Sometimes, words are not enough. But that’s okay, we can always fall back on music and pictures.
Tag: sport
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7 Reasons That Vuvuzelas Are Annoying
1. The Obsession. The nation is obsessed with the vuvuzela. It’s impossible to read a newspaper, listen to the radio, watch the television, go to the pub, or read an internet humour site without someone bleating on about vuvuzelas. But I think that this focus on the vuvuzela is causing us to miss out on other World Cup stories. We’re just not getting enough ill-informed conjecture about problems with the ball: Is it that it’s too round? Is it the altitude? Does it fly too straight? Doesn’t it fly straight enough? Does it look too much like a fly?
It's a fly! All of the coverage of the vuvuzelas is preventing us from having what we really want. 24 hour per day coverage of the ball. And more Robbie Savage.
2. The Name. The English language is a fusion of many languages from around the world and a lot of our words come from other countries. We get bungalow from India, sepia from Italy, mammoth from Russia and surrender from France (rather unsurprisingly). Yet it’s safe to say that our language wasn’t aided in its evolution by anyone who had been involved in professional football as, in the past week – from various players and former-players – I’ve heard “vuvulas”, “vuvuslas”, “the horns” and from Sir Geoff Hurst, no less, “uvuvezlas”. The awful mangling of the word vuvuzela is possibly the only thing that’s more grating than the sound of the instrument itself.
3. Stadium Atmosphere. The din of the vuvuzelas drowns out everything else occurring in the stadiums. This isn’t always a bad thing, as it drowned out the sound of happy Germans on Sunday, but it drowned everything else out too. The crowd reaction, singing, cheering, chanting, abuse; in fact, just about all of the things that reflect the partisan nature of football. The drone of massed vuvuzelas is a relentless unremitting cacophany that doesn’t abuse the referee, ask Fabio to dance, play the theme from The Great Escape (sorry, poor argument); doesn’t do anything fun or interesting at all. It’s just noise. An incessant racket that drowns out everything good about the stadium atmosphere. Everything.
4. Domestic Atmosphere. The vuvuzela operates at a similar pitch and tone to the human voice which means that, when you’re viewing the World Cup at home, you’re trying to filter out the frequency that other people in the room are speaking at. Thanks to the vuvuzela, if my wife turned to me during a match and said, “Would you like a beer?” or “Jennifer Aniston’s at the door, she wants to know if you can come out to play,” I probably wouldn’t hear her. Experience tells me that she’s unlikely to say either of those things, but what if she did and I missed it? Catastrophe. I hate going to the fridge.
5. Envy. It’s substantial, straight and three feet long, and I must say that I’m quite jealous, as there’s no way I could take anything like that to a football match in England. I’d probably be fed to a police-horse or charged with possession of a vuva vovos avuvuvu…“I’ll let you off with a caution this time sonny, now on your way”. We don’t even get trusted with bottled water over here.
6. Sound. The sound of massed vuvuzelas is like the sound of a swarm of angry wasps, but deeper. Usually, the larger an animal is, the deeper the sound that they make – so it’s giant angry wasps that we’ll hear the sound of all summer. Giant angry wasps! Well I certainly won’t be falling asleep during a match, or at any time at all during the summer. Except when Andy Townsend’s “analysing” the action, that is.
7. We’re Stuck With Them. There is only one thing that would be worse than enduring the sound of the vuvuzela: That would be banning the vuvuzela. Just because we Europeans have our own expectations of how a football match should be viewed, it doesn’t mean that they should be forced on the rest of the world. This is South Africa’s World Cup, and god knows they’ve earned it. World Cup 2010 should be a uniquely African spectacle and, much to my annoyance, this includes that giant dung beetle thing from the opening ceremony and the bloody vuvuzelas. But we shouldn’t be downhearted about this; sometimes the most memorable parts of World Cups are the unique things that the host nations bring to them. Mexico ’86’s wave, Argentina ’78’s ticker-tape, Italia ’90’s Three Tenors and USA ’94’s blank incomprehension about some sort of soccer-ball tournament going on. Long after many of the matches and incidents are forgotten, these are the memories that remain. And so it will be with the vuvuzela. We will have to suffer it for a month or so, but in time it’ll be the thing that the tournament is remembered for. We may even feel nostalgia for it. Eventually.
