Tag: Jonathan Lee

Guest Post: 7 Reasons Americans Call Football Soccer

After a brief stopover in England last week, the sofa is back on its tour of the USA. This Saturday we have wound up in…er…we’re not sure (we forgot to bring a compass and our map seems to have been printed upside-down). Literally thousands of people raced from their homes to see what the fuss was about, but it was Breana Orland who won the place on the 7 Reasons chaise longue. And it’s a good job she did because she’s going to explain to us one of life’s mysteries. Just why do Americans call football, soccer.

Breana Orland is a writer for Student Grants. She also gives advice on the pursuit of higher education and career options for young adults.

Leave it to the bloody yanks to bastardize the world’s sport by giving it a different name and, refusing so thoroughly to recognize its real name, that we assign it to a completely dissimilar sport. As per our usual custom, Americans have to do everything on their own terms. First we separated from England. Then we said no to the metric system (forget the liter, I need a gallon of milk!) and driving on the wrong side of the road (if we drive on the right side, then yours must be wrong). And finally, we took the most beloved sport in the world, football, and applied the name to a sport that should by all rights be called handball. And we named football, soccer. But if you ever wondered what caused Americans to raise the ire of football fans everywhere by giving it a new name, here are a few things you may want to consider.

1. We Already Have A Sport With That Name. Football may be THE international sport (played with feet), but here in America, football is a game that is played on Sunday by enormous men in spandex and padding that line up facing each other like they’re reenacting a pre-revolutionary battlefield. It is a sport played mainly with hands on the ball, but for some reason, we call it football.

2. Because Of The Soc? No, not the funny socks they wear. Apparently, soccer was a slang term derived from “soc” in the original name “associated football”, and since we gave the name football to the gridiron sport, the international sport of the same name got the short end of the soc.

3. We’re contrary! Deal with it! There’s a reason everyone thinks Americans are, um, jerks. We kind of are. You wanna go?!

4. New language Is Our Bag, Baby. Sure we inherited our national tongue from the British, but you don’t hear us running around shouting “Bollocks!” or “Pip, pip, cheerio!” In keeping our image as the kid who ran away from Mommy and Daddy, we have adopted our own accents and colloquialisms and set to making up words. If you don’t believe me, just consider the fact that “truthiness”, a fake word made popular by The Colbert Report’s Stephen Colbert, was actually added to the dictionary.

5. Soccer Is America’s Sport. That’s right; we jacked the world’s sport and gave it our own name. Then we stole England’s soccer legend (but Becks, wouldn’t you really rather live in Los Angeles?). Then we embarrassed them at the World Cup (okay, they embarrassed themselves). And still, it is the least recognized sport in our country. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

6. We did it our way. At least, according to Frank Sinatra. And the Chairman of the Board is never wrong. Americans always have to do things their own way, even if it means that we’re going against the entire world and firmly established facts or traditions.

7. We’re idiots. At least, according to the rest of the world. Apparently we just don’t get it and we never will. Maybe if you called it soccer…

July 31, 2010
7 Reasons I Should Sue Disney

Disney might have a reputation for making child friendly animations, but each and every one of them gave me nightmares. And I can’t be alone. The animators did some bloody scary things when they were colouring in.

Nightmare 1. Snow White And The Seven Dwarves. The Queen in Snow White concocts a potion and turns into my then next-door neighbour. As a result of not being able to bring myself to go next door, Disney owe me £45.75. (Or 22 tennis balls, one football and three badminton shuttlecocks).

[youtube l9GJtM9lN-I Snow White – Queen Becomes The Witch]

Nightmare 2. Jungle Book. The slippery snake that is Kaa decides to make his eyes go all funny. Disney owe me two years worth of eyes as that is how long I spent not looking directly at people.

[youtube TRASn4tcXFE Jungle Book – Kaa Hypnotizes Mowgli]

Nightmare 3. The Little Mermaid. The ugliest creation ever. And she wanted to hurt Ariel. Disney owe me a £5000 Hackett voucher for the clothes I ruined using lesser quality soap powders. They only have themselves to blame. If they’d called her Daz…

[youtube LG8qwzUE1jE The Little Mermaid – Ursula The Witch]

Nightmare 4. Fantasia. The whole film was nightmare enough. How long did it last? Two weeks or something? This scene inparticular gave me the creeps though. Dancing broomsticks. Well, actually, not just dancing broomsticks. Dancing broomsticks and a haunting musical accompaniment. Disney owe me house cleaner.

