Today, Sepp Blatter will be re-elected as FIFA President. That is all kinds of wrong. As this video aptly demonstrates.
Tag: sport
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7 Reasons Ireland Didn’t Beat England At Cricket Yesterday
If you’re a cricket lover, or if you’re following the Cricket World Cup (which isn’t really cricket) and you’re English, you might be happily going about your March 2nd business right now vaguely aware that you seem to have had some sort of strange and improbable nightmare last night. And you’re right. It is still Wednesday and you’ve had a bit of a funny dream. I know I have. Here are seven reasons why.

This didn't happen. You dreamt this. 1. It’s Too Conflicting. The English, as popular opinion would have it, love an underdog. And it’s true, we do. There’s nothing that the English like to do more than cheer on plucky minnows. We love to see Italy do well in the Six Nations; we love to see Scotland do well at football; we love to see Malta do well at absolutely bloody everything and, had Ireland been playing any other nation yesterday (except Malta), we would have been cheering them on with cries of “Play up, Ireland” and “Hurrah for the Patricks”. But they weren’t playing anyone else. They were playing us. And we were the overdog. This was somewhat conflicting. Because it was nice to see the plucky Irish do well during the cricket, it was heart-warming even, and to someone who fancies that he has some modicum of appreciation for the game, it was enjoyable. But then it slowly began to look like they might actually beat us and suddenly the thin veneer of being a fair-minded Englishman that appreciates a fine performance (even by an opponent) began to dissipate and I realised that I wasn’t quite the sporting chap I imagine myself to be. I discovered that I am, in fact, the sort of Englishman who would happily don a pith helmet and mow down colonials with a Gatling gun if it meant a victory in war or sport for dear old Blighty. No one needs to find that out about themselves when they’re trying to enjoy the cricket. I started the match as a good, upright, moral chap and finished it as a cruel, bloodthirsty, avaricious monster. Albeit one with a nice hat. But this can’t really have happened, because I’m certain that, at heart, I’m a thoroughly nice chap.
2. The Irish Don’t Even Play Cricket. I know about Irish sport; I’ve seen it. There are essentially three major sports there. They play football, like we do, but with muddier pitches. They play rugby, like we do, but with muddier pitches. And they play Gaelic-bloody-hurleyball-thing – a sport I once saw on Channel Four at three o’clock one morning in 1997 – which is essentially a mass-brawl in the mud which may or may not have sticks and a ball. And a net. None of those things even remotely resemble cricket, which is a game played in England, where children are given bats, balls and club ties at birth and spend almost every minute of every childhood summer – except when they are reluctantly dragged away to a tartan picnic blanket and force-fed cucumber sandwiches, orange squash and those Mr Kipling cakes that resemble gaudily coloured plasticine and make your teeth hurt – playing the game of cricket. And then when we grow up many of us carry on doing exactly the same thing, but with Pimm’s instead of the squash and if we’re very lucky, picnic sex. Though the infernal sodding cakes are still there. We have cricket, if not in our blood, then certainly in our souls and in our psyche, it’s a part of our national identity. We are prepared to play cricket from birth, it shouldn’t be possible to just to turn up with a horse and beat us at it. Which is good, because it didn’t happen.
3. There Was A Horse. I’m not going to knock Kevin O’Brien’s knock*. What he did yesterday was superb. He went out to bat and did what every young boy (and grown man and woman and just about everyone who’s ever had any sporting ambition/interest/has even seen a blade of grass) has ever dreamed of doing: He took a game by the scruff of the neck and improbably – almost impossibly – won it single-handedly, against the odds. It was amazing. He was magnificent. Unlike Irish people, however, I have seen Kevin O’Brien play before, and I know this. He’s essentially a lumbering big, ginger horse in a cricket uniform. Of course he’s going to be able to slog the ball around on a flat pitch, he could probably hit balls to the moon. What we needed to counteract him was a backfiring car. They always put horses off what they’re doing, I’ve seen black and white films and read Edwardian novels, and I know of what I speak. It’s just not possible that England’s enormous – and legendarily meticulous – backroom staff consisting of hordes of people with laptops that studied P.E. at university didn’t consider this tactic, not possible at all. As the saying goes: If you fail to prepare, you prepare to get spanked around the ground by a big ginger man-horse. And that’s what happened…er…didn’t happen.
