Yesterday I passed on to my reader Backside’s aversion to anthropological fantasies purveyed by the meeja; from Twilight to Harry Potter to Game of Thrones to Watership Down, all celebrating the supernatural or the improbable ad nauseam.
Today his other pet hate was exhibited: the propensity of celebrities to parade their emotions before the cyberpublic, presumably seeking sympathy and even greater celebrity = money. This time a fine tennis professional who regrettably lacks the dignity and self-respect to avoid the camera when he is overcome by sadness at his own fate (or rather the impending end of his playing career). Yes, I know it’s the fashion but p-lease!
That’s what the commentators are doing, meddling with our ineffably wonderful language.
How? Potential winners at the European Championships are allegedly likely to medal! Synonym? To podium.
That’s after they have battled their opponents.
Christina hasn’t been here recently but perhaps she will be lured by mention of Geraint the Gears, now Roi du Tour. Well ridden G! You are now as famous as Sam the Scrum and Gareth the Goals, fellow scions of Whitchurch High and its fêted PE teacher, Mr Williams.
There seems to be a nature/nurture issue here: Scotland and Denmark have similar populations, as do Uruguay and Wales. But only two of them are among the WC last sixteen in Russia.
Answers please on a Fray Bentos pie or a side of Danish bacon addressed to me. Thank you.
This is a non-controversial blog about cricket. As Pete Such It won’t appeal (not out) to female readers. Take a tea break ladies, Gareth battily, we do it all the time.
I’m Alan Knott trying to get rid of you. I love women. In all shape, form, substance, architecture, model, embodiment, chassis or any other taughtalotgicals. I’m not a misogynist ( big word for me and I know what it means). I respect women’s professional tennis and strong female singers like Cristina Scabbia and Floor Jansen. This is about dull old cricket and won’t interest you. Continue reading “As the saying goes, it’s not cricket”
It’s hard to look on the bright side during these dark, wet days; even if Kim the Jong-Un is on the hotline to the South again; and Don the Old ‘un seems to be in a downward spiral of self-destruction. There’s an unhealthy glut of Bliar stories in the meeja, suggesting he is still scheming to return to Labour politics. Please! Let Corbyn continue!
Down under – where 2018 arrived sooner (and more trouble has had a chance to appear), it’s hip hip but not hooray; at least if you are Our Andy or Almost-our Johanna. And in the Ashes series, the England hierarchy seems to have delegated decisions to the players – ‘No, I don’t need a nightwatchman,’ said Jonny; and promptly got out.
Back home, real people struggle to budget for train fares, petrol prices rise and cold spells make everyone feel low.
But hey! Ambrose at the DT says Britain will soon be great again, Europe will slide and the sun will shine on us all. So that’s alright innit.
Well, generally speaking, not very much, in my opinion, except when it comes to Ashes cricket in Australia, at which we s*ck, as the Yanks say. Continue reading “What’s wrong with England?”
As every British cricket lover will confirm, watching the match is indeed a serious business, calling for a suitably sourced blazer and tie, a faded panama hat and preferably a proper deck-chair close to the action. Certain compromises are acceptable – but only if the match happens to attract thousands of fellow devotees – and there must be limits.
Now, however, in some corner of a foreign outfield, an upstart authority has sanctioned mixed bathing just a few feet from long-on! I mean, a gentleman’s sauna at Headingley for April fixtures would be bad enough, but really! Blowers would have found le mot juste, I’m sure.
If you can bear to learn more, the shocked meeja can help.