[youtube R-7Qar1lFjo Fantasia – The Sorcerer’s Apprentice]

Nightmare 5. Lady And The Tramp. Not only did the siamese cats look scary, the bloody song made them terrifying. Disney owe me a pet.

[youtube TpPGE_SKtA4 Lady And The Tramp – Siamese Cats]

Nightmare 6. Dumbo. Elephants made out of bubbles. Need I say more. This is probably the single most scary act in any Disney film ever. Disney owe me 3000 litres of soapy water as this is how much I threw out instead of making bubbles from it. You know, just in case.

[youtube RJv2Mugm2RI Dumbo – Pink Elephants On Parade]

Nightmare 7. Bambi’s Mum Dies. Why? Why did this have to happen? What had Bambi’s mum done to the bastard who shot her? From the very moment I saw this – when cinema tickets cost about £1.90 – I was scarred. Disney owe me a deer. Called ‘Mother’.

[youtube -eHr-9_6hCg Bambi – Bambi’s Mum Dies]

July 30, 2010
7 Reasons I Am Rubbish At Origami

7 Reasons I Am Rubbish At Origami

July 28, 2010
7 Reasons Fernando Is Faster Than You

7 Reasons Fernando Is Faster Than You

July 26, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That It’s Pimm’s O’Clock

It’s another Saturday here in Blighty and that means another chance for Marc and I to leave the comfort of the sofa and go and air our hairy legs. All four of them. In our place today then, is John Phipps. A man who, when not painting Gordon Brown’s face, can be found doing other things. Though we’re not quite sure what. For those of you in the twitterati, you can follow John here. But do that after he’s talked to you about Pimm’s. It’s only courteous.

So far in England we’ve had a summer of sporting mediocrity – topped off with headaches from the whine of Vuvuzelas and Sue Barkers’ bitter tone. Amazingly the sun is still looking favourably upon our otherwise gloomy Nation as music festivals and sporting events help draw our attention away from our melancholy lives.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a proper English summer. With everything in place, it seems appropriate that the mind should turn to Pimm’s – the quintessentially English Summer drink. In its traditional style, 7 Reasons is here to help celebrate “Pimm’s O’clock” with seven somewhat ironic, self-mocking pointers.

1. Quality refreshment. A sensible man would say refreshment comes in the form of water. Brian Badonde would even join me in saying “Bah!” to those opting for some Council juice on a warm day. What sets Pimm’s aside from the rest is its ability to truly refresh. The fabulously fruity rich mix, shifts the clouds with sweet honey-like sunshine resin. Your palate will explode long before your bladder as you taste the heady delights of the English summer.

As an added bonus for those of you clogging up the NHS, the fruit not only gives added enjoyment but counts for a significant part of your important 5 a-day too.* Your Consultant will be (slightly) pleased.

2. Prudence. Guardian columnist Oliver Thring (who by the way sports a truly magnificent side parting) wrote that Pimm’s “epitomises seasonal events featuring irritating rich people: trilbied fops in preposterous blazers; hawing women in silly hats; drunken trustafarians lounging on riverbanks; fans of Nigel Farage doorstepping ahead of European elections.”

Now, I’m not a fan of Nigel Farage, more of a Bercow man myself, but young Oliver is spot on; this bizarre scene is a fundamental part of the attraction. Some drink Stella and go home and beat their wife. Others sip Pimm’s and go home after beating themselves because they threw a game of croquet. It’s a drink for those with common sense.

3. Social Mobility. Fortunately the price seems to dissuade anti-socialites and general miscreants from dropping their favoured bottle of White Lightning for a Pimm’s. I defy anybody to find evidence of Pimm’s being drunk neat, or otherwise, on park benches by the Adidas tracksuit brigade. It is widely believed too that Staffordshire Bull Terriers will not drink this refined goodness. That being said, there is every opportunity with Pimm’s to elevate your standing – therefore perfect for the character who some years ago failed the 12+ or an entrance exam at Stowe and ended up carrying a briefcase into a modern Comprehensive on his first day in Year 8.

You see a nice ‘whistle’ or a posh frock only go some of the distance in pushing you up the ladder. However, put a jug of Pimm’s on the table and a glass in hand and you my friend could be someone with symbolic capital. The power of absolute mobility that this drink possesses is indeed, absolute.