4. It Isn’t Mathematically Possible. The Ireland cricket team represents both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. So England were playing two countries out there yesterday, and you might think that would put England (us) at a disadvantage but wait! The acronym ECB is short for The England and Wales (and some South Africans) Cricket Board, so Irelands two nations were in fact playing our three nations, all of whom are individually better at cricket than them. It’s not mathematically possible that they should have won, or geographically or historically. It’s just not possible at all, so it can’t have happened.
5. Available Talent. That Ireland don’t have any sort of cricketing pedigree is self-evident. But that’s not to say that Ireland is completely lacking any cricketing talent. That would be crass and simplistic. Because there is Irish cricketing talent out there. For there is a man born in Dublin who would get into just about any one day cricket team in the world; a man who won three senior cup titles for Catholic University School; a man who has a ODI batting average of 38.03; a man whose batting shimmers with inventiveness and audacity; a man whose bold stroke-play and natural ease with a bat is admired the world over. And that Irishman’s name is Eoin Morgan and he plays for fecking England!!!! Their best player doesn’t even play for them! He plays for us, so they can’t have won at all.
6. The Reaction. Do you know what the reaction in England to the Irish victory was last night? From people that don’t follow cricket as closely as you or I, people with children and lives and things, people that the news was only slowly filtering to by yesterday evening? The ones that I spoke to all reacted in exactly the same way with the same question. They asked, “Do the Irish even have a cricket team?” Every last one of them asked this. And in Ireland, I have no doubt that they were all asking, “Do we even have a cricket team?” I had to explain this defeat to a Frenchman last night – A MAN FROM FRANCE – and do you know what his first question was? I’ll tell you. It was, “Do ze Irish even ‘ave a cricket team?” I can’t begin to tell you how painful this conversation was. It was several minutes before I was able to turn the conversation to the efficacy of the Maginot Line. Several long minutes. Anyway, the upshot of all this is that we were playing a team yesterday that doesn’t exist. And they beat us.
7. It’s So Weird I Can Only Have Dreamt It. I won’t bore you with all of the details, but it’s fair to say that yesterday was a fairly strange day for me. Here are just some of the things that actually happened to me:
- I purchased Vaseline for my cat.
- I discussed the Ashes with a Frenchman.
- I witnessed a man request “A pint of the lager you have that’s most like Stella” at a bar.
- An Irish team that doesn’t exist beat England at Cricket with an orange horse.
So there you go. All of the available evidence is there and it points to only one thing: That yesterday was a really weird dream that didn’t actually happen. Any moment now I’m going to wake up and it’ll be March 2nd again and at some point later on today I’m going to listen to England thump Ireland at cricket. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait.
*That’s the first knock-knock joke we’ve ever done at 7 Reasons.**
**The second one will be better.
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7 Reasons That It’s Right To Allow The Use Of the Elbow In Football
Great news, psychopaths. As of today, elbowing people in the head is now acceptable in football, thanks to referee Mark Clattenberg’s new and liberal interpretation of what constitutes acceptable behaviour on the field of play. We’d like to applaud Clattenberg for his bold and innovative stance and suggest that allowing the use of the elbow to the head will improve the game greatly. Here are seven reasons that it will.
1. There Will Be Less Emphasis Placed On Skill And Application. Let’s look at Carlos Tevez (not too closely though, you may want to sleep again). He’s an amazing, mesmeric player that simultaneously terrifies the opposing team’s defence, midfield, and young supporters in the stands. Most teams find him almost unplayable and it seems almost impossible for opposing managers to concoct a tactic to negate his influence on the game. With the new relaxation on the rules governing assault occasioning actual bodily harm on the football pitch, however, there’ll finally be a way to stop him. You can have as much talent as you like, you can’t play through concussion.
2. Or Maybe You Can. We’ll see way more incidents of concussion in the game now that players can cranially assault each other on the pitch. And concussion, in some cases might actually improve players. Who can forget what (then Partick Thistle manager) John Lambie said on being told that one of his strikers was concussed? He said, “That’s great, tell him he’s Pele and get him back on.” Obviously concussion won’t always lead to improvement; most of my team’s squad seem to have been concussed since December and we – if our home stadium was called the Paper Bag Arena – would be there today, still playing out our Christmas fixtures. Still, seeing them elbowed in the head would make me feel better about things so it’s still a win.
