Author: 7 Reasons

Guest Post: 7 Reasons You’re Not Watching The IPL

Taking over the good ship sofa 7 Reasons today, is student and Muse fanatic Rob. A. Foot. (No we’re not sure what the ‘A’ stands for either). When Rob isn’t reading 7 Reasons or arguing about politics with an angry Scotsman on twitter, he can be found blogging away at There Is Music In The Breakdown. Oh, and judging by what’s coming next, sticking pins in his Lalit Modi voodoo doll.

1. Duration Of Matches. It just isn’t long enough. 120 balls per innings? That’s not even long enough to get yourself in before compiling a decent innings! It is also nowhere near enough time to get all of the batting side out. Before you know it, you’ve just batted yourself in, and then you’re being told that the innings is over? Ludicrous! The whole game is over and done with in just a few hours. How are you meant to while away a day that’s meant to be spent writing an essay/revising/doing work by listening to Jonathan Agnew and Geoffrey Boycott bicker about how someone’s relative could have hit the ball with a piece of fruit?

2. Vulgarity. First of all, the team strips. They are ridiculous. The Mumbai Indians strip looks like it has little cymbals lining the hems along the shoulders. The Chennai Super Kings’ kit looks the colour of a banana, and the Royal Bangalore Challengers kit looks like someone has dumped it in tomato sauce. Then there’s the music that plays at every boundary/wicket/ball/scratching of noses. And then there’s the cheerleaders. Why are they necessary? Isn’t there anything more exciting than seeing a highly rated batsman playing and missing at a ball which fizzes by his off-stump? Cheerleaders have nothing on that.

3. Money. Most of the foreign players are only there for the money. When you see someone getting auctioned off for several million dollars, you get the impression that it is just cattle being sold, not cricket players. Then you see that they are getting lots of money for the privilege of playing cricket in a hot country when their homelands are freezing cold. You begin to question their morals. Cricket players should have standards. They aren’t footballers.

4. The advertisements. If you have the misfortune to watch the cricket on YouTube, then you will quickly become familiar with the adverts. All two of them. The first, an advert for a hair styling cream, is innocuous enough, with only mildly annoying music accompanying it. The second really gets my goat. An advert for a phone company, with annoying music and a painfully annoying voiceover. Then you end up putting the computer on mute until the advert finishes. But then you do something else, and by the time that you go back to it, it’s that bloody advert again. The other alternative is to watch it on ITV. With that woman staring at you.

5. The Tactics. Or lack of them. All the captain of the fielding side needs to say is: “Right, Dale, bowl at the stumps early in the innings, then as wide as the umpire will allow later” and he’s done with it. Yes, he can move his fielders around to try and catch a batsman out, but then again, most of the catches made by fielders are just for miscued smashes which balloon high into the air before being smothered by the wicketkeeper or the long-on fielder. The batsman’s mentality, by the way, is just to smash every ball as far as he can.

6. The Umpires. The players aren’t the only people to see this slogfest as a way of going over the top; the umpires want in on the game too. As the batsmen play more extravagant shots, the umpires find more extravagant ways of signalling that these shots have been rewarded. Instead of just raising the finger (index) at a decent speed when someone is given out, it takes an age for it to be raised. Instead of standing still whilst waving the arm sedately when signalling for four runs, the umpires now appear to be helicopters about to take off. Then with the six signalling, instead of raising the hands, the umpires now appear to be attempting to break the high jump world record. Alright, I’ll admit it. All of the previous points have related to Billy Bowden.

7. You Don’t Like Cricket. I’m sure that this will cover the vast majority of people who haven’t been watching the IPL this season. Does it need explaining?

April 17, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Display Too Much Cleavage

At 7 Reasons, we’re not experts on everything we write about. Today, however, is an exception. Who better to write about cleavage than a man? After all, we think about breasts a lot. This can only go well.

1. Temperature. Women are often at the wrong temperature. They’re usually either too hot or too cold. Chivalry isn’t dead, however, and if a man sees a woman that looks chilly, he’ll say something like, “You look cold. Would you like to wear my jumper?” If you’re displaying too much cleavage though, a man might realise that you’re cold when your overexposed décolletage comes out in goose-pimples. This is bad. When you deny being cold (you always do), what is he to do? Point out the evidence? I’m not an expert on tact, but I can’t help thinking that, “You are cold, there are goose-pimples on your breasts” would be an unwise statement to make, and may well cause drink-throwage.

