Tag: 2010
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7 Reasons I Was So Excited To See That Tiger Woods Had Changed His Putter, I Nearly Wet Myself
Yesterday came the startling revelation that Tiger Woods will be going into The Open Championships at St Andrews with a new putter. One couldn’t help but get excited. A bit too excited actually. So many questions, so few answers.
1. Will Tiger’s New Putter Help Him Stay Domesticated?
2. Will Tiger’s New Putter Get Him Into Even Bigger Holes?
3. Will It Come With Attachments For Enhanced Stroke Play?
4. Will Tiger’s Old Putter Hunt Down His Unfaithful Master?
5. Will The New Putter Have A Cheetah Headcover?
6. Will Tiger’s New Putter Let Off Balloons Everytime He Sinks A Short One?
7. Is Tiger’s New Putter A Danger To Psychedelic Penguins?
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7 (+3) Reasons Why Spain Will Win The World Cup
1. Gerd Muller. German World Cup Winner in 1974. He looked like a girl.
2. Mario Kempes. Argentine World Cup Winner in 1978. He looked like a girl who didn’t care. She probably had hairy armpits too.
3. Bruno Conti. Italian World Cup Winner in 1982. He looked like a butch girl and someone had just stolen her skipping rope.
4. Maradona. Argentine World Cup Winner in 1986. He looked like a petulant girl intrigued by her very first waft of something illegal.
5. Rudi Voller. German World Cup Winner in 1990. He looked like a girl who had just sat on a pile of marbles and was beginning to like it.
6. Branco. Brazilian World Cup Winner in 1994. He looked like a girl who may well once have been a boy. And quite possibly a murderer.
7. Emmanuel Petit. French World Cup Winner in 1998. He looked like a girl who had just caught her reflection in a window and realised her ginger moustache was catching the sun a bit too much.
8. Ronaldinho. Brazilian World Cup Winner in 2002. He looked like a girl who was struggling to get the hang of her straighteners.
9. Andrea Pirlo. Italian World Cup Winner in 2006. He looked like a girl who had accidentally come across a car park full of doggers and just couldn’t take his eyes off it.
10. Carles Puyol. Spanish World Cup Winner in 2010. He looks like the kind of girl who just doesn’t want to be left out.
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7 Reasons To Like Andy Murray
I know what you’re thinking, ‘Blimey! He’s gone for the impossible post!’ To think like that though, is to underrate my brilliance. Or is it naivety? Either way I am going to do what Andy Murray’s PR Agency has consistently failed to do. Make the miserable, moaning, anti-English, I-don’t-wanna-play-for-the-Davis-Cup-team, tennis supremo, look amiable. Wish me luck.
1. He Always Comes Back. At least when Murray loses, he fronts up, comes back and takes the flack. And you can’t say that about all Scots. Anyone seen that Scottish Prime Minister we once had?
2. Money Is Nothing To Him. Andy has confirmed that he would happily play tennis for free. Which is tremendous of him. I would like to announce here and now that I wish to take him up on his offer. All prize money should now be sent to me. Thanks.
3. Judy Murray. If you don’t like Andy, start now. You are disliking the wrong Murray. Judy is the annoying one. She is the one who thinks Wimbledon is too traditional. And she’s smug. It’s not a good combination. I just look at her and feel annoyed. Try it. It makes you respect Andy. I mean, he has to put up with her all the time.
4. He Has Restraint. You have to hand it to Andy, how he hasn’t punched Gary Richardson yet is something of a miracle. Along with 90% of the nation, he always looks like he wants to. Whenever he tries to walk from the practice courts to the locker-room, Richardson is there, asking stupid bloody questions. ‘How did practice go today, Andy?’, ‘How are you going to play today, Andy?’, ‘Are they your balls Andy?’. And if that’s not enough, Richardson then does the immediate post-match interview, which, without fail, goes like this, ‘Well done. You’ve won. What’s your reaction?’ Come to think of it, if Murray thumped him then I’d probably like him even more.