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7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Write 7 Reasons While Watching The Football
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ghana v Serbia, one of those games that I’m not desperate to see, but because it’s the World Cup I feel I should. So I did in the knowledge that it would also give me 90 minutes (plus half time) to write 7 Reasons. Easy.
1. The Girlfriend (Part A). She knows I’m watching the football whilst trying to write 7 Reasons. She asks me what the topic is. I say, ‘Darling, it’s 7 Reasons you shouldn’t write 7 reasons while watching the football’. She muses for a second, then replies, ‘Multitasking. Men can’t multitask’. I look around. She’s on the kitchen floor, watching the football, talking to me and cleaning a barbecue grill with a toothbrush. I feel admiration for my girlfriend. She can multitask with the best of them. But now I feel challenged. I must finish my 7 Reasons piece before Ghana finish Serbia. I don’t like the pressure.
2. Spelling. I spend more time concentrating on the football than on the page in front of me. This is dangerous, as when I don’t concentrate I have a habit of miss-spelling ‘tootbrush’, writing the incorrect version of ‘peace’ and adding multiple erroneous apostrophes. I also spell ‘eronous’ incorrectly.
3. Clive Tyldesley. Nothing is really happening in the game. Ghana have a throw-in just inside their own half. If I am ever going to get a chance to write something while watching the football, this is it. I look down. But as soon as I do Clive gets excited. I can only assume this is coincidence. I look up. Nothing is happening. Serbia have a goal-kick. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. I feel my neck. It’s beginning to hurt.
4. Immaturity. I see a player called ‘Panstil’. This amuses me. I spend ten minutes desperately trying to think of a joke that involves the word pants. I finally think of one. All I need is for Panstil to make a sliding tackle and lose his shorts. If he does I can say, ‘Lucky he’s still got his panstil’. I then realise this isn’t very funny. I note I still have a lot of growing up to do.
5. The Girlfriend (Part B). We are into the second half-time. The score-line reads Reasons Done 3 – Reasons Still To Go 4. My girlfriend – now attacking the grill with a brillo pad – asks what I’ve got so far. I read them to her. I wait for the laughter. It comes. Eventually. But then, so does, ‘You have a very strange brain’. I would have preferred her to compliment my shorts. I am wearing nice shorts. Clive gets excited. I look up.
6. Other Sport. Watching the football means I am missing all the other sport that’s on. I still am not sure which position Jenson Button is on the grid – and the F1 coverage has started on the other side. Nor, by watching the football, am I keeping up to date with the domestic cricket scene. I stop writing reasons for a minute. I also stop watching the football. I check cricket scores on my iPhone. I look around. My girlfriend is looking at me. I realise I am not doing much in the way of multitasking. Clive gets excited. I turn back to the screen. Nothing is happening. I have fifteen minutes to think of a final reason.
7. The Girlfriend (Part C). I am struggling to think of a seventh. My girlfriend asks me how I am getting on. I say, ‘Darling, I am struggling to think of a seventh’. She replies, ‘Well if you manage to think of a seventh I know that you can multitask. So next time the football is on you can peel some potatoes too.’ I am conflicted. She has just given me the seventh reason I shouldn’t have written this while the football was on. I have done it. I have proved men can multitask. But I have also proved why men shouldn’t multitask. Clive gets excited. It’s full-time. Ghana have won. And so has The Girlfriend.
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7 Reasons That The Panini World Cup 2010 Sticker Album Is Frustrating
The World Cup starts today, and so does my 2010 World Cup Panini sticker album, and it’s fair to say that I’m rather excited by both events. Somehow though, the Panini album isn’t quite as much fun as I remember them being in my childhood.
1. Cost. Traditionally, Panini sticker albums are very expensive to complete, but I’ve found ten packets of stickers on Amazon for £4.52, and I only need 638 stickers to complete the pack. So potentially, I could complete my collection for as little as £60 (approximately). But that won’t happen, obviously. I’ll probably end up spending a fortune trying to find An Chol-Hyok or Haminu Dramani. As John Cleese said, “I can take the despair, it’s the hope I can’t stand.”
2. Duplicates. Nine Peter Crouches. I know I’m going to end up with nine Peter Crouches. Obviously, when buying packs of stickers I’ll check that there are no feet protruding from the bottom of them, but I just know that – despite my precautions – I’ll end up with nine of him. And what the hell can I swap eight Peter Crouches for?
