Archive for the 'Sport' Category

¿Where did it all go wrong, Diego?

As I said last night on seeing Jessica Kuerten lambast her begrudging detractors, calling them ‘a pack of assholes’ from atop her rather subdued and unconcerned horse, I don’t like cheating in sport.

Who’s guilty this time? Why, it’s that filthy rat Chávez again.

This time the Guardian is reporting that he has been laughing with Diego Maradona -in front of millions- at the latter’s sleight of hand in the 1986 World Cup Finals, an act that may have denied Steve Hodge a World Cup winner’s medal.

Ignorance dispelled

I just discovered that the book by George Eliot is not titled Silas Mariner, but Silas Marner. I had hitherto been inclined to consider that Silas was a forebear of former Ipswich and England star Paul, or perhaps a distant relative of the albatross-shooting ancient.

Victor ‘Mature’

Apparently yesterday’s spectacle at Croke Park was an indication that Ireland had grown up as a nation. The word was ‘mature’, like cheese. Whereas until yesterday a pubescent and acne’d Ireland had been far too snotty and resentful of its neighbour and former occupier, an adult Ireland emerged yesterday evening, all hairy-chested and broad-shouldered, and all right-thinking people were satisfied that it had finally reached maturity, as it stood in respectful silence to God Save The Queen.

Ireland, apparently, is the people who stood yesterday at Croke Park cheering on the team in green. These people are the nation, and under no circumstances should they be mistaken for the ruling classes.

For all the pre-match talk of the possibility of foul irruptions from anti-English troglodytes, it emerged that few, if any such creatures had bothered making any attempt to buy a ticket for the rugby match. Many people thought that the fact England was playing at Croke Park would be enough in itself for these antidiluvian rapscallions to shell out a pile of cash for a ticket for a sport in which they had no interest, then set aside their Saturday evenings in order to go and be offended by God Save The Queen. Or, in what would have been an equally unwelcome event, some lifelong attendees of rugby matches at Lansdowne Road, 4×4 drivers to a man, might have succumbed to the temptation to go native from the heights of the Cusack Stand, and started roaring beastly insults as soon as the band struck up Her Majesty’s Anthem. In the end, no such embarrassment occurred, perhaps in part a tribute to the money spent on policing the event in such a way that the barbarians were kept well outside the gates.

Bobby Conn – You’ve Come A Long Way


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