3. It’ll Be More Popular. Now that players can elbow each other in the chops football’s popularity could be further increased. Look at the rise in popularity of cage-fighting, a sport with a laissez-faire to the rules of etiquette. It’s growing far faster than its more traditional, staid and rule-bound cousin, boxing, and football attendance could increase similarly with the relaxation of the tiresome convention of not being allowed to inflict brain damage on your opponent with your elbow. It could bring some of the excitement that we associate with the gladiators of ancient Rome to the sport. In fact, I’ve seen Gladiator and it’ll be great: There’ll be blood; there’ll be whooshing and crunching noises; there’ll be names like Roonicus Maximus, Torresicus Uselecus, Carrollicus Howmuchicus and Coleicus Twaticus; there might be lions. How cool will that be?
4. It’s Civilising. Allowing the elbow may well actually make football more civilised. This might seem somewhat counter-intuitive, but it could work. Look at the touching way that Mark Clattenberg put his arm around Wayne Rooney after Saturday’s elbowing incident. It made a lovely change to see a player and a referee getting on so famously, because usually when players are interacting with the referee they’re barracking and abusing him*, so if allowing players to half-kill each other on the pitch brings more touching and harmonious moments like this it can only be a good thing: Practitioners of football will finally become the role-models that we always hoped they would be; setting a good example of decorous, respectful and appropriate behaviour for children. And they’ll get to see them belt the living shit out of each other too! Brilliant.
5. It Benefits The United Kingdom. Elbowing another person in the head is not merely the simple, uncomplicated act of thuggery that you might suppose, as there are some fundamental laws of physics that cannot be overcome. The act of elbowing someone in the head requires the elbower (or defendant, as non-F.A. types have traditionally referred to them) to be able to reach the elbowee(victim)’s head with their elbow. This means that Shaun Wright-Phillips (5’4”) would have little chance of elbowing Peter Crouch (9’3”) in the head. So taller players will have a natural advantage. And this, in international football, will benefit teams from the United Kingdom, as we’re the twenty-second tallest nation in the world (and Luxembourg, Iceland and Estonia are ahead of us on that list and we should be able to beat them using old-fashioned skill**). U.K. teams will, therefore, have a greater chance of winning the world cup than they do presently. So there you go, in the future, when elbowing opponents in the head is a legitimate tactic, England will be improved by not selecting Shaun Wright-Phillips. What a revelation.
6. It Uses Existing Skill. The new relaxation of the rules will tap into the existing skill-sets of football players and will allow them to practice on the field what they often practice as amateur-hobbyists off it. Assaulting people. And while it will be somewhat of a change from the traditional practice of punching people in nightclubs and takeaways – or shooting people at the training ground – it will be something that they won’t require too much additional training to adapt to. And it would make nightclubs safer places for the rest of us to conduct the activities traditionally associated with them. Mostly vomiting and being sexually/physically assaulted (delete as appropriate) by middle-aged men in short sleeved shirts.
7. It Puts Football Back At The Cutting Edge. By allowing elbowing, football is flying in the face of convention and bucking tradition. And, on a day when the sport is being overshadowed by a cricketer coming out and revealing that he is gay, it’s important that football is seen to be embracing new ideas. After all, cricket is merely blazing a trail today by embracing very old ideas, which means that – with its new attitude toward our silly, outdated notions of what constitutes assault – football is doing something far newer and more libertarian. So move over cricket, football is now the unparalleled bastion of cutting edge liberalism in sport. How truly enlightening.
*I would include female referees in this, but I quite fancy a career in radio.
**This may be fanciful.
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7 Reasons Not to Watch The Cricket World Cup
It’s Friday the 18th of February, 2011, and after all the build-up and anticipation, the Cricket World Cup starts today. As you can probably imagine, we’re very excited about that here at 7 Reasons and…well, you will have to imagine that, because we’re not. Here are 7 Reasons not to watch the bloody thing.
1. Australia. It’s not so much how good Australia are – they aren’t – it’s more whether anyone can be bothered to beat them. In 1999, South Africa should have beaten them in the semi-final, but Lance Klusener lost the plot and with it the match. And as for the final, well Pakistan didn’t turn up for it and were comprehensively thumped. In 2003, England should have beaten them in the final group game, but decided to let Andy Bichel have his one and only great day in an Aussie shirt and in doing so managed to lose from an impossible position. And as for the final, well India did turn up, but only to watch Sourav Ganguly toss the coin. After that they were comprehensively thumped. In 2007, well, only Australia turned up. They comprehensively thumped everyone. Which leads us to today. Or tomorrow. The 2011 World Cup promises to be the best yet. I reckon you could make strong arguments for six teams winning it. But that would be futile wouldn’t it? Because the script has long been written. Thumpings of the most comprehensive kind shall soon be scattered across the sub-continent. What’s the point in watching that?