2. Distraction. Often women that display too much cleavage do so because they feel that it will distract attention from other features that they are less proud of. This does not work. Men, though easily distracted by breasts, will not fail to notice if you have a big bottom. Not that you do, obviously. It’s probably twice as big in your mind as it is in actuality. This does not mean that I think you have a big head, by the way.

3. The Human Race May Die Out. Too much cleavage can ruin your love life. To illustrate this, we’re going to go on a date. Well, two dates. Both first dates. We’re going out for dinner. I haven’t been on a date since years began with the number one, but I’m pretty sure I remember how. If you’re not a woman, you will need to imagine that you are one for this. Try to imagine that you’re one without hairy arms.

Date 1

You arrive at the restaurant. I’m already there, seated at a table (at least I can be punctual in my own head). You remove your coat. You are wearing a top which displays a moderate amount of cleavage. Having removed your coat, you glance upward and see me at the table, we make eye contact, I smile and give you a subtle wave of greeting. You walk over to the table, I stand up, you had forgotten how tall I am – no matter – we embrace and I kiss you on the cheek. Seated now, we make light and pleasurable conversation. You’re having a good time in my company. You think I’m very funny and the conversation flows freely. You laugh a lot. You love my expressive eyes. You like that I smile so easily. You can tell that I’m really listening to what you’re saying. I’m thinking about your breasts (I can multi-task too).

We order the food. For starters we order tiramisu, followed by a main course of tiramisu and a dessert of tiramisu (it’s an imaginary date, I like tiramisu. Don’t worry, it won’t go straight to your imaginary thighs). We hand our menus back to the waiter. You’re certain that you’re falling in love with me. You believe that I’m a hopeless romantic. You wonder if I style my hair with clay or wax.

The evening ends well. Taking your hand in mine, I walk you back to the gate of your lighthouse (I like girls with lighthouses). We enjoy a long, languorous kiss and say goodnight (this is a first date, remember). You turn away. You are besotted. I stare at your bottom as you walk up the garden path.

Date 2

You arrive at the restaurant. I’m already there, seated at a table (that’s twice I’ve been on time for something now. Hurrah!). You remove your coat. You are wearing a top which displays an immoderate amount of cleavage. Having removed your coat, you glance upward and see me at the table. I stare at your chest. I forget to smile and fail to give you a subtle wave of greeting. You walk over to the table, I stand up, you had forgotten how tall I am – oops – we embrace and I gaze down your top. Seated now, I realise that I’m staring at your breasts. I become flustered. I resolve not to look directly at them, to maintain eye-contact with you at all costs, but they’re there, staring back at me. They are the elephants in the room; lustrous, shapely, lovely elephants. I can’t stop thinking about them. I don’t want to, but it’s hard not to look at them. I redden. I develop a stammer you never noticed before. I begin to sweat profusely. I’m certain that you must know I’m thinking about them. We make terse and fragmented conversation. You’re not having a good time in my company. You wonder if I’m having a funny-turn. My perspiration flows freely. You don’t laugh at my jokes. You hate my bulgy, anxious eyes. You hate that I smile so sleazily. You can tell that I’m not really listening to what you’re saying. I’m trying to think about something – anything – other than your breasts (it turns out I can’t multi-task).

We order the food. For starters we order tiramisu, followed by a main course of tiramisu and a dessert of tiramisu (it’s a nightmare date, he’s clearly insane, what’s with all the tiramisu? Just look at his mad, staring eyes!). You hand your menu back to the waiter. I keep mine to shield my eyes from your chest. You’re certain that you’re a bit afraid of me. You believe that I’m a hopeless neurotic. You wonder if I murder with a knife or an axe.

The evening ends badly. You go to the toilet and call a friend. You arrange for her to ring you back five minutes later. You answer the phone back at the table. You tell me there’s an emergency at your lighthouse, you have to rush away. We endure a brief, clammy handshake and say goodbye. You turn away. You are relieved. I stare at your bottom as you walk out of my life forever.