5. COME ON! Remember the days of the Tim Henman fist clench and the whispered, ‘Come on!’? We all used to hate that. We all wanted him to show a bit more emotion. With Murray comes emotion. When Henman won a great point, he’d clench his fist, look to his mother and father and jog to his chair. Then he’d realise it was only 15-40 and he still had two break-points to save. With Murray, it’s completely different. When he has played a great point he’ll come back out of the crowd, scream about Bonnie Prince Charlie, show his muscles and generally get pumped up. In fact, we get to see Murray at his most excitable point. I pity his girlfriend.
6. He’s Due. I don’t mean a Grand Slam, I mean a smile. The fact is though, that Murray isn’t going to smile until he’s got what he wants. England’s footballers were smiling having been beaten by Germany. Idiots. I only want smiling when you’ve won something. Something major. This is surely what Murray is waiting for. I have faith that he has a great big smile. If we all like him and get behind him, he might just show it to us one day. Possibly on Sunday?
7. He’s Our Only Hope. The fact remains that without Murray, Briton’s have no one to support. You may as well support me for all the other British players coming through the ranks. And you really should be thankful to Murray that you don’t have to do that. Despite what people say, my drop-volley really isn’t worth your applause.
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7 Reasons You Should Never Go To Wimbledon With Me
The following is based on a true story. Sadly.
1. Rain. That’s what you’ll see when you wake up. Loads of it. ‘Bloody typical,’ you will say, ‘every day at Wimbledon has been hot and sunny this year. Except today. When the roads are flooding’. You’ll then have to decide what clothes to wear. Which is never an easy thing to do. Skirt or trousers. Shoes or flip-flops. Bra or no bra. Okay, the last one was me. And I went bra-less. Once decided, we’ll then make our way to the station where we find the…
2. Car Park is packed. Not a space to be seen. We’ll leave the station car park and I will make you drive to all the places in the village that require permits to park. You don’t have a permit. I shall then helpfully ask if you’d ‘just like to go home’. You don’t. You have taken a days holiday for this. You suggest we go to another station where car parking exists. I agree. But on the way, we quickly check our car park of choice again. I step up to the plate and spy a space. You have to circumnavigate a bus and do manoeuvres that make a Rubik cube look simple, but you get in there. Sadly, by the time we have disembarked via the sunroof* we have…
3. Missed The Train. We have thirty minutes until the next one, but don’t think you are going to be getting bored because now you are going to use your female charms** and get the nice man at the ticket kiosk to find us the cheapest route to London. He needs to take into account that we have one Network Railcard that comes into use at 10am. It is now 9:15am. The train leaves at 9:36am. It’s a problem that makes him wish he had a Maths GCSE. He succeeds though and the rest of the journey to Wimbledon goes without hiccup. Well, actually, it turns out to be very pleasant indeed. I teach you how to do a suduko and you teach me that I shouldn’t make comments about pictures of women in bikinis. Sadly this is where it goes horribly wrong again. Once inside the All England Club, we will discover that we are too late to get on Court 12 where we would have been able to watch Laura Robson and then Monsour Bahrami and Henri Laconte. Disappointed, I will try and cheer you up by buying you a…
4. Hot Dog. Though it had another fancy name that I can no longer remember. But it was a hot dog. A sausage in a roll. That’s a hot dog. Unless it’s a sausage roll. But this wasn’t. It was a hot dog. And I’ve just bought you one. And I’ve bought myself one. We shall walk away towards the ketchup. Here, I shall ask you where my hot dog is. You say you don’t know. I’ve left it behind haven’t I? Yes, I have. I walk back to the hot dog vendor and as casual as it is possible to say, I say, ‘I seem to have forgotten my hot dog’. I feel a bit stupid. You feel a bit stupid about being at Wimbledon with someone so stupid. The sun has come out though, so we go off to…
5. Court 5. Here I shall select the seats furthest away from the action. Thankfully, you have a bit more common sense than I do, so after we’ve seen the British Junior – Oliver Golding – win, we move to a better location. Here we watch another British Junior – Eleanor Dean – win. Then comes the match we came to this court to see. Greg Rusedski and Todd Martin against Jonas Bjorkman and Tood Woodbridge. Greg Rusedski injures his quad and at 5-0 in the first set, the match is over. I am beginning to think that there is going to be a 7 Reasons piece in this. You are beginning to think you should never have come to Wimbledon with me. Later, you advance towards jazz music and the champagne bar. I follow you with my…
6. Tea and Bourbon Biscuits. I don’t get hints. You realise I don’t get hints – either that or I am not prepared to pay £117 for Champagne when I have – just two hours previously – splashed out £3.30 on a pathetically small ice cream for you. We leave. Ninety-minutes later we are back in the…
7. Car Park. There are only four cars left, but, unsurprisingly, given that I am with you, your car is still boxed in. You climb over the bonnet and in through the sunroof and I direct you through a 27-point turn to get out of the space. You are now in touching distance of home. Nothing else can possibly go wrong.***
*Might be a slight exaggeration, but you definitely do not get out of your door.