2. Length. Now we love our cricket, but this thing goes on for a month and a half. Just imagine what you could get done in a month and a half if you weren’t watching the cricket. You could fly around the world 40 times. You could cook everything in Delia’s Complete Cookery Course. Twice. You could solve the international sudoku problem. You could build a tree house, dismantle it and build it again. You could even write us a guest post. By not watching the cricket World Cup you could achieve so much. The World Cup is your oyster.
3. Timing. I’m in England and the Cricket World Cup is not. It’s taking place far away, over the sea. But I’ve looked at the fixture list and, apart from the odd game that starts at 4am, the times of the matches actually seem reasonable. For the most part, they seem to be occurring during working hours. During working hours!? What’s the bloody point in that? Where’s my epic struggle to stay awake during matches? Where’s my opportunity to complain, bleary-eyed, the day after an important match, to all and sundry that the World Cup is going to kill me? You know how to spot a fellow cricket aficionado while England are on tour? You’ll hear them yawning and/or snoring and find them slumped on their desks/a bus seat/your left shoulder of an afternoon. Now, throughout the tournament, confused England fans will spend their time mistakenly bothering the exhausted parents of new-born children to discuss the batting of Kevin Pietersen, the bowling of Graeme Swann or the point of Billy Bowden. That’s no fun for anyone. Especially for cricket fans who’ll end up learning all sorts of nonsense about nappies and breast-pumps that they’d really rather not hear about. If watching cricket isn’t a challenge, it’s just not as good.
4. It’s Just Not Cricket. Is the ball red? No. Are the kits tasteful and pleasing to the eye? No. Are some of the spectators grey, dusty and possibly suffering from rigor mortis? No. Can each match last for an entire working week? No. Are England any good at it? No. In that case, it isn’t cricket at all; it’s merely baseball for the civilised.
5. National Anthems. I do love a good rendition of ‘God Save The Queen’. But only if it’s at Twickenham or I’m in the shower. Only in these environments do people actually appear as if they want to sing. Anthems just don’t seem to work at cricket. I feel a bit awkward watching them. It’s a bit like chapel at school. No one really wants to be there. The problem is that when the anthems are over, half the players go back to the changing rooms to play cards while the rest hang around for ten minutes until the Umpires check to see if the light is okay. By which time the parts of you that were pumped up are now deflated. And that’s when Straussy loses his off-stump. So, unless we are sadists we should not be watching.
6. Because You Support England. And by “you support England”, what I mean is that I support England; the surest route to heartbreak and despair in all of international sport (outside of betting on Audley Harrison or being Jermaine Jenas). I was pushing my luck by watching the Ashes, so watching the Cricket World Cup can only lead to disillusionment and despondency. Much better to avoid it and stick to watching films about the war. Not the second Anglo-Dutch War, obviously, that would be equally depressing.
7. It’s Misleading. It’s called the World Cup. But I’ve seen the trophy and it doesn’t resemble a cup in the least. It looks like a Martian tripod from H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds standing in the classical ballet stance, en pointe. Can you drink tea from it? No. Can it perform a quick pas de bourrée before killing you with its heat-ray? Undoubtedly. So it’s not the Cricket World Cup at all. It’s the Cricket World Martian Ballet Tripod. If they’d called it that, more people would be watching. And if they had a few of those at the stadia, I would watch.
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Guest Post: 7 Reasons That American Football is Better Than Soccer
It’s the first weekend of the Six Nations, so who better to hand the 7 Reasons sofa to than blogger, occasional 7 Reasons guest poster and sports nut, Richard O’Hagan. And what more appropriate subject for him to write about than…oh…the Super Bowl? Which is also happening this weekend. Apparently.
It’s Super Bowl weekend. What do you mean you hadn’t noticed? How could you not notice? It’s the biggest single sporting event in the world. No other event makes an entire country grind to a halt like the first Sunday in February does in America. You want to know how special it is? It’s one of only three days in the year when Americans actually manage to eat MORE than usual – no matter how impossible that might be to imagine.
Yes, all over America, football fans will be doing their best Mr Creosote impressions, barbecuing as if their very lives depended upon it and convincing themselves that they have room for just one more giant pretzel, before settling down in front of the television for the sporting event of the year. Meanwhile, people like me attempt to stay awake until stupid o’clock in the morning, because despite all of the above the Yanks haven’t yet worked out that there are people elsewhere in the world who like to watch the game, too, so they start the game at somewhere near midnight UK time.