4. Engineering. When Howard Hughes developed the under-wired bra for Jane Russell to best display her assets in The Outlaw he did something wonderful. But take note, the bit at the bottom is called under-wire. It shouldn’t be visible. If a man can see any part of the structural element of the bra, his thoughts will turn to engineering and you may find yourself involved in a conversation about the load-bearing capacity of flying buttresses or the hyperbolic cosine of the catenary or some-such nonsense.

5. Indecent Exposure. I realised that I needed to illustrate just how much cleavage is too much, but I had a problem. I’m a man. I have no breasts. I was alone in the house except for the cat (a brief examination revealed that he too, has no breasts). I required a woman for the purpose of demonstration. I couldn’t draw one, I’m hopeless at that, but I had an idea. I decided to do what no man left alone in the house has ever done before; I searched Google Images for breasts. After some time (approximately nine hours) I still hadn’t found the image that I was looking for – in fact, I’d totally forgotten why I was looking – and had to abandon the search. The cat was hungry, and I went down to the kitchen to feed him. It was there that I realised that I could illustrate my point using props. My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, 7 Reasons.org are proud to present:

The 7 Reasons Pictorial Guide To The Correct Amount Of Cleavage (Using Two Bottles Of Sparkling Water And A Tea Towel).

There, I hope that’s clear. If you bear this guide in mind when dressing, you won’t go too far wrong in most countries. In summary: If people can see any part of your bottle tops – or the plastic ring beneath – you’re showing too much cleavage and it could cause offence. This does not apply to anyone engaged in the act of breast-feeding; those women are giving food to children for fucks sake – Daily Mail readers take note.

6. Men. If you are a man, you shouldn’t even have cleavage, let alone display it. Go to the gym!

7. Because of a lack of preparation. Men are generally taller than women. The average height of a man in the UK is 5’10”, while the average height of a woman is 5’4”. Also, eyes are higher up than breasts. This means, while dressing, a woman needs to be aware that half of the population’s view of her cleavage will be from at least eighteen inches above it. It’s not enough just to look in the mirror to check whether you’re displaying too much. You need to look in the mirror while standing on a chair.

April 16, 2010
7 Reasons You Should Build A Castle

1. The Portcullis. So much better than shutting the door on an annoying visitor. A portcullis will make sure they definitely do not come back. Providing you get the timing exactly right that is. If you don’t, they may come back with an arm hanging off.

2. The Moat. A morning swim is a popular pursuit. It gets people ready for the day and keeps them fit. Unfortunately, most people don’t get the full benefit of the exercise because whilst doing laps in the local pool they cut corners. You can’t cut corners in a moat. If you try to, you’ll smash your head open. Very few people think this is a good idea. Hopefully you are not one of them. A few laps of your castle moat in the morning and you’ll be ready to take on the world. Wet, knackered and covered in piranha bites. Sorted.

3. The Keep. I don’t know about you, but I seem to have a lot of stuff. And most of the time I don’t know where to keep it. I rather suspect a Keep will do the job nicely.

4. End The Norman Monopoly. The Normans built most of our castles apparently. I am not sure who The Normans were – I imagine a cross between The Nolan Sisters and The Osmonds – but whoever they were, they have monopolised the trade. You can’t move for Norman castles in this country. Other people need to start building castles to bring down this evil empire. People called Jonathan or Marc or Mark. Whatever your name is, go and build a castle. Unless it’s Norman. In which case run. Run very fast.

5. Earn While You Live. The great thing about castles is that they are tourist attractions. They attract millions of visitors every year. And – providing they don’t know a back entrance into the grounds – they’ll have to pay for the privilege. What better way to earn a bit of extra money when you are out at work? And just in case you are worried about people stealing stuff, don’t be. Just put a nice looking rope in front of your dining table and a sign saying ‘Do Not Touch’. You’ll be amazed how effective it is.

6. Cleaning Bills. Proper castles didn’t have carpets. Or curtains. Or windows. Probably because the cleaning bill would have been extortionate. Do the same and all the money that you have saved can be put towards a new bailey. Or a trebuchet.

7. I’m The King Of The Castle, You’re A Dirty Rascal. For the first time in history, a nursery rhyme will actually have meaning. You used to have to stand on top of the climbing frame to say this little cracker, now you can stand atop a turret and shout it down to whoever walks along your drawbridge. Until you get the postman you want that is.

April 15, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Play FarmVille

If you use the social networking site Facebook, you’ll doubtless be familiar with FarmVille, the most successful Facebook game there is. Here are seven reasons that you shouldn’t play it.

