous faux-presidential debates featuring Smug, Clunking and Irrelevant, you won’t be able to vote for – or against – any of them anyway (unless you live in Witney, Kircaldy and Cowdenbeath or Sheffield Hallam, that is). You’ll be voting for the person that you feel can best represent your interests, both locally and nationally; the person you think can pressure your local council into mending pot-holes or providing stocks for people that park in cycle lanes (I’m still waiting for a reply to that letter), because that’s pretty much what your only contact with your elected representatives will be. You don’t decide who’s going to be Prime Minister, the parliamentary representatives of the majority party do that, but you can decide who represents you and your interests there.
2. Expenses. The parliamentary expenses scandal showed us that there’s serious cross-party corruption in Parliament. If the incumbent of your local seat came out of the expenses scandal badly, this is your chance to remove them from office. Even if you don’t care about politics, you should surely care about integrity; and how many more duck houses and moats do you want to pay for? I’ve always wanted an orangery by the way, if anyone’s buying.
3. Complaint. If you don’t vote then you can’t complain about things afterwards. I haven’t met a British person that can go for five hours without complaining about something, let alone five years. If you have to go that long without complaining you’ll probably explode, or perhaps you’ll find an inner serenity and be elected the new Dalai Lama. Either way, not complaining is uncharted territory and it’s probably dangerous.
4. Other Countries. In the 2005 general election the turnout was 61.3%, which means that 38.7% of people that were eligible to vote didn’t do so. Okay, some of those abstainers probably had good reasons – illness, unforeseen events etc. – but that’s still quite a shameful figure, and if you don’t vote, you shame the nation. After all, if North Korea can get an electoral turnout of nearly 100% then so can we. Or perhaps that’s a bad example. But elections are infrequent in the U.K. and it really isn’t too much trouble to go out and vote. It’s not like we live in Switzerland where they have to vote (on average) seven times per year. Voting’s not difficult and you don’t have to do it often – it’s much like washing a duvet.*
5. See A School. When was the last time you were inside a school? If you’re old enough to vote then you’re too old to attend one. Election day is the only day when many grown-ups can turn up at schools without being asked to leave. Our local school has a hopscotch court painted onto the playground, which is a great place to play while you contemplate how to vote.
6. Change. All of the main parties have told us – many times during this campaign – that a vote for them is a vote for change. I love the idea of being paid for my vote and I’m going to put my change toward a tiramisu. Or a wok. No, a tiramisu. Definitely.
7. Sacrifice. Many, many brave and noble people laid down their lives and sacrificed a great deal so that they – and we – would be able to live in a democracy. We only finished paying off the Americans for the Second World War in December 2006, so most people eligible to vote today have made sacrifices too. We dishonour the efforts of many people by not voting. Also, if we don’t exercise our democratic right to vote, we leave others to dictate policy to us and by our apathy, we impose dictatorship on ourselves. Second World War propagandists would have probably put it like this.
*I’m wrong. It’s way easier to vote than it is to wash a duvet, or even to carry one of the blasted things: You need arms like Mr Tickle.
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7 Reasons To Watch The Winter Olympics
1. Primetime. This time around, the Winter Olympics are in Vancouver. That means it will be shown on the TV in the evenings. Assuming you are reading this in the UK that is. Watching sport on a weeknight evening is brilliant. It is what makes life so enjoyable.
2. We Might Win A Medal. And if we do, it will almost certainly be won by someone we haven’t heard of. In a sport we know nothing about. But come Sports Personality of the Year in December we will all be voting for her. Or him. Or them. Those of us who aren’t voting for Rory Delap that is.
3. Last Chance To See. The British Ski and Snowsport Federation has gone into administration. This could be the last time you get to see Great Britain represented at the Winter Olympics. History in the making.
4. Anthems. It gives us a chance to hear National anthems that we don’t normally in the Summer Olympics. The Austrian and the Swiss for example. I can’t tell you whether they are any good or not because it has been four years since I last heard them. But we’ll find out next week.
5. Curling. Despite being one of the earliest nations to have adopted widespread use of the vacuum cleaner, Britain is actually quite good at a sport that involves sweeping. Even more astonishingly, the captain of our women’s curling team is a teenager. Predictably, she isn’t involved in the sweeping, preferring to leave a big mess containing worn clothes, dirty plates, miscellaneous make up and cds without cases in the path of the stone.*
6. Commentary. The Winter Olympics provides commentators with the opportunity to commentate (naturally) on sports that they are none-too-familiar with. It gives you the chance to shout at the TV whenever they make a mistake. But there are also commentators who see it as an opportunity to make a name for themselves. They’ll try and make the sport far more exciting that is actually is. Don’t take my word for it. Watch this. And make sure you stay with it until 2:20.
7. Baring (sic) Up Under The Strain. I know everyone has seen this, but I can’t think of another reason. And I chose this particular version of the video because it is called, ‘bob sled chick rips pants and shows her ass in a thong…sexy’. Thanks jimni999
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*This is not true, Eve Muirhead is bloody brilliant – and probably very tidy too.