And why do I put myself through this every year? Simple. American Football knocks just about every winter game into, if not a cocked hat, then a football helmet. And that particularly includes what Americans call soccer, because:
1. Fat People Can Play This Game, Too. Come on, when was the last time you saw a fat guy playing what, to avoid confusion, we shall also call ‘soccer’? A really fat person, the sort of guy who would make the 1980s Jan Molby look anorexic. I’ll tell you. Never. Even William ‘Fatty’ Foulkes, the fattest man ever to play professional football, was only average size for an American footballer. It’s an all-inclusive sport, you see, and for some positions on the field being 300lb-plus is a minimum requirement. And it is not just being over 300lbs that counts, because every one of those guys can run 40 yards in less than 6 seconds, and most of them do it in close to 5. Go and try that for yourself. Most of you won’t even come close.
2. And The Players Are Educated, Too. There’s one unbreakable rule in American Football, and that’s the one that says that you can’t play it professionally unless you have been to university for at least three years. Proper university. No going to the Mail Order University of Chipping Sodbury. And no studying nonsense degrees such as ‘The History of Popular Music Since the Spice Girls’. There are guys playing football with degrees from Harvard, from Yale and all of the other elite US universities. Compare that to a sport where Frank Lampard is regarded as educated because he has more than one GCSE.
3. Cheerleaders. Yes, I know that some soccer clubs have tried this, but frankly they are rubbish and wouldn’t even make a high school cheerleading team in the States. Football teams have proper cheerleaders, most of whom have also gone to university to train as cheerleaders. When it comes to grinning inanely, clenching your butt cheeks and waving pom-poms, you have to say that football is the best.
4. Lingerie. Sepp Blatter famously wanted female soccer players to wear skimpier kits. Americans have already embraced that idea and the women’s football is played indoors in little more than lingerie and protective pads. Google ‘Lingerie League’ and you’ll see what I mean. You might think it wrong and you might think it demeaning, but it gets a heck of a lot more television than the women’s premier league does and pays better, too.
5. Adverts. One of the biggest whinges about Football is the number of ad breaks, but in fact you hardly notice them (and see reason number six anyway). But look at the players’ kit. Notice anything? Takes you back, doesn’t it? Back to the era before every soccer team sullied their shirts with advertising. Every kit is pure and unadulterated and you can wear your team’s shirt without in some way providing your own endorsement for some evil corporate monolith and their tax-dodgy, peasant-exploiting ways.
6. Beer. You can drink alcohol at football matches. In most stadia they even bring it to your seat. You can’t do that at a soccer match. And even if you don’t have in-seat service you still need something to do during the ad breaks, and what better to do than getting another beer?
7. Hardness. Every time I see a soccer player lying sobbing on the pitch because an opponent breathed on him, I reach for the sick bag. You want to see proper hard men, watch the US game. And do it without whinging about the helmets and padding, because that just proves that you don’t know why they are worn (the explanation is too long for here). Instead, think of someone like kicker Nate Kaeding, who in 2008 played three games without realising he had a broken leg. That’s ‘leg’, not ‘fingernail’, soccer fan.
So go on, give the game a try. Take Monday off work, stock up on pretzels, doughnuts and tasteless beer, and settle down for some American action. It’s better than football.
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7 Reasons The Darren Bent Transfer Rumours Are…er… Just A Bit Strange
1. They’re Memorable. Wait. What. Huh? Never mind people remembering where they were when they heard that Kennedy had been shot by Lee Harvey Oswald/spooks on the grassy knoll/a Wisconsin bear hunter’s epic and unfortunate ricochet. Never mind people remembering where they were when Diana had been killed in a traffic accident/sinister Prince Philip-backed plot/returning of his angel to heaven by Jesus. Those events have now been overshadowed by our own epoch-defining memorable moment. Henceforth, we will all remember where we were when we heard the rumour that Darren Bent was leaving Sunderland for Aston Villa for £18 million.
2. They’re Shocking. ”Eighteen million pounds!”, I exclaimed as I spat my morning espresso at my laptop. “Darren Bent!”. “Eighteen million pounds!”. And suddenly my previously sleeping cat appeared by my side, staring at me, with a curious expression on his face and his ears pricked. And then it dawned on me. The shock of the news had caused me to say “Eighteen million pounds” in a voice so high that it shocked my cat. A voice so high that out of the two of us, only he could hear it. A voice so high that Keith Richards on the seventh day of a bender in an opium den would have to gaze upward to see it. Using a telescope.