1. Imagination. When you’re playing FarmVille, you’re pretending that you’re a farmer. Farming is not exciting. It’s essentially portly, ruddy-faced people and mud, or portly, ruddy-faced people and blood, depending on which type of farming it is. If you’re going to pretend to be something, pretend to be something interesting; a pirate, an astronaut, a mermaid, a flying horse, a rock star, an oculus, an aardvark, a many-headed warrior-beast, the Archbishop of Canterbury…anything, it’s all better than pretending you’re a farmer.

2. Spam. Your friends want to log onto Facebook without being inundated with updates on the progress of your pretend farm. Tell us about something that does exist instead. How are your children? How is your husband? How is your pet? Step away from the “farm” for a moment and check that they’re all still there and in good health, then tell us about it. Perform a head-count if you need to.

3. Reality. Instead of pretending to grow vegetables on your computer, why don’t you actually grow some vegetables? It’s not difficult. All you need are some seeds and some mud. Just weed and water them occasionally (this takes less time than tending your suppositious crops) and eventually you’ll be able to pull them up and eat them. You can’t eat your computer can you? No, no matter how much the rest of us wish you would.

4. It’s not sociable. My Facebook friends that play FarmVille assist each other on their imaginary farms that don’t exist. I know this from my news feed. Yet these people don’t come and help out in my garden, which is real. I grow real things there (badly). If you came to help me grow my real plants, I’d share them with you and ply you with beer. This is how people really interact and bond. When FarmVille tells the world, via Facebook, that “David helped Rachel harvest her plums”, you haven’t really interacted with each other – unless it’s a euphemism, in which case, well done David, I never knew you had it in you.

5. Swastika. Okay, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t find it funny, but it obviously took a lot of time and effort to grow your swastika. That’s time you could have spent being a real Nazi, goose-stepping about in a fetching uniform, annexing the Sudetenland and shouting things in German…or not, no, that’s a bad idea. You could surely have done something better with that time though: Read a book; go for a walk; climb a mountain – no – climb every mountain; ford every stream; follow every rainbow; till you find your dream. Or perhaps do something unrelated to The Sound of Music, your choice.

6. Grow up. This may come as a blow to some of the 7 Reasons team, but it’s not socially acceptable to have an imaginary friend after the age of nine. So why is it deemed acceptable to have an imaginary farm? A farm is bigger than a friend – unless your friend is American – so surely it’s a bigger no-no?

7. AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH! It’s come to this: I’m actually writing about real people growing imaginary plants and tending non-existent animals on their pretend farms which only exist in cyberspace, and you’re reading what I’ve written about actual people cultivating fabricated crops and make-believe livestock on fictitious farms which aren’t real. What has become of us? Death to FarmVille! Stupid bloody fucking FarmVille.

April 14, 2010
7 Reasons Frank Sinatra Talked Nonsense

1. If I Can Make It There, I Can Make It Anywhere, It’s Up To You, New York New York. No it isn’t. A city does not decide whether you make it or not. A city is an inanimate object and therefore lacks the necessary attributes to make such a call. But if you are that desperate, try Norwich. You’ll have more luck.

2. She’d Never Bother, With People She’d Hate, That’s Why The Lady Is A Tramp. This does not make the lady a tramp. It makes the lady someone who uses her time wisely. Think Thatcher and Scargill.

3. The Way You Wear That Hat, The Way You Sip Your Tea, The Memory Of All That, They Can’t Take That Away From Me. Unless they shoot you.

4. I’ve Lived A Life That’s Full, I’ve Travelled Each And Every Highway. An oxymoron to begin with. And probably bollocks. That is a hell of a lot of road.

5. Saturday Night Is The Loneliest Night Of The Week. No, that would be Monday night. When you are desperately trying to come up with ideas for the following day’s 7 Reasons post.

6. I’ve Got The World On A String, I’m Sitting On A Rainbow. No, you have a microphone on a wire and you are sitting on a stool. The difference is beyond substantial.

7. Come Fly With Me, Let’s Fly, Let’s Fly Away. Not so much a nonsensical comment, as a ridiculous and dangerous one. Frank didn’t own a pilot’s license. I wouldn’t bloody trust him. Especially as he carried a crate of whiskey around with him.