3. Social Media. Swapping stickers isn’t the challenge that it used to be. It would be a matter of ease to use the Twitter hashtag #panini to find other people to swap with; there’s also a Facebook group to swap World Cup stickers in. Where’s the difficulty there? Obviously it’s preferable to having grown-men turn up at their local school playgrounds looking for swapsies but still, it does take some of the challenge out of it.
4. It’s Out Of Date. Panini obviously had to put the albums together before the final World Cup squads were announced. My first six stickers (free with the album) were; Steven Pienaar, Javier Mascherano, Rio Ferdinand, Michael Essien, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres, yet only 67% of those players are going to be at the World Cup. And Drogba’s fitness is still a bit of a question-mark. In the Panini England squad, there’s no Jamie Carragher or Joe Cole, but Theo Walcott and David Beckham are there. Sadly, Bobby Moore isn’t.
5. Cheating. You can now order the missing stickers that you need to complete your album from Panini online. That’s outrageous. It would feel like cheating. When did they start doing that? The potential of failing to complete the album is one of the most important parts of the sticker-album experience: It makes the investment in stickers a gamble. And it’s important to teach children to gamble because…um…okay, perhaps it isn’t. But it is important to teach them that sometimes life is hard, and that desire and effort alone often aren’t enough to succeed. We need to beat the hope out of them while they’re still young. Never mind mollycoddling them with the certainty of a complete album. Bastards!
6. Referees. There aren’t any referees in the album. But I’m supporting Howard Webb this World Cup; I think he can go all the way to the final. I’ve never complained about the lack of a picture of a former policeman from Rotherham before – possibly no one has – but why aren’t there any refs? Surely if there’s room for players that aren’t playing, there should be room for officials?
7. The Customary Descent Into Panini Madness. My birthday occurs during the World Cup. What do you think I’ve asked for? Clothes? Furniture? A bicycle? Beer? No, eschewing all sorts of cool and interesting presents, I’ve asked for stickers. Lots of stickers. Because I want to complete my Panini album (without resorting to cheating) more than I want anything in the world. In fact, I’d probably get more satisfaction from completing it than I would from an England World Cup victory. It’s only day one, and already my Panini album has caused me to lose all sense of proportion. Where will it end?
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7 Reasons to Support The Referee
Well, that’s it, another domestic football season is over and now we’ve got the World Cup to look forward to. Next season, however, we should do things a little differently than we usually do. We should stop supporting our football teams and support the ref. Now that might seem like a strange and unusual thing to do, but if you consider it carefully, it’s quite logical really. Here are seven reasons why.
1. Colours. When you support your team you only get the choice of home and away kits to wear. When you support the ref, you get a veritable rainbow of shirts and scarves to choose from. Do you know what colour the ref’s going to be wearing this week, or next? You could justify donning a technicolour dreamcoat to support the referee and who wouldn’t want to wear one of those?
2. See More Teams. I need a football team to use as an example so if you could imagine that you support Bury FC, that would be a great help. Don’t worry, this will just be for a moment and you should be able to forget about it later, perhaps with therapy. As a Bury supporter next season, you would have to go to Gigg Lane every other week and watch Bury play League Two football. And then, should you wish to attend away matches too, you’d have to travel all over the country, at great expense, to watch Bury play League Two football. Your life would be dominated by League Two, and by Bury, and you wouldn’t really want that. If you supported a referee though, you wouldn’t have to see Bury-plus-other every week, you’d see two different teams. And if you chose a Premier League referee, you wouldn’t have to watch League Two football at all. You’d get to visit a lovely, well-appointed stadium for most matches, and you’d get to watch football played to a terrific standard every time. Brilliant. You may stop supporting Bury now.
3. Chants And Songs. When you’re a supporter of a popular club, you view matches amongst thousands upon thousands of other people, and it’s hard to express yourself. Most of the songs and chants have already been written. When you support the referee though, you can compose your own: “A rope! A tree! Enshrine the referee!”, “Who needs Mourinho? We’ve got D’Urso”. “He’s tough, but fair, he hasn’t any hair…Steve Bennett. Steve Bennett.” You can sing anything you like, you’re autonomous and creatively free.