3. They’re Incomprehensible. After a bit of a lie down, during which my voice fell back down to Earth from the upper ionosphere and my cat got on with some urgent dozing, I tried to digest the news. Nope. It doesn’t compute. There is nothing about this news that isn’t baffling and incomprehensible, and I’m married to a woman and live in Yorkshire, so I’m one of the world’s foremost authorities on baffling and incomprehensible.
4. The Money. Eighteen million pounds, to be exact (I may have already mentioned this). Now eighteen million pounds isn’t what it used to be. Time was when eighteen million pounds could probably buy you a Premier League winning squad, but those days are gone and with Manchester City paying silly money for every world-class player out there, transfer fees are currently sky-high. But Darren Bent isn’t a world-class player, and Man City aren’t trying to buy him (they already have Jo) so how in all the name of all that is holy can anyone justify paying eighteen million pounds for Darren Bent? Darren Bent! He was overpriced at sixteen and a half million when he signed for Spurs four years ago and he looked a better player back then with more potential. How is he one and a half million pounds better now? We’ve all seen the sitter he famously missed against Portsmouth and yes, Sandra Redknapp could have scored it. With her eyes closed. How can a club that didn’t back its previous manager with transfer funds at the start of the season now justify spending eighteen million pounds now. On Darren Bent? Rafael van der Vaart has been the best signing in the Premier League this season and he only cost eight million. Is Darren Bent ten better than van der Vaart? Really?
5. It’s Aston Villa. Last season, a move to Villa would have looked like a step-up for Darren Bent. But this season Steve Bruce has got Sunderland playing fantastic football (except against Newcastle) and they’re an improving squad in the hunt to get European football next year. And Darren Bent is an integral part of the first team. Villa, on the other hand, are hovering alarmingly above the relegation zone and are fielding a team half full of old men and children every match; it’s a bit like the home team in Berlin in 1945, except that they’re managed by Gerard Houllier. Why would anyone want to change to that side?
6. It’s Greedy. The only thing that can possibly be motivating this move from the top of the Premier League to the bottom is money. It can’t be to improve his game by working with Houllier and it doesn’t seem likely that he wants to return to the Championship, so it must be solely for the money. But it’s not as if he’s earning a pauper’s wage, he’s a Premier League football player! How much more money can he possibly need? There can’t have been avarice on this scale since…well, okay…it happens every day, but outside of banking and parliament, there can’t have been such a naked example of greed since the dawn of time. Or perhaps earlier.
7. Breaking News. As I’ve been writing this the fee has changed. Now it’s twenty four million pounds! It’s gone up. Now he’s three times better than van der Vaart. In fact, Fernando Torres only cost Liverpool twenty million. So Darren Bent is now better than Fernando Torres. I give up! This can’t be real, I’m just going to assume that it’s all some sort of strange dream and hope that when I wake up this whole story isn’t here. There’s no place like home…There’s no place like home…
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7 Reasons That The Pole Vault is Weird
It’s almost Christmas, dear readers, and what better and more seasonal topic is there to ruminate over than the pole vault? Well, possibly just about any other topic but, as I was lying in bed, unwell, with a bit of a fever, my thoughts naturally turned to the pole vault (well, whose wouldn’t?) and it struck me that the pole vault is really, really weird. Here’s why.
1. Titular Obscurity. We all know what the pole vault is, because we’re introduced to it at a young age. But what if we didn’t know? Other athletics events are titularly obvious; the high jump; the long jump, we know what to expect from those just by their names. But what would we expect to see if told that we were about to witness the pole vault? It sounds like someone jumping over a pole, or a cellar for keeping Polish people in. Or leaping over a Polish person. Or Polish people vaulting. Or a storage area for poles. What the name doesn’t convey is anything at all about what you can expect to see, which is a Russian man with a stick jumping over a bar (which doesn’t resemble the sort of bar that you’d want to frequent at all, it’s just another stick the other way up, balanced between two other sticks). It’s literally all sticks. I would rather watch the cellar full of Polish people.