April 13, 2010
7 Reasons That Time Zones Are Confusing

The way we measure and calculate time is a wholly abstract construct that is often difficult to grasp. And then, when we split it into zones – that are also abstract – it becomes very confusing indeed. Here are seven reasons why.

1. South Africa. I’m not a geographical expert, but I have rough grasp of the map of the world and how it relates to me. I’m in England; I know that South Africa is approximately 5,500 miles away from me. I also know that France is 21 miles away from England. But it’s exactly the same time in France right now as it is in South Africa. This means that when it’s lunchtime in Cape Town, it’s lunchtime in Paris, and when it’s teatime in Cape Town, it’s lunchtime in Paris. But they’re so far away from each other!

2. The Moon. The moon has a time zone of its own, Lunar Standard Time. Today’s date on the moon is 42-12-21. So if I go to the moon, I’ll probably need a separate moon calendar, and perhaps a moon watch, though I’m not certain about that. What I do know is that the time (and date) on the moon bear no relation to the time and date on Earth, or even in Paris, where it’s still lunchtime.

3. The North Pole. There isn’t a time at the North Pole. The moon has a time, but the North Pole doesn’t. The reason the North Pole doesn’t have a time zone is because there’s no permanent human presence at the North Pole – which makes me wonder if there’s something that we’re not being told about the moon? If you go to the North Pole, you can just choose (arbitrarily) to be in whichever time zone you like. This means that you can be in a totally different time zone to the person standing next to you and the same time zone as someone standing inside Starbucks in Croydon. Or Johannesburg. Or any Starbucks you like.

4. The South Pole. The South Pole is on New Zealand time, despite being a long way from it. This is because most of the things that the polar bases consume are imported from New Zealand. But in Britain, most of the goods we consume come from China, though we’re not on Chinese time (yet). This is good as their next New Year is in February, and my New Year guests arrive in December, and there’s only so much of me they can take.

The International Date Line

5. The International Date Line. You may have already noticed that it’s not straight. This means that if you travel sort of North-Eastish, by sea, from New Zealand, the date may change several times on the way. The date line isn’t a time zone though, so when the date changes, the time doesn’t. So you know it’s 2pm, because that’s what your watch tells you, but you don’t know if it’s today, yesterday, tomorrow or Thursday – which must make arranging shipboard entertainments damn nigh impossible. And what if one of the days is your birthday? If you’ve worked on a sort of North-Eastish-sailing ship from New Zealand for a few years, you could end up having your fifty-ninth birthday at the age of twenty-seven. And then your presents would be inappropriate. What twenty-seven year old wants a subscription to the Radio Times and a pair of Totes Toasties for their birthday?

6. Trains. The Indian Pacific train in Australia has its own time zone. On its journey between Kalgoorlie and Kalgoorlie the time on the train bears absolutely no relation to the time zone that the train is in. This is because it crosses several time zones (including a weird one that changes in half hour increments). I find this confusing, but compared to British trains – which also seem to operate in their own time zone, one that bears no relation to either the time outside the train or the published timetable – it seems quite straightforward.

7. Greenwich. Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) is the time zone of zero degrees longitude. Greenwich is in London. London switches to Summer Time (BST) during the summer months. This means that London is an hour ahead of Greenwich in the summer. But, as Greenwich is in London, Greenwich is also an hour ahead of itself. This makes my head hurt. But if anyone can think of a way in which I can exploit this to plan a heist or win the lottery, please let me know.

April 12, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: Promoting Brown

The 1960s: clothes, interiors, fabrics, art – just about everything – were a riot of colour. This wasn’t much help to the (predominantly British) manufacturers of brown dyes and paints though, which was problematic, as during that decade their production continued apace. The result was, that by the 1970s, Britain had a huge surplus of brown colourants and needed to find a market for them to help with the balance of payments. This led to the formation – in 1971 – of the Brown Marketing Board, a government funded organisation devoted to the task of promoting the use of the colour brown by manufacturers and consumers alike.

While researching 1970s advertising, we came across many fine pieces of work by the Brown Marketing Board and today, we thought we’d share a few of them with you.

1. Swatch. A very simple poster, placed on the London Underground, on bus shelters and other street-level sites where people congregated. It was purely placed there as a brown colour swatch, the idea being that anyone standing near it would appear uncoordinated if they weren’t dressed in brown. Sales of brown coats to London commuters soared, thus proving that the simplest ideas are often the best.