4. Grandeur. Only a sexually insecure beefcake or a leftie with a face like a melted wellington would refuse a Pimm’s – regardless of cost. Pimm’s is Land Of Hope And Glory and Jerusalem in a glass. It screams Pomp and Circumstance with its typeface let alone its taste. It arouses illusions of grandeur, times gone by; an idealised Nation; a Country under Thatcher; a home-grown Wimbledon winner; Mr Darcy; cricket at Wormsley, the majesty of Temperate House; an impassioned Glyndebourne.

Prince William and his Army chums once cleared the supermarket shelves in Weymouth just after I bought my first bottle of the summer. I hope the lucky bar-stewards didn’t choke on a strawberry, but love him or hate him, be assured that this is a drink of Kings.

5. Women. Proper ladies don’t drink Pints of lager; it’s not the done thing, so be on guard for freeloaders. Make sure your flys aren’t undone etc. First impressions count and Pimm’s has already done the hard work for you. Don’t let yourself down.

6. Create Perfection. The official recipe is one part Pimm’s to three parts lemonade, strawberry, orange and mint, mixed generously with ice. Generally speaking one should stick to it. I would suggest perhaps using Tonic Water instead of lemonade, adding cucumber and maybe a stick or two of celery.

If your greengrocer has run out of celery, a Chelsea fan is bound to have some.

7. Imitation is suicide. The world is full of pretenders, I urge you not to join them by succumbing to a cheaper and quite frankly, poorer alternative. You will think you are cool, but instead you are unquestionably sad. You need to ‘wake up and smell the cock’ before your half-empty glass ruins your life.

You will not reach more of a lower point in life than if a guest samples your fake product and comments accordingly. At this point you will probably continue drinking the alternative just to forget what happened. This is not clever and you really should have read points 1-6 more carefully.

*Not scientifically proven, just an educated guess.

**DRINK RESPONSIBLY. Pimm’s is not good to binge on and can make quite a mess for your partner to clear up the next day. It will also quite probably smell most foul.

July 24, 2010
7 Reasons A Cow On The Line Is Not So Bad

I got stuck behind a cow yesterday. This is my story.

1. Reflect…on the countryside and the beauty of it all. The greens and the yellows and the reds and the blues that you always take for granted. The only thing missing is the black and the white. Because it’s on the bloody line in front of you.

2. Relax…a cow on the line is fairly harmless. Unless it’s two terrorists on the way to pantomime. You should be thankful that it’s only a cow. It could have been Aliens. Or a Polar Bear. Or Von Ryan’s Express. Or Kerry Katona.

3. Reminisce…about the good times. A time when 3G didn’t exist and so you never got stuck in a train in an area lacking 3G. Remember how you never used to switch your phone off and on to see if that helped. Or held it above your head. Or below your legs. Or below the legs of the person in front of you.

4. Reacquaint…yourself with good music. Whatever is on your iPod at the time. Edison Lighthouse for example. Within thirteen repetitions of Love Grows (Where My Rosemary* Goes) you’ll be moving again. And people will be wondering what’s making that strange humming noise.

5. Rejoice…at the thought that those waiting to collect you from the station will not want to hang around in the station car park for an extra half-an-hour. They’ll go for a drive and see a Sainsburys and go in and buy Pork Pies. Which you’ll eat for lunch.

6. Reaffirm…how proud you are with yourself. It’s hard sitting on a train for 30 minutes longer than planned. Your stomach starts rumbling and the mad-Welsh woman keeps bragging about how good her buffet service is. You can resist that bacon sandwich. You can hang on until lunch. And you feel so much better for it. You feel like a better person. If a cow hadn’t got on the line and you’d have arrived at your destination on time, you’d still be lamenting the fact that you always end up sitting next to a fat person.**

7. Reason…that an hour after starting, ‘7 Reasons To Be Polite To Inanimate Objects’, it’s looking no better than when the idea formed in your head. There must be something else to write about.

*For obvious reasons (one of them, not seven), when I am singing this, I don’t use the name Rosemary. I use Jonathan.

**I’m not fattist. If people want to be fat in their own homes, then that is up to then. But when you are on the train you shouldn’t be so fat that you cause me to have an intimate relationship with the window.

July 22, 2010
7 Reasons Ironing Is Dangerous

1. Ironing Board Covers. Goodness knows why man can’t invent a cover that actually fits the ironing board properly. I don’t know, maybe it is just one of those impossible challenges. Like building a pyramid upside down. Anyway, an ironing board cover that decides to flap around and generally not stay where it is meant to, really annoys me. So much so that I might kick out. Unfortunately, the same git who decided not to design the cover properly, also left sharp bits of metal on the underside of the board.