4. Save Money. Now, you might be thinking that supporting the referee will cost you more than supporting a team, and you’d be correct. But you could offset some of the extra cost by supporting a local ref – one that lives near you. Then you’d be able to car-share with him because, after all, most refs drive to matches, and it’s not like they’ve got any friends to take up space in their car. They’ll probably be glad of the company.
5. Fair Play. Fed up of watching overpaid prima donnas fall over when an opponent is within three feet of them? Tired of watching aggressive gangs of players surrounding the man in the middle attempting to bully him? I know I am. You can register your protest against it by supporting the ref. Cheer as he pulls out his cards; spell the player’s name out for him as he writes it in his notebook, it’s usually “D-A-V-I-E-S”; shout “exemplary decision, Lino!” as the linesman makes a good call; praise the fourth official for his fabulous grasp of timekeeping. You’ll be sending out a message to sulky, petulant players and managers and you’ll feel good about it. The whole atmosphere that the game is played in will be improved and I’m certain that everyone will thank you.*
6. Heckling. Football, by its very nature, is an immensely partisan affair. Often when following your team, you find yourself allied with – and even supporting – people that you usually wouldn’t have anything to do with. If you’re at the Chelsea vs Newcastle fixture next season, you’re liable to be a supporter of one of those teams. Which means that you’re going to be cheering-on the Chelsea players, or the Newcastle players. If you support the ref though, you’re aloof from all of the partisanship and you can do what any reasonable, right-thinking individual would do. You can shout abuse at both Joey Barton and Ashley Cole.
7. Be An Individual. Everyone with a passing interest in football supports a team, usually it’s Manchester United. If you support the ref though, you’re not one of the herd, you’re an individual. You’re your own boss, blazing a new trail, setting your own rules of behaviour and taking a novel approach to your sporting involvement. You don’t even have to wait until next season. You can adopt a ref during the World Cup. I’m supporting Howard Webb: He may well be England’s best chance of reaching the final. Who’s with me?
*7 Reasons bears no legal responsibility for fans of the referee.
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7 Reasons The Osmonds Were Right
Today I am offering a public service. To man. By addressing you. The woman. I know man is seen as the least romantic of the sexes, but man still likes to be loved. And, as The Osmonds so wisely stated, he likes to be loved because you actually love him. Not because he’s good with a screwdriver. Something like that anyway. Basically, what I am trying to get at is this. I’ve taken this classic Osmonds tune and edited it. So that you, the woman, will not make mistakes when you tell a man of your reasons for loving him. You’ll thank me one day.
7 Reasons The Osmonds Were Right
Don’t Love Me For Fun Girl, Let Me Be The One Girl, Love Me For A Reason, Let The Reason Be…
1. My DIY Skills. I assure you ladies, telling your man that you love him because he is great with a hammer is not the way to go. Would you like it if man told you that he loved you because you are good at ironing? No. Exactly.
2. My Memory. Don’t tell your man that you love him because he has a great memory. He’ll probably forget. Then you’ll get annoyed that he keeps forgetting. And he won’t know why you’re getting annoyed. And then you’ll split up. So don’t do it. Not if you really love him.
3. My Ability To Be Tall And Reach The Top Shelf In Sainsburys. Man doesn’t mind being tall and actually he is happy that he has some use in the supermarket bar getting in the way and trying to manoeuvre the trolley too fast. But telling him you love him because he’s tall is like him telling you he loves you because you are short enough to get in the attic without bashing your head.
4. My Hair. Facial Hair. Always a delicate one this. And actually you are probably doing yourself a favour by not using it. Man is programmed to reciprocate without thinking. “I love you” is reciprocated with “I love you too”. “I love your moustache” becomes “I love your moustache too”. Not good.
5. My Collection Of Sporting Memorabilia 1994 – Present Day. Man likes his collection of programmes and fixture lists and photos from years ago. It brings back good memories. And he also likes it because you don’t. Man doesn’t share your passion for American Idol or knitting, so don’t share his passion for signed pairs of Gary Lineker worn shorts.
6. My Dislike Of The Lesser Boyzone Version Of This Song. Man likes to think he knows about such topics as music. A woman’s job is to say, ‘Ooh I like this new one from Boyzone’. This gives the man a chance to show off and scoff and say, ‘This isn’t new. This is a cover of a far superior song’. What he does not expect is for woman to switch off the radio and say, ‘Why did Boyzone make such a rubbish cover?’
