7 Reasons

Tag: Sky

  • 7 Reasons to be Glad That The Transfer Window Has Closed

    7 Reasons to be Glad That The Transfer Window Has Closed

    Hurrah!  It’s finally over!  And here are seven reasons to be glad that it is.

    EPL

    1.  There’ll Be More News.  The 24 hour rolling football will finally stop and news stations and channels will carry actual news: Proper news; vital news; weighty news of great import, historical gravity and epoch-defining momentousness.  For all we know, Beyonce could be pregnant and because of the transfer deadline day absolutely no one in the world will have heard about it.  Also, Colonel Gaddafi could still be hiding in a tunnel somewhere, possibly in Libya.  Literally anything could be happening out there and we wouldn’t know because of the seemingly endless saga of will he/won’t he buy him, will he/won’t he join them and David Ngog? Hahahahahahaha!!!!  Let’s find out what’s happening in the world.

    2.  There’ll Be Less Bullshit, Rumour, Bullshit, Bullshit and Bullshit.  There’s a saying in motor sport: When the flag drops, the bullshit stops, but there isn’t enough fabric in the world to make enough flags to stop all of the falsity, mendacity and unabashed calumny that makes up the speculation on transfer deadline day.  And even if there were, there wouldn’t be enough seamstresses to sew them, poles to fly them from and this analogy stops here as it’s making the writing part of my head hurt.  It seems that absolutely anyone can say absolutely anything and get it reported by ordinarily sensible yet temporarily scoop-frenzied news organisations (and Sky) on transfer deadline day.  You would think there would be a limited number of Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terrys that could possibly be at an airport terminal or a motorway service station to witness Sol Campbell (who by my reckoning is now at least eight thousand years old) heading off to one training ground or another, but apparently there aren’t.  Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry achieves absolute omnipresence on transfer deadline day as does Yossi Benayoun who, according to Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry has now signed for at least six clubs and consumed twelve different flavours of Ginsters pasties at various motorway service stations across the land.  And every word of this gets reported in every medium by every organisation reporting on the looming transfer deadline.  Benjamin Disraeli said that there are“…lies, damned lies, and statistics”, but he never experienced a transfer deadline day.  On transfer deadline day there are no statistics.

    3.  Arsenal Fans Will Seem Less Mad.  If you’re of the opinion that Arsene Wenger has lost the plot in recent months with his bizarre refusal to sign any football player that is both over the age of twenty and has a spine, you could be seen to have a valid point.  But Wenger’s reluctance to spend his football club’s money buying football players for their football team has made such blubbering wrecks of the supporters that Mr Wenger himself seems like the sanest man in the world (except David Dimbleby) in comparison to them.  I’ve experienced this myself as, while I don’t support a Premier League club, I think that a strong and competitive Arsenal team is a lovely thing to watch and makes the Premier League competition far more exciting.  Today I’ve frequently found myself foaming at the mouth and bellowing “Buy him!  Buy him!  Buy him!”  This happens whenever Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry spots any footballer with at least one and a half working legs and the ability to grow even the sparsest of beards within a hundred mile radius of North London.  The combination of Arsene Wenger’s parsimony and transfer deadline day have contrived to turn me into a babbling idiot (even more so than usual).  It must be so much worse for those that actually care: Those poor people also have to bellow “Sell him!  Sell him!  Sell him!” whenever Nicklas Bendtner’s name is mentioned.  It must be hell for them.

    4.  We’ll Rediscover Words.  How often do you hear your own name said out loud?  A couple of times a day?  Ten times a day?  It might be more if you’re gregarious or popular, I wouldn’t know.  One thing I do know though, is that if your name is Scott Parker you’ll have heard it said out loud more often than anyone else in the entire history of humanity.  Anyone that has watched a sport bulletin between May and September (that period we refer to ironically as “the summer”) this year will have heard the words Scott and Parker more times than they’ll have heard the words if, it, bit, but, the, a, dog and salamander combined.  Oh, and and.  Craig David has heard his name said out loud fewer times than Scott Parker has and he spends his entire life singing it at people.