2. Calluses. In the same way that one might gain calluses on their finger tips as they play the guitar, I am developing them where the fingers meet the palm of the hand. Not dangerous in itself, but a sign that I am developing a reputation for being someone who likes ironing. And that is a very dangerous reputation to live with.

3. RSI. No not Repetitive Strain Injury, but Ridiculously Short Ironing-Board. How the bloody hell am I supposed to remove all the creases from the duvet cover if I can only iron 12% of its surface area at anyone time? The rest just creases itself on the floor. So I have to do it again. And again. And again. Until I become an addict. And addictions are dangerous.

4. Trip Hazards. And while we are talking about my duvet cover creasing itself on the floor, I must also point out that it’s also trip hazard. Or at least 88% of it is. Poxy thing. I have enough trouble staying upright as it is. I don’t need props.

5. RSI. No, not Ridiculously Short Ironing-Board – we’ve dealt with that already – but Repetitive Strain Injury. There are only so many movements you can make with an iron – assuming you are doing the job properly anyway. Right to left or left to right seem to be the only options. I would love to do top to bottom, but whoever invented bras made it impossible.

6. Sharks. You may be thinking, ‘How they hell do sharks make ironing dangerous?’ Trust me, if you are doing your ironing on a surfboard the last thing you need to worry about is whether your girlfriend is going to notice that iron shaped burn.

7. People. They generally don’t like it when you iron their clothes. Especially if: (a) they are complete strangers and (b) they are wearing them at the time. Usually this will result in either: (a) a punch, (b) an arrest warrant or (c) both.

July 20, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: 7 Reasons: The Trailer: The Trailer

It’s Russian Roulette Sunday again and once more the saga of advertising our website rears its head. We currently have a trailer – rather catchily entitled 7 Reasons: The Trailer – under construction. We promised it to you several weeks ago, and it still isn’t ready yet. It’s been a nightmare saga of broken computers, missing cameras, temperamental hairdryers and complications with rendering and frame rates so dull that overhearing talk of them would kill a casual listener stone dead; the making of Fitzcarraldo was probably less problematic. But progress is being made, and now we are at the stage where we can present 7 Reasons: The Trailer: The Trailer. This, we firmly believe, is progress, and so certain are we that the completion of 7 Reasons: The Trailer is within sight that we’re prepared to state – confidently – that it will be ready soon (ish).

7 Reasons: The Trailer: The Trailer

July 18, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Be Happy That She Hates That You Love Sports

If there is one thing you know about us, it is that we are British. As a result the website is full of British humour. So it’s always interesting when we get comments from abroad. We know for instance, that the Dutch find us quite amusing, while the French…erm…well let’s put it this way, we are never going to have a French Guest Writer. So far, all of our guest writers have been British. Or at least half-British*. Today though, that is changing. Because, in the first of what we hope will be many international escapades, we are all off to Iowa. Or, more accurately, Iowa is coming to our sofa. And with Iowa comes Sandra McAubre, a lady who writes on the topic of Sports Management Degrees over at SportsManagementDegrees.Net. She also very much welcomes your comments, so when you’ve finished reading her post please do send her an email and ask her what a ‘brickbat’ is. Then let us know. Thanks.**

There are some men who would read this title and think I was nuts, and they’re justified for thinking so. They’re the ones who always seem to be at the receiving end of the wrath of the fairer sex for their obsession with sports. Every time there’s a big game on, they’re faced with a combination of excitement and apprehension – the latter because they’re worried about the brickbats that their significant other, be it spouse or girlfriend, is going to be throwing around. Yes, there are women who enjoy a game as much as the testosterone-fueled men seem to do and others who are understanding and even accommodating during games, but then, every other man I’ve met is of the opinion that they’ve missed out on meeting specimens of these rare breeds. Even so, I still persist with the opinion that you must take satisfaction in the fact that your woman hates that you love sports. Because:

1. You Can Hate That She’s Too Sappy. If your girlfriend/wife is understanding about you watching sports when there’s a game on, then you can bet your last dollar that you’re going to have to reciprocate the favor in kind – just when you’re in the mood for some love, she’s going to be bawling her eyes out watching a sappy love story and you’re going to have to keep your mouth and much more zipped up!