**This won’t work if you’re a man.
***Until I start singing ‘I’m Coming Out’ by Diana Ross. All because you told me Spain and Portugal were coming out after half-time.
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Guest Post: 7 Reasons Watching Slovakia vs Italia Was An Education
After an eventful week – in which we concentrated mainly on football, John McEnroe’s hair and lots of funny codes doing lots of unfunny things and destroying the internet in the process – we are taking the day off. Slipping onto the sofa for the very first time is Gina Boiradi. Over to you Gina.
I’m going to start with a rather controversial statement. I hate football. I am a 16-year-old female and I follow Rugby Union and Cricket with all my heart, but I can’t stand watching football – in part due to the awful diving and injury-faking. Nevertheless, I cannot help but watch every single World Cup game. Being English with an Italian father, I watch England and Italy with the same nervousness and delight. After the glorious England game against Slovenia, I tuned into Italy vs Slovakia with the same optimism. Oh dear. Anyway, at least it was an education. Here are the reasons why.1. Commentators. They are very annoying. They come out with such ridiculous phrases and it makes me very frustated. “Fabio Cannavaro disappears, perhaps forever!” Um, news flash – he’s not dead. Nor has he been ushered away by a mysterious Sicilian bloke making him an offer he can’t refuse.
2. Mucho Do About Nothing. If you are a Slovakian goalkeeper, then you should all consider careers as actors. Seriously. Mucho was diving all over the bloody place with such melodrama, Dame Helen Mirren would be proud. I can see an Oscar nomination and an appearance in “The Bill” coming up right away.
3. Referees. Not all English referees are as hopeless as Graham Poll. Howard Webb did grand trying to contain the players. Diving, falling, tripping, fighting. It was a referee’s nightmare, yet he soldiered on. Even adding additional time onto the additional time because of Slovakia’s obvious time wasting. Good on him.
4. Papa’s Army. There is such a thing as too old a squad. Approximately 79% of the Italian squad were over 65*. I was ever so worried one of them may pop their hip out, or some other stereotypical pensioner ailment. Four years ago, that Italian team were in their prime (obviously, as they won) but now they are old. Bless ’em.
5. Iaquinto. He scares me silly. He is a man I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark, Italian alley. Or any other alley for that matter. But also seems like a right lovely bloke. Also, he adds some needed eye candy for us female viewers. Even if his nose is like a vuvuzela.
6. Pretty Boys. Posing, oiled-up in your undies is very good for your World Cup playing abilities. Beckham did it and, even though he’s not playing, England are doing well (Come On England!). The Portuguese captain I refuse to mention by name since last World Cup’s winking incident (I shall call him “The Winker” from now on) did it, and Portugal are also through. The Italian team did it 4 four years ago and they won. I’m getting distracted by images of oily Italians in undies. I shall move on.
7. It’s All In the Name. Bringing on substitutes with extraordinarily long names will do wonders when you are struggling. Quagliarella was brought on and scored a goal that got the ball rolling again (no pun intended) and provided the kick up the backside (again, no pun intended) needed by Italy – but sadly, too little, too late. England need a few subsitutes called “Hamilton-Wilkins” or “Mandeville-Brown” or something.
*Disclaimer: may not be true.






















