Category: Sport

Boxing Day

Boxing Day means different things to different folk – no longer a time for exchanging gifts after a day of prayer – and increasingly a time for manic shopping. (But never of course a time for organised fisticuffs, as some incorrectly conclude.)

But time was when (such an elegant phrase😑) the Upper Ten were wont to ride to hounds today, baying for blood, pink in coat and red in claw.

And regrettably the blood lust persists in these northern latitudes, in the pc guise of population control – of the hunted, that is. What the hunting fraternity do is ‘protect’ the deer against poachers and natural migrations, feed them and then send in posses of gunmen to shoot them down for sport. They claim to be trained marksmen but their prey occasionally survive and limp painfully towards a silent, hungry death. How we laugh!

Even though fox hunting with dogs in England is almost dead, stalking deer is alive and well in many countries. But who dares to rob the rich and famous (or the not-so-rich and bloodthirsty) these days? Robin Hood joined Labour and became a preacher.

Have a nice day, y’all!

Motivated?

We have all worked in some capacity or other, sometimes with enthusiasm, sometimes with resignation (double entendre maybe).

Now I was once reminded by a (cough) Hun that getting a salary every month should be motivation enough. So with that in mind I’m always amazed that team coaches claim that a key part of their jobs is geeing up their charges. Sporting types being paid zillions of bucks need to be motivated to perform? How’s about their contracts including a clause like ‘perform commensurately with your rewards or butt out’.

Btw, Morten Olsen has just resigned from coaching the Danish footie team after 15 years. Did he ever motivate them to great success? Not noticeably, but maybe he knew all about silk purses and sows’ ears.

Time for segregation

It’s as clear as urinating in snow, as they say in this neck of the woods. The era of playing by the rules ended when contradicting parents, ignoring teachers and disrespecting coppers became the norm.

The world segwayed seamlessly into two distinct societies, the conformers and the rebels; all in the cause of money and power.

But what’s to be done about sports dopers, automotive cheats and common or garden anarchists?

Well, years ago DK sanctioned a district in Copenhagen where the rules don’t apply. It’s Christiania. Of course its freedoms are abused but it satisfies some primeval antisocial urges.

So here’s the thing: sport is easy. Just run two systems, the clean and the ‘open’. Similar to the old gents v. players, amateurs v. pros.

For cars, establish two classes, conforming and others, differentiated by eye-watering tax rates.

All non-conformists would have to choose publicly not to conform but accept the consequences of their choice. Importantly no stigma would attach to it.

It can’t work, you say. No? Well the present set up is a train crash so what’s not to like?

Footie ditties

Jurgen, Jurgen, don’t you stop   (to the tune of ‘Horsey, horsey’)

While your fans up on the Kop

Like your grinning when you’re winning

Jurgen Jurgen Jurgen Klopp

and

All the referees are mad    (to the tune of ‘Eviva espagna’ even though he’s Portuguese)

Says Jose Mourinho

Arsene Wenger’s just as bad

Says Jose Mourinho

They just love him in The Shed

Their Jose Mourinho

Even if he fires the Med

Their Jose Mourinho

I’m so special, I’m the one

Says Jose Mourinho

No one tells him when he’s done

That Jose Mourinho

Sporting pleasure

Back in the woods I’m quietly enjoying the weekend’s events. The Blacks bossed the Walabies, The Special One lost again and blamed everyone except himself and England took five early wickets.

The Janus clan graced the cinema on Thursday to catch up with Bond and throroughly enjoyed it. The mums drooled over James and Backside got hot under the collar about his latest squeeze. The film ticked all the boxes to qualify as a worthy 007 event – a kind of sport in its own right.

So let’s sit back and see if Pakistan will collapse, Lewis will win and Sunderland can get a point. Enjoy.

 

Only when I laugh

It’s the pain, doctor.

Where exactly, Janus?

Just here (pointing to heart).

And when do you get it?

Whenever I watch English teams play.

So it’s home-sickness then, the call from home?

No. That’s a sweeter feeling, like hearing I’m to be a grandpa for the 10th time.

Congratulations then! But back to the pain?

Yes. What’s the cure?

Get rid of the sports channels. Watch Danish tv. You’ll feel no emotion whatever and sleep extremely well. That’s the true meaning of ‘hygge’ (pron. hew- ga)!

Typical

Over in the Fens, at that inferior tech known among the cognoscenti as The Other Place, punting is under threat. ‘Elf and Softy are at work to render the extreme pleasure of messing about in flat boats totally anodyne.

If you have never tried navigating with the aid of a very long wet pole while standing on the rear end of an unruly craft, you can’t appreciate the sheer folly involved. A state of inebriation is the only guarantee of success – together with the presence of a beautiful young passenger of course, gazing admiringly at one’s prowess.

Punters henceforth will be breathalised before embarcation and warned that non-swimmers must wear life-vests. Water allegedly is…..well, wet and speeding (are you kidding?) is dangerous for all river users.

So my advice is decamp toute suite to the Cherwell, where no holds are barred and the age of waterborne chivalry is alive and risky as ever.