7. My Marc Fearns Mask. Seriously, man is just going to get very annoyed if you love it when he wears the mask. Unless you are Marc Fearns yourself of course. In which case you’ll probably think it’s a right result.
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7 Reasons You Are Wrong Not To Love The 2012 Olympic Mascots
1. Equality. Wenlock (he’s on the right) and Mandeville belong to a young boy and a young girl. Though for quite a while I thought the young girl was also a young boy. But this has clearly been done on purpose to show solidarity behind those athletes who are still deciding whether they should enter the Olympics as a man or a woman. Caster Semenya for example.*
2. Billy Crystal. Okay, not Billy Crystal per se, but the animated character he voiced in Monsters Inc. Mike Wazowski. He was a one-eyed monster and, at first, children were terrified of him. They had nightmares and all sorts. But eventually they got round to liking him. Loving him even. And that is what will happen to Wenlock and Mandeville. They may terrify you now, but come 2012 you’ll be making your own Wenlock outfits.
3. The Future. While we are on that point. This is 2010. The Olympics aren’t for another two years. Who knows what might happen in the next 798 days? We may get visited by Wenlock and Mandeville look-alikes from somewhere else in this universe. They might turn up and fix the whole global warming thing. And the economy thing. And mend your bike puncture. If that happens you can’t possibly tell me you won’t be happy. You can’t possibly tell me you won’t be immediate fans of Hemlock and Manderlay. So let’s have a little perspective please people.
4. Home Life. The boy and girl live with their grandparents. I don’t know why, but I am guessing that this is because, maybe, Mummy and Daddy have gone away for a while. Possibly to prison. Or maybe they were investigating volcanic activity in Iceland a few weeks ago. Either way, their Grandpa George does something very sweet for his grandchildren. He whacks a bit of steel into some quite funky shapes. The children are delighted. Yet all you can do is complain. Why can’t you be happy for them you heartless bunch?
5. The Beaver. Which would you prefer? Wenlock and Mandeville or Amik The Beaver from the 1976 Montreal Games? I for one am thankful our designers are no longer inspired by roadkill.
6. Security. Let’s not pretend that some nasty people aren’t going to think about doing something bad during the games. If we have a load of one-eyed freaks guarding the stadia, I strongly suspect that they may think twice. Especially as I have heard that Wenlock v1.2 will has a laser beam that he can fire from his eye.
7. The Film. Still don’t like them? Still think we should have had a cuddly lion? Well, watch the film. It’s beautifully made, beautifully told, beautifully funny and beautifully optimistic. You beauty.
*I admit this is in very bad taste. I am even a little bit ashamed of writing it. But I really was struggling for reasons. You understand. All complaints should be addressed to Marc Fearns.
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7 Reasons That We Should Run F1
Formula One motor racing is great. Sometimes though, it’s not quite as good as it could be. We, the 7 Reasons team, have thought of a few improvements. Here are 7 Reasons that we should run F1.
1. Schumacher. The comeback isn’t going well and we know why. Ask yourself this: What looks like Michael Schumacher, sounds like Michael Schumacher and drives like Michael Winner? That’s right, Ralf Schumacher. There’s no way he’s good enough to get into F1 by himself; we think he’s pretending to be Michael. After all, he’s routinely being blown away by his team-mate, Nico Rosberg (who isn’t the best driver in his own family either), so it can only be Ralf. We would ban him.
2. The Godfather. At 7 Reasons, we’re film fans too. So when Luca Di Grassi’s name is mentioned, we always suffix it with the phrase, “…sleeps with the fishes.” We would make this compulsory for commentators.
3. Red Button. The red button is underutilised during F1 races. We have decided that the technology should be improved so that it can be used to filter out the incessant babbling and bleating of people in the same room as you that aren’t watching the Grand Prix. This will mean that you won’t have to hear “This is boring,” “…but Columbo’s on” or “Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…Darling…you’re not listening.” You will, however, still hear anything relevant or important that they have to say, such as “Would you like anything from the shops?” “We’ve won the lottery,” or “The cat’s on fire.” There will also be a setting on the filter that will enable you to record and share anything particularly memorable such as, (during commentary on Timo Glock’s pit-stop) “O’Glock! What sort of a stupid name is that for a team?”