    5.  We’ll Be Less Baffled.  My wife knows less about football than I know about the female orgasm.  Of the sea otter.  And when she turned to me today and wearily asked “Why do they always leave it until the last minute?”  I loftily dismissed her amateur enquiry and, in a knowledgeable and not un-patronising tone replied, “It’s because…”.  That’s as far as I got.  Because when the transfer window is open from the end of the previous season until the end of August, it’s absolutely barmy to be trying to buy a player (that the selling club usually need to replace) minutes before the window shuts.  The buying club won’t find a bargain as the seller will be far more reluctant to sell them at that time and they won’t get a pre-season to help them settle into the squad.  There is no level on which leaving buying a footballer until the last minute makes any sense.  Unless it’s the same level on which Jedward are entertaining and Nando’s is a desirable place to go for dinner, in which case it makes all the sense in the world.  More probably.  All of the sense everywhere.  Even the sense in the cupboard under the stairs and the sense that has dropped out of your trouser pockets and fallen down the back of the sofa.  Am I still making sense?  No?  There, that’s how much sense leaving it until the last minute makes.

    6.  We Will All Be Safe.  It’s okay.  Really, it’s alright now.  We can all breathe a deep sigh of relief and relax as we’re all perfectly safe now.  Though it does seem that their strategy is to buy absolutely everyone in the world, there are rules and regulations to deal with that sort of thing and if you haven’t already been purchased by Manchester City (something that is worth checking), you won’t have to worry until January.  I’ve spent much of the last month absolutely terrified that I’m going to get signed and dragged off to Manchester to play football in the rain, but I seem to have escaped.  My five month old son (who can nearly stand up unaided) seems to have slipped the net too.  We got off lightly, as it seems that they’ve even resorted to raiding hospitals to find players to sign.

    7.  Football Will Be About Football.  Remember when football was about football?  That wondrous, gilded, golden-age when football wasn’t about finance, negotiation, and acquisition?  When it was about sport and not business?  Now that the window’s slammed firmly shut, those of us that want to see business (and who amongst us doesn’t find watching a meeting utterly thrilling?*) can watch Dragon’s Den or The Apprentice and those of us that like football can watch football which is a sport, not a bunch of self-centred prima-donnas making utter cocks of themselves for our entertainment.  Oh, it turns out that it is.  Still, it’ll be nice change from all of the business.  Until it all starts again in three months.  Bugger.

    *Yes, it’s me.

  • 7 Reasons That Britain Should Ban Farting. Now!

    7 Reasons That Britain Should Ban Farting. Now!

    Malawi is currently blazing a trail in the important field of social hygiene and public decorum.  Recently, as I’m sure you’re aware, Malawi’s Justice Minister, George Chaponda, recently proffered legislation that would outlaw farting in public there.  This is a brilliant proposition, and at 7 Reasons, we firmly believe that Britain should follow Malawi’s inspired lead and adopt this groundbreaking legislation as our own.  Here’s why.

    A no farting road sign

    1.  Job Creation.  The world is in the grip of the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression and unemployment in the UK is rising.  If we were to outlaw public flatulence, however, we would need additional police officers to enforce the new anti-guffing laws.  These new officers would be paid for by funds from a central pot, entirely raised by the levying of anti-arse-methane fines which, in a country where chicken tikka massala is the most popular dish, and mushy peas and cauliflower cheese are also commonly consumed foods would surely be substantial.  It would also be a more efficacious use of police resources too as, currently, since the relaxing of the minimum height requirement, short policemen and women have been burdened with the task of tackling hardened criminals who tower over them.  With the new legislation, however, undersized officers would be more usefully redeployed into the anti-farting branch, where they would be far more effective at flatulence-detection than full-sized officers, who could concentrate on tackling more serious crime.  The sort of stuff that occurs around head-height, rather than lower down.