2. Germans Eat White Chocolate. By the 1970s, Britons had still not gotten over the war, as this poster designed to promote the consumption of brown chocolate demonstrates.

3. If Only The Carpets And Curtains Matched. A poster used to encourage the use of brown in all areas of interior design. Looking back at pictures from the 70s, it seems that this campaign must have been a success.

4. Brown Bears Don’t Kill Seals. We’re fairly certain that they weren’t encouraging people to divest themselves of their pet polar bears in favour of brown bears. We think that this was probably just an attempt to promote brown as having generally “good” qualities. Sales of Fox’s Glacier Mints plummeted as a result of this controversial image though, and it was soon withdrawn.

5. Arrive In Style. What can we say? It’s a brown Austin Allegro. Perhaps this image contains a powerful subliminal message, because British Leyland sold loads of them. No one knows how. Maybe it was this advert.

6. Also Available In Brown. A very clever poster designed to increase the consumption of domestic produce in two ways. Firstly, using brown sauce instead of ketchup would help the sales of brown food dye. Secondly, it reminds us that brown sauce is a British tradition – after all, the H.P. in H.P. Sauce stands for Houses of Parliament – so the increased use of brown sauce would directly benefit British manufacturing interests.

7. Score In Style. Well, you wouldn’t want to win ugly, would you?

April 11, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Love The Sport Of Baseball

Today’s guest post comes from a great friend of 7 Reasons, Simon Best. When he’s not thinking about baseball or pancakes, Simon can be found working with youths and – having finally finished his doctoral thesis – he is soon to become Dr Beat, a typo that we really hope will catch on.

1. Simplicity. Baseball is essentially very simple. One guy (a pitcher) chucks a ball to another (a catcher). The batter – standing in front of the catcher – tries to hit it and then runs in a diamond, back to where he started, while the rest of the pitcher’s team tries to either catch the ball, or get the ball to one of four ‘bases’ at the points of the diamond before the batter reaches the base. The two teams take it in turns to bat; the team that has got the most people round the diamond wins. Got that? Good. It is so simple that a version of it is played by British primary school children.

2. Statistics. While it is very simple, the sport of baseball also has incredibly detailed and complicated statistics, all with their own abbreviations/acronyms. There are RBIs (runs batted in), SBs (stolen bases), ERA (earned run average), BS, (blown saves), and the brilliantly acronymed WHIP (Walks and hits per inning pitched). There are statistics for batters, pitchers, fielders and teams. There is even a specific term for the study of baseball through statistics (Sabermetrics). Not even cricket, famed for its use of statistics, can rival that. Sabermetrics even uses a Pythagorean expectation to estimate how many games a team “should” have won, based on the number of runs they scored and conceded. There are even two universities that have courses in Baseball statistics – universities that no woman has ever attended, probably.

3. Uniforms (i.e. kit). In particular, their purity. Almost all baseball teams have virtually identical kits: white for when they play at home, and grey for when they play away (or ‘on the road’). There are some notable exceptions of course, particularly the New York Yankees’ racy pinstripes. In recent years, some teams have introduced a third change uniform and the use of primary colours like red, blue and black, but there are no gaudy stripes or chevrons, no large sponsors’ logos and no new kits every season, as in football. The distinguishing feature of a team’s uniform is the cap – another great thing about baseball – which has become a fashion item the world over. The off-the-field adoption of this piece of sports attire is something without an equivalent in other sports – aside from British thugs who wear football kits while holidaying in the Algarve to show off their lobster-coloured ‘tan’, and a few chaps in Fulham who regard cricket sweaters as ‘casual dress’ – to be worn with chinos, an oxford shirt and deck shoes.

4. The Seventh Inning Stretch. With no half-time interval and a quick turnaround between innings, the game needs a break for all fans to get more beer and hotdogs. As well as providing that opportunity, the seventh inning stretch includes a public aerobics session (to work off all the beer and hotdogs). This is accompanied by the collective singing of Take Me Out To The Ballgame, a song written by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer, who wrote it without ever having been to a game – you can’t say that about Skinner and Baddiel, though obviously we’d all rather they’d stuck to attending football matches and hadn’t started writing songs.