4. Illusion. The trompe-l’oeil advertising hoardings that are painted on the grass by the circuit are terrifying. On many occasions a car has left the track and we’ve braced ourselves for a horrendous crash – perhaps even gasped and covered our eyes – only to watch the car drive serenely over the painted surface and rejoin the track. They make us look like idiots. They are banned.
5. Court. During the most recent (the Chinese) Grand Prix, Sebastian Vettel and Lewis Hamilton came out of their pit boxes very close together and proceeded to bang wheels trying to gain an advantage in the pit lane; this was highly dangerous for the pit crews working there. Unbelievably, the incident wasn’t even investigated during the race – it was discussed in private later on. This is not acceptable. In the spirit of openness and fairness, we would introduce the Formula One Court (press the red button to see it) in which all racing incidents are thoroughly investigated and all punishments decided before the end of the race. A bewigged judge, with vast motor racing experience and age-imbued-wisdom – Sir Stirling Moss would be our choice – would preside over it. The teams would also have their own barristers:
“I put it to you M’lud, that Mr Vettel did knowingly and wilfully strike the side of Mr Hamilton’s car, recklessly endangering the safety of both drivers and several pit-lane-workers.”
“The Red Bull team refute that, M’lud. We contend that our driver was unaware of Mr Hamilton’s presence, and was proceeding along the pit lane in an orderly manner. If Mr Hamilton had been behind our client there would have been no problem. Look at exhibit B, M’lud: This telemetry data from the McLaren team confirms that their driver’s foot was fully on the throttle. The incident was caused because Mr Hamilton didn’t lift…”
“Lift! Lift!! Lift, you say? I find the defendant guilty. 10 years hard labour.”
6. Something we don’t understand. There’s a phalanx of identically dressed women that turn up to applaud the podium-placed finishers as they walk along a corridor or up the stairs. There is no earthly reason for this. It is weird. We would ban them.
7. Buemi. We all saw the incident in qualifying for the Chinese Grand Prix where both of Sébastien Buemi’s front wheels flew off simultaneously. This was unexpected, spectacular and generated huge amounts of pre-race publicity. We would make this a feature of every qualifying session by introducing Clown Car Lotto. From now on, during qualifying sessions, something that you might expect to happen to a clown’s car will happen to a randomly chosen F1 car. This could be one of a number of things: both of the wheels on one side of the car falling off, a custard pie fired from the steering wheel, balloons inflating from the air intake or marbles spewing from the exhausts. This new feature, though it will be familiar to both clowns and Toyota owners, should enliven qualifying sessions for the rest of the global audience.
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7 Reasons To Be Self-Employed
1. It’s 00:00 to 23:59, not 9:00 to 17:00. You can choose when you work. If you want to work at 3am on a Sunday morning then that is fine. You answer to no one but yourself. Unless you live with your partner and your computer is in your bedroom. They probably don’t want to hear you bashing one out in the middle of the night. An email I mean.
2. Social Media. To a normal boss in a normal company, the likes of twittering and facebooking are seen as distractions. To the self-employed though, they are vital tools of the trade. All self-employed people have a streak of the entrepreneur about them. They are always on the look out for ideas. Which is why conversation about ‘imaginary friends’ on twitter is classed as research.
3. Sport. A whole lot of sport happens during the day. Cricket, tennis, golf, baseball, The Olympics (all forms), various World Cups and World Championships. That is a heck of a lot of sport you are missing while working for some major conglomerate. Or the Co-Op. Not only do the self-employed watch all this sport, they all use it to their advantage. Watching Stuart Broad knock over Ricky Ponting’s poles doesn’t half motivate you. Okay, it motivates you to keep watching, but when the day’s play is over, then you are pumped to do some work. Or you will be after dinner. And the highlights. Actually, you’ll be ready at the end of the Test. But you will be ready. Just a shame the deadline has passed really.
4. Chores. They can be done at anytime you like. Cleaning the bathroom can be Monday at 10am. Food shopping can be Tuesday at 2pm. Having your haircut can be Wednesday at 11am. And if you are really lucky you’ll get the OAP rate.
5. The IT Department. Everyone in IT is a muppet. It’s official. They think you should know what SMPT means and how to locate the back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. No one knows that stuff. I don’t even think there is a back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. I think he was trying to make himself sound clever. The thing about working for yourself is that if something goes wrong you don’t have to phone someone up to ask them how to fix it. You can press reset and blow all the dust away from the back of the PC. And more times than not it works. Within minutes you are flying through the front door of Microsoft Outlook. In your face Sam in IT.