    2.  Because It’s Disgusting.  The most obvious reason to ban farting in public is that it’s disgusting.  No one wants the air they breathe to be sullied by it having been filtered through the fetid innards of a grubby gentleman who has seems to have been dining on Fray Bentos pies and pickled eggs for the previous – constipated – week, and with the farting ban, we won’t have to.  This fat man can be summarily hauled away by the diddy-police to the fug house rather than being allowed to continue his journey between Kings Cross and York, which is where I encountered him six months ago.*

    3.  Inequality.  Never mind the disputed existence of a glass ceiling in the UK’s wage structure or of gender disparity and ageism in broadcasting, the definitive and most obvious form of sexual inequality in the UK today is apparent in public flatulence.  After all, if a man strikes-up an impromptu butt-trombone solo in public it’s seen as ill-mannered, though somewhat comical and not entirely unacceptable.  If women break wind in public, however (even pregnant ones, for whom bowel control is more difficult than anyone) it is not seen as remotely acceptable.  When a woman lets rip in a public place, monocles pop out of gentlemens’ faces, other ladies gasp and faint, children gape open-mouthed (unwisely) and point: “That lady blew off!” they gasp in astonishment as their parents simultaneously attempt to hush them and shuffle them away from the foul and wretched harridan with the trumping problem.  If we ban farting in public, we’ll all have to hold it in and we’ll put an end to this heinous and iniquitous societal inconsistency.

    4.  Male Grooming.  The overall appearance of the British male will be greatly improved as a result of the ban on flatulence.  After all, when forced to hold it in while in public environs, he will have to resort – like his countrywomen – to more frequent visits to the bathroom to relax and unwind**.  He won’t team up with someone else to visit the bathroom because that’s just weird.  But he will see mirrors that much more often and will consequently adjust his hair more, notice dry patches, take note of errant eyebrows and, as he’ll be exposed to more bathrooms than before, he’ll see how the colour of his clothing works in conjunction with a wider variety of hues.  The nation will smell better and look better.

    5.  Control.  It’s not just that the entire population of Britain will have to control themselves better (sort of a rectal version of the stiff upper lip that made Britain great), we’ll lessen the occurrence of truly abhorrent instances brought about by a disastrous happenstance involving flatulence and intoxication.  Because I was in a busy – and quite respectable – pub once with a group of friends when a man at the next table, who had been imbibing copiously and was now somewhat inebriated, misjudged his attempt at a flatulent emission.  Within half a minute or so it became apparent to the entire pub (except, bizarrely, the man himself and the people at his table) what had occurred and, within a minute many people (including myself) were dry-heaving and within two, most of us were on our way to another pub, tears streaming from our eyes.  If flatulence were illegal, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.  That was eight years ago, and I haven’t been back to that pub since.  This means that premises that clearly enforce the ban will benefit too, so it’ll further benefit the economy by rewarding well-run businesses.

    6.  Television.  Britain and its society was built on snobbery and the class divide and, with this in mind, the ban on flatulence will be a perfect addition to the nation’s laws.  Now, having seemingly exhausted the Drunken UK Seaside Towns Shellsuited Fighting genre, ITVs 4,5,6,7,8 and 9 and Sky: Whatever will be able to unleash a new wave of prurient “reality” programmes focussing on what common people get up to while the rest of us are safely at home cleaning our Agas and polishing our brogues.  We won’t have to watch grainy CCTV footage of men in short sleeved shirts and shoes that resemble Cornish pasties – or orange women wearing earrings larger than their frocks – fighting at 3am in Blackpool on our televisions any more.  We’ll be able to watch them farting.  This will reinvigorate a whole tired television genre while retaining its appeal to our own innate snobbery, so the ban will have the effect of enriching the cultural life of the nation while dovetailing perfectly with the national characteristic of sneering at the hoi-polloi.

    7.  Anarchy. Another of the cornerstones of the British character is that we’re taught that laws are for the obeyance of fools and the guidance of wise men.  It’s in our heritage to subvert authority and express our individualism by flagrantly flouting the law.  So some people will rail against state oppression by freely indulging their bodily urges as a means of protest.  These anarchists will fart for freedom; they’ll be freedom farters, gallantly and nobly resisting government by liberally cutting the cheese whenever the fancy takes them.  We might not all approve of their actions, but it’ll be a hell of a lot safer than petrol-bombing buildings or throwing bricks at police-horses.  And the “Fart For Freedom” posters will be hilarious.  In fact, this movement will probably be called the FFF and will doubtless become noted for being insubstantial and puffed up with hot air.*** But don’t worry, they’ll be quite harmless.

    *I NEVER forget.

    **I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of that.

    ***FFF