Brilliantly, the seventh-inning-stretch doesn’t come half way through the game, but towards the end (thirteen-eighteenths of the way through to be precise), thus avoiding a post-half time lull in action. If the game is close, it provides a break before the climax; if one team is well ahead then it gives the other hope for a change in fortunes, a comeback, and possibly even a glorious ninth-inning rally. Or not, if you support the Red Sox.

5. Cost. Baseball is ridiculously cheap to watch. You can sit in a seat with a slightly obstructed view at Yankee Stadium for $5. That’s right, five dollars. That’s £3.25. The cheapest seat that you’ll get at Everton FC is £29 – almost ten times as much – and watching Everton isn’t ten times as good as watching the Yankees (even in my own imagination). When you watch baseball, you can spend the £26 you’ve saved on other things. Americans spend it on food.

6. Racial desegregation: Yes, there was Martin Luther King and Brown v Board of Education, but one of the most culturally significant events in the civil rights movement was the ending of racial segregation in baseball, which was brought about when the Brooklyn Dodgers signed Jackie Robinson in 1947. Robinson became the first black man to play in major league baseball since the 1880s. Black players – even those of exceptional talent – had been confined to the Negro leagues for six decades. As Dr King might have said, Robinson was judged not by the colour of his skin, but by how well he played baseball – and that was brilliantly. The Dodger’s manager, Leo Durocher, took a gamble in signing Robinson and he received much criticism, but he stuck to his guns and was rewarded, as were baseball fans all over America, by seeing Robinson in action.

7. The Opening Pitch: Another piece of razzamatazz. Celebrities are often chosen to throw the first pitch of a game. They’re of varying degrees of fame; from pop singers to presidents, actors to astronauts, TV stars to talk-show hosts. Can you imagine John Prescott kicking off the FA Cup Final or Angela Rippon bowling the first over in a Lords’ test match (actually, I quite like those ideas). I know the opening pitch is largely ceremonial but nevertheless, it symbolises the involvement of these personalities in America’s national pastime. It is in a totally different league than television pictures of Cliff Richard eating strawberries and cream at Wimbledon, and offers the possibility that the celebrity might be humbled by throwing a baseball badly. One day, Americans may be able to see that Barack Obama is human because he can’t throw a split-fingered fast ball. Though being Barack Obama, he probably can.

April 10, 2010
7 Reasons To Become A Superhero

1. With Great Power Comes Great… I know it’s supposed to be, ‘With great power comes great responsibility’, but quite frankly they are missing the bloody obvious. With great power comes great power. Sometimes you get lucky and get even more than one. I.E.: Two. Anyway, the point is that I can have great responsibility by becoming a milkman. What becoming a milkman won’t give me is power. Especially in a milk float. So given the choice between becoming a milkman and becoming a superhero, I recommend the latter. Although if we all became superheroes, then we wouldn’t have any milkmen. I might have to come back to this later.

2. The Film. Providing you are a half-decent superhero – and this means you don’t die before you’ve named yourself – you’ll have a film made about you. It’ll also be named after you. Oh, and it will star you. And that’s only the beginning of it. Superhero films usually do very well at the box office. Think of all those royalties. And the costume styled pyjamas. And the action dolls. You’ll be a multi-millionaire before you know it.

3. The Cape. Capes look daft. I know they are supposedly the fashion these days, but the French wear them. That means they must be daft. Unless, that is, you are a superhero. I know what you are thinking, ‘What happens if you are a French superhero?’. Well that’s a bit like saying, ‘What happens if you cross an OXO cube with an idiot?’ The answer is the same. It’s an Oxymoron.

4. The Soundtrack. You would have your own personal one. A soundtrack that would accompany you on all missions. You wouldn’t even need a sound system. The soundtrack is just there. Floating about. Ready to be turned up to loud as soon as you do something good.

5. The Girl. She’s generally the one next door. You’ve probably seen her. No, not her. She lives on the left. It’s the house on the right you want. Yes. Her. As a superhero you will always win her. She’ll probably think you’re a bit weird to begin with – probably something to do with you climbing up the drainpipe to her bedroom window – but you’ll get her in the end. Always. (Unless you are Batman. In which case you get Robin. Which is nice. I suppose).