2. You Don’t Have To Reciprocate In Kind. Worse, if she watches the games with you, you’re going to have to summon up some tears during that oh-so-boring movie (with nary a bang-up fight) too; but then, I think the idea of keeping more than your mouth zipped up should bring on the waterworks naturally enough!

3. You Have Genuine Reason To Hang Out With The Guys. If sport is banned at home, then you (can hope) you don’t get into too much trouble when you stop over at a bar to catch the last quarter of the big game before heading on home!

4. Christmas And Birthdays Become More Fun. No more boring ties for you in return for all the sparklers you love to (you’re forced to?) buy for your girl; rather, you’re awash in season tickets with premier seating (after you give her an infinite number of not-so-subtle hints of course) for the best games in town.

5. You Don’t Have To Tolerate Her Friends. If your game buddies are banned from your home, then it’s only fair that she can’t expect you to lock yourself into your room when her girlfriends are over for whatever it is that women do when they get together; and on the bright side, you could sneak away to watch a game on your friend’s big screen TV when the female brigade comes calling!

6. Your Beer Belly Is Under Control. With a supportive wife/girlfriend, you’re going to guzzle bottles and bottles of beer and continue eating countless chips when watching your game, little realizing that they’re all heading straight for your gut and on the road to making you fat and unhealthy. So maybe the disapproval can help you stave off the food and drink you seem to push down when it’s game time and save your health in the process.

7. You Get Some Quality Time Alone. And finally, no matter how much you love your significant other, there are times when you prefer to watch your game in solitude (if you can’t enjoy the company of your beer buddies, of course) without being interrupted by questions and remarks that you have absolutely no interest in at the moment. So if she hates that you’re into sports, maybe, just maybe, she’s going to be sulking till the game’s over, after which you can do some crawling to get back into her good books!

*Or completely Australian, which is not in Britain at all.

**Apparently I’m the only one who had never heard of the word brickbat. I feel a bit silly now.

July 17, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Date A Polar Bear

1. Inuits, Yupiks, Chukchis, Nenets and Russian Pomors. You are really going to piss them off. To them, a polar bear is the ultimate utility. They use the fur for trousers, fat for fuel, the gallbladder for medicinal purposes and the teeth as amulets. You start dating a polar bear and the Inuits are going to have to start walking around with bare legs.

2. Bathroom Usage. If you do insist on dating a polar bear, then you have to understand one thing. You will never be able to use your bath again. The polar bear will see this as their natural environment. They will sleep in it, splash around in it, hunt in it and get bath salts in uncomfortable places in it. You’ll also get the water board investigating a major leak.

3. Eating. A polar bear’s diet isn’t a very mixed one. They like seals. Particularly bearded ones. It’s not the most comfortable thing to have to order in the local Harry Ramsdens. Especially when you have to add that the polar bear is going to batter it themselves.

4. Meeting The Parents. Never the easiest thing to do. Especially when you’re dating a polar bear. Thankfully, your parents were very understanding/scared and so those introductions went swimmingly. Literally. You all met in your bath. Now though, it’s your turn to meet the polar bear’s parents. In the Arctic. You think you’ve prepared well. You have all the thermals on and a distress flare stuffed down your trousers. Nothing can go wrong. Until you meet them. And you realise they all look the bloody same.

5. Games. We may be getting older, but there is a still a bit of the child in all of us. Some more than others it must be said. Occasionally we do like to be a bit silly and play a game. Catch, Frisbee, Twister etc. These are all fine and I can assure you that the polar bear will love them. What you don’t want to play, though, is Hide & Seek. Particularly if your walls are painted white. You’re going to be playing for bloody ages.

6. Habits. It would be nice to think that on your return home after a long day at work, the polar bear has made a nice meal for you. Unfortunately this is little more than wishful thinking. All too regularly you’ll come home to find them perched atop a pile of ice cubes watching Seal or No Seal on the Nature Channel.

7. Romance. Against all the odds, it is going well. You’ve got over the fact that seal whiskers are being left all over the bathroom floor and the polar bear no longer smacks you around the side of the head whenever you pop a Fox’s Glacier Mint into your mouth. It might be time to move it to the next level. You’ve taken the polar bear out for the evening, wine and dined and danced the night away, now you are in the taxi. A paw gently brushes your thigh before the polar bear moves towards your ear and whispers, ‘I’m going to eat you alive later’.

July 16, 2010