2. It’s Cheating. The closest relation to the pole vault must surely be the high jump; an event in which athletes compete to see who can jump the highest – something that we can all identify with and can do ourselves at home. But the pole vault takes the noble pursuit of seeing who can leap the highest, and adds a long pole into the mix so that competitors can go three times as high as they would naturally be able to. But why? Of course you can go higher if you have a ruddy great stick to help you. I can swim much faster than normal if I’m wearing flippers and Speedos with jet propulsion, but that doesn’t make me a good swimmer. Fortunately, I doubt that they’re going to make the 100 metres backstroke with flippers and jet-thrusting-pants an Olympic event alongside the regular swimming any time soon, which is a good thing, because I’d look bloody stupid in that getup and I never win anything anyway. And it would be weird, and we already have the pole vault for that.
3. They’re Missing The Point. Pole vaulters vault to see who can vault the highest, but that’s not even the point of vaulting. Because vaulting originated as a way for the Dutch to cross dykes (everyone glad that I’m not AA Gill at this moment? Good, me too). So the true measure of the vaulter’s prowess should be distance. In short, they’re doing it wrong. Let’s make them vault over a river; that would be true to the origins of the sport and a damned sight more entertaining. They’re missing the point of their own sport.
4. Exclusion. It keeps better events out of the Olympics. Because I don’t need to know who can jump very high with the help of a big stick. I want to see people test the limits of human performance without artificial aid. Do you know what I want to know? I want to know how fast people can spin, because we just don’t know that. I propose the one minute spin, an event in which each competitor stands within a circle a metre in diameter and has a minute in which to spin as many times as possible (clockwise or anti-clockwise, it’s freestyle), and the winner is the person who attains the highest rate of RPM. That’s what I want to see, and then I want to watch them trying to walk back to their chairs and attempting to put their tracksuit bottoms back on. Because that sort of spectacle would make the Olympics ten times better.
5. The Equipment Is Unwieldy. And what right-minded person would take up the bloody sport in the first place? If I were tall, athletic and good at going over bars (rather than sitting behind them. Still, two out of three isn’t bad) I’d choose the high jump. Because it’s exactly the same as the pole vault, but you don’t have to lug a pole around with you as a part of your kit. Because taking up the pole vault is like taking up the double bass or the tuba. It’s absolutely ridiculous. What if you were reliant on public transport? How would you fancy trying to get on a rush-hour tube train with a seventeen foot long pole? It’s difficult enough with a modestly proportioned holdall or a large satchel. Okay, so you’d be able to hold the doors open for as long as it took to get on but, I speak with absolute confidence here, it would be a bit burdensome. In fact, it would be a faff. In much the same way that holding up the world was a faff for Atlas.
6. Double Entendre. There is literally nothing that you can say about pole vaulting that isn’t a double entendre. After all, it’s a sport which involves physically exerting yourself until you’re panting and thrusting a long, rigid shaft into a box before you briefly soar heavenward and eventually end up lying sweaty and exhausted on a mattress with a horizontal pole. And if there isn’t scope for euphemism, metaphor, allusion and plain seaside postcard bawdiness there then…um…well there just clearly is. And Wikipedia isn’t even trying for innuendo when it says, “…pole stiffness and length are important factors to a vaulter’s performance.” It is impossible to discuss the pole vault without innuendo.
7. Confusion. Because while the name pole vault, as we have established, is misleading, once you’ve accepted the illogic of it, you’re in for further frustration and disappointment. When I was four years old and I started school, you can have absolutely no idea how excited I was when I was told that in the school gym there was a vaulting horse. A vaulting horse, I thought with wide-eyed astonishment. That’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard in my life. They’ve got a horse that can vault! A raging stallion that can shoot itself into the sky with the aid of a pole! A pony that can rocket over a lofty bar! A mare that can soar through the air and land on a mattress! They’ve got a wondrous, magical creature! The most awesome beast I ever will see! They’ve got an athletic super-horse! They’ve got…that wooden thing in the corner that looks like a weird shed for midgets? What the hell is that? Is life always going to be like this?
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7 Reasons I Will Watch The X-Factor Next Year
Before 20 million of you groan, this isn’t one of those ‘The X-Factor is rubbish’ posts. I have long adhered to the maxim, ‘if you don’t like it, switch it off’. Which is something I have accomplished in every year previous to this one. This year though, I lived with one of the 20 million. Which meant I saw more of it than I really wanted to. Next year, though, it’s not happening. Unless these drastic changes are made.
1. Louis Walsh. Quite simple, he must stop being a twat. And by that I mean, he must stop being a twat. I like to be challenged intellectually, which is why I call my parents during the show. What I can’t stand is people stating the bloody obvious. And that includes Walsh saying, “Matt, you’re in the final”. Yes, obviously he’s in the bloody final. If Walsh stops repeating everything I can find out by pressing the ‘i’ on my remote control then I could be in for the long-haul.