6. Never ending wardrobe. All superheroes run down the road pulling their shirt apart to reveal their lycra superhero costume. They then go about their superhero business before returning home for the evening. At no point do you see them return to the original road to reclaim their shirt. Nor do you see them nipping down to Marks and Spencer. The only explanation is that they own a never ending wardrobe. Or their Mum lives with them. If your Mum doesn’t live with you, you are halfway there. Nice one.

7. The Fight. Superheroes never lose. Even if they have been strapped to the seabed. In a large microwave. With Jo Brand. It must be amazing to know you can get out of that mess unscathed. So amazing in fact that I am now calling myself Lee-man. He’s a bit like He-man, just with an L and an extra E instead of the H. Seems worth it to get away from Jo Brand.

April 9, 2010
7 Reasons That Match of the Day 2 is Better Than Match of the Day

1. Gary Lineker. Unlike many people, I don’t mind Gary Lineker; he’s knowledgable, charming and his ad-libs are great. In an incident during a live match, when someone in the crowd hurled a coin at Jamie Carragher, the cameras showed Carragher picking the coin up and forcefully throwing it back. “It’s probably his change,” Lineker drolly observed. The problem I have with watching Gary Lineker for more than ten minutes is that I start to crave crisps. Speaking of which:

2. Adrian Chiles. Part-man, part-potato, Adrian Chiles is the television presenter equivalent of Marmite. I like him. I love the seemingly limitless supply of daft questions that he uses to torment Lee Dixon:

“Did Ian Wright ever borrow your shorts, Lee?”

“Did Tony Adams kiss you like that when you scored a goal, Lee?”

“Did you ever get the ball mixed up with a balloon, Lee?”

“Did they celebrate like that in your day, Lee?”

Some people can’t stand him though. Stewart Lee likened watching him to “… being stuck in the buffet car of a slow-moving train with a Toby jug that has miraculously discovered the power of speech…A Toby jug filled to the brim with hot piss.”

I’m firmly in the I-like-Adrian-Chiles-camp and I even miss his much-criticised beard. Anyone interested in starting a campaign to bring it back?

3. Alan Shearer. Alan Shearer is the dullest man in the world. He’s always on Match of the Day where he provides no tactical insight and no wit. Essentially, he just states the bleeding-obvious in a really dull way. Here’s a Shoot magazine interview with him from 1991 (click on it to see it full-sized):

4. Whooshing. Both MOTD and MOTD2 suffer from this. Seriously, could the sound effects that accompany the opening titles be more ridiculous? At the end of the title sequence, there’s about thirty seconds of whooshing noises, for no reason. Why? Stupid pointless bloody whooshy noises! MOTD2 wins here as I’m quite busy on Sundays and I usually manage to miss the first couple of minutes of it.

5. Kevin Day. While MOTD is serious and analytical, MOTD2 is a more light-hearted and jovial affair. The most obvious manifestation of this is the presence of former comedian Kevin Day. His role is that of the travelling buffoon, turning up at a different ground every week to mock daft supporters, eat pies and generally annoy the clubs’ staff. I want his job: I can mock and annoy, I can eat pies. My football team is crap too. And I’m cheaper.

6. Keown. Martin Keown often appears on MOTD2. Martin Keown is the scariest man alive, scarier even that Sebastien Chabal. When he’s on screen I find myself trying to slide down the sofa and hide behind the coffee table. Conversations with my wife tend to go like this during MOTD2:

“Are you scared of Martin Keown, darling?”

“Yes.”

It doesn’t matter who asks the question. We’re both afraid of Martin Keown. He mostly appears on MOTD2, so even if I didn’t believe it, I’d tell you that MOTD2 was better. Otherwise he might beat me to death with a rock. Or discover fire and burn an effigy of me in his cave. While grunting, possibly.

7. Finale. The denouement of MOTD2 and, often, the highlight of Sunday is 2 Good 2 Bad, and it’s obviously the part of the show that Chiles relishes too. This means that Match of the Day 2 ends on a high. Match of the Day doesn’t though, it ends with the knowledge that if you don’t get off the sofa soon, you’ll have to watch the awful title sequence for the Football League show, featuring chirpy-cheeky football fans having a knees-up, and then watch Manish – apparently lost – wandering aimlessy around the studio introducing the show. Why can’t he just stand still? He’s been doing it for almost a season, why doesn’t he know where to stand yet?

April 8, 2010