6. Tea-bags. You don’t have to share them and no one is going to steal them. They are yours. You can also have the brand and flavour you want. None of this value stuff, you can have proper tea from a proper tea plantation. Imported directly to you if you like. I get mine from Sainsburys.
7. Your Fee. It can be what you want it to be. If you want to charge £300 an hour, you can. You won’t get much work unless you are Pete Doherty’s solicitor, but that’s irrelevant. You can go around saying, ‘I charge £300 an hour’. Though when you end up working in the local pub you should probably stop. It makes you sound like a prat.
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7 Reasons That Match of the Day 2 is Better Than Match of the Day
1. Gary Lineker. Unlike many people, I don’t mind Gary Lineker; he’s knowledgable, charming and his ad-libs are great. In an incident during a live match, when someone in the crowd hurled a coin at Jamie Carragher, the cameras showed Carragher picking the coin up and forcefully throwing it back. “It’s probably his change,” Lineker drolly observed. The problem I have with watching Gary Lineker for more than ten minutes is that I start to crave crisps. Speaking of which:
2. Adrian Chiles. Part-man, part-potato, Adrian Chiles is the television presenter equivalent of Marmite. I like him. I love the seemingly limitless supply of daft questions that he uses to torment Lee Dixon:
“Did Ian Wright ever borrow your shorts, Lee?”
“Did Tony Adams kiss you like that when you scored a goal, Lee?”
“Did you ever get the ball mixed up with a balloon, Lee?”
“Did they celebrate like that in your day, Lee?”
Some people can’t stand him though. Stewart Lee likened watching him to “… being stuck in the buffet car of a slow-moving train with a Toby jug that has miraculously discovered the power of speech…A Toby jug filled to the brim with hot piss.”
I’m firmly in the I-like-Adrian-Chiles-camp and I even miss his much-criticised beard. Anyone interested in starting a campaign to bring it back?
3. Alan Shearer. Alan Shearer is the dullest man in the world. He’s always on Match of the Day where he provides no tactical insight and no wit. Essentially, he just states the bleeding-obvious in a really dull way. Here’s a Shoot magazine interview with him from 1991 (click on it to see it full-sized):
4. Whooshing. Both MOTD and MOTD2 suffer from this. Seriously, could the sound effects that accompany the opening titles be more ridiculous? At the end of the title sequence, there’s about thirty seconds of whooshing noises, for no reason. Why? Stupid pointless bloody whooshy noises! MOTD2 wins here as I’m quite busy on Sundays and I usually manage to miss the first couple of minutes of it.
5. Kevin Day. While MOTD is serious and analytical, MOTD2 is a more light-hearted and jovial affair. The most obvious manifestation of this is the presence of former comedian Kevin Day. His role is that of the travelling buffoon, turning up at a different ground every week to mock daft supporters, eat pies and generally annoy the clubs’ staff. I want his job: I can mock and annoy, I can eat pies. My football team is crap too. And I’m cheaper.
6. Keown. Martin Keown often appears on MOTD2. Martin Keown is the scariest man alive, scarier even that Sebastien Chabal. When he’s on screen I find myself trying to slide down the sofa and hide behind the coffee table. Conversations with my wife tend to go like this during MOTD2:
“Are you scared of Martin Keown, darling?”
“Yes.”
It doesn’t matter who asks the question. We’re both afraid of Martin Keown. He mostly appears on MOTD2, so even if I didn’t believe it, I’d tell you that MOTD2 was better. Otherwise he might beat me to death with a rock. Or discover fire and burn an effigy of me in his cave. While grunting, possibly.
7. Finale. The denouement of MOTD2 and, often, the highlight of Sunday is 2 Good 2 Bad, and it’s obviously the part of the show that Chiles relishes too. This means that Match of the Day 2 ends on a high. Match of the Day doesn’t though, it ends with the knowledge that if you don’t get off the sofa soon, you’ll have to watch the awful title sequence for the Football League show, featuring chirpy-cheeky football fans having a knees-up, and then watch Manish – apparently lost – wandering aimlessy around the studio introducing the show. Why can’t he just stand still? He’s been doing it for almost a season, why doesn’t he know where to stand yet?