2. Simon Cowell. This isn’t an anti-Cowell moment, the guy has created something that makes him a lot of money, well done to him. What he must do next year, though, is stop pretending he is actually making difficult decisions. If I want to watch over-acting I can watch the bloody-awful but painfully addictive Miranda. I want him to act like he does in the supermarket when faced with the choice of either an apple or a banana. There’s no pretence here. Cowell knows he wants the banana and so he grabs it. No dramas, he just gets the job done. If he brings this attitude with him next year, we have half a chance. Assuming he also does something with his hair.
3. Cheryl Cole. She must lose her right hand. Or, at the very least, it must be tied behind her back. I am very appreciative of the fact that she can’t help the annoying accent and the stupid comments, but she can stop doing that bloody salute. It makes her look like a camp toy soldier.
4. Dannii Minogue. She’s a bit like white bread. Nothing drastically wrong with her, just a bit plastic-y. I would much prefer something more substantial. Wholemeal bread. Or, as she is called in this case, Kylie. She’s just better in all areas.
5. Media Blackout. I don’t read the tabloids for a reason. I’m not interested in the soap opera of life and I like reading words that contain more than two syllables. I appreciate that’s two reasons, but, to be honest, there are probably five more. But that doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t read them because I don’t like them. That is easy enough to do and you’ll be pleased to know I am very accomplished at not buying The News Of The World. The problem comes when every radio and TV show talks about it. I don’t think that’s fair. As things stand, I would have to emigrate to Venus to avoid all the nonsense spouted about the show. If there was a media blackout I’d happily go as far as Middlesborough. That sounds like a good compromise to me.
6. One Night Special. No dragging the series out for months on end. The show starts at 7pm on a Saturday night and is finished by 10pm. Contestants can’t sing for longer than thirty seconds each and every ten minutes someone is voted off. No, actually, they are shot.
7. Sports Round. I like sport, but it was seldom mentioned in the X-Factor this year. Next year, instead of the usual vote-off by the judges, there will be a sports quiz between the bottom two contestants. Hosted by Henry Blofeld. And you’ll be able to play along using the red button and throw popcorn at the TV.
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7 Reasons It’s A Disaster England Lost The Bid To Host The 2018 World Cup
1. Qualifying. England have got to do it. And that’s worrying. Ever so often they cock it up. And the qualifying campaign for the 2018 World Cup could be the ever so often.
2. Scotland. Russia have won the bid. That is one hell of a long way to go to just to put in a spirited performance – albeit in defeat – against Brazil and then lose 4-0 to Japan. They could have lost at St. James’ Park and then slipped back over the border unnoticed.
3. England. Russia is a long way to go to lose on penalties to Portugal. We could quite easily have done that at home. Or in Portugal. And the players could have done it without wearing gloves.
4. Children. Given that 66% of children think ‘The War Of The Roses’ has something to do with those sweets that aren’t Quality Street, England hosting the 2018 World Cup would have been the perfect opportunity for the BBC to do those profiles of the host country. Like they did in South Africa. They would have taught the youth of the year after the next seven all about England’s rich heritage. Instead they are going to learn about Russian dolls. And I don’t mean Anna Kournikova.
5. Economy. Let me be the first to tell you that Russia is three hours ahead of the UK. That means games during our afternoons. You can bet your last fiver that England will be playing Cameroon on a Wednesday afternoon at about 2pm BST. And it’s a game they are going to have to win having previously lost 2-1 to Romania and drawn 0-0 with a country no one has even heard of. Despite the fact that we will be rubbish, people will still be skipping work to watch the game. It’ll be enough to plunge us into a recession. Probably the same one we are in now.
6. Press. If England do make it through to the World Cup, for one whole day Sky News will be covering the ‘England Leave For Russia’ story. We’ll have to endure watching the England players walk up some steps and onto a plane. Probably followed by Gazza with a fishing rod and a bucket of chicken. Then six hours later we’ll have to watch them walked off the plane in Moscow. Followed by a drunk Gazza with a fishing rod and no chicken.
7. It’s Coming Home! If England had won the bid, we could have listened to this song while it made sense. Now, we’ll have to listen to it trying to work out how Russia is the home of football. And Baddiel and Skinner will be 54 and 61 respectively. They’ll have probably gone all Chas’n’Dave on us.





