Friday, November 09, 2007
A lovely quote from Ricky Hattons dad: And if Ricky wins, what then? Might it go to his head? "Don't worry about that," Ray responds firmly. "The people around him will make sure of that. If myself or his brother Matthew don't tell him he's becoming a Billy Big Bollocks then, take it from me, his mother certainly will."
On Wednesday, my gaffer snuck in after hours, like a thief in the night, and emptied his desk of all his personal belongings. Another good man gone, for no good reason. This is a piss poor game I find myself in. I could go on, again, about the wicked managers, but sod it, we all know about that now. I had the misfortune to spend the entire morning with a load of them, and in the end, you can't help but pity them, with their determination to have the last word, even though several others have already uttered it.
Driving across to Abertillery this morning I saw the most stunning, vivid rainbow I think I have ever seen and it just stayed there, for miles; then, the colours of the trees on the main road down to Ebbw Vale were something to behold, following which, gazing out of the window, mid morning, the colours on some bush against a dark sky, were brilliant and jaw dropping.Later still, driving through the Wye Valley, there were stunning shafts of brilliant white light piercing the distant gloom. I'm not even going to start on the splendour of the Severn. As good as it was, and as much I appreciate nature and beauty, I'm still skint, but the beauty has gone, just like my old gaffer.
Have a read of a young, hip, Kelmanesque Muslim. Seriously, it's good, and it's free, but you might want to buy it.
Blues play Villa on Sunday and I try not to care, but I do. I hate these games, really, really hate them. I will have a knot in my stomach from now until Wednesday, whatever the result. I won't be going, but watching on the box is probably worse than being there. No one that I will see on Monday will give a monkeys; I don't have to worry about endless, merciless piss taking if we lose, but there is something primeval at work here and a loss will leave me feeling utterly trampled. I think the family has learned that it is probably best not speak to me for several hours after these games.
Monday, November 05, 2007
I thinks it time for one my periodic moans about 5 live. Hardly any mention was made of Calzaghes momentous win yesterday, but Paula Radcliffe winning a race was treated with as much reverence as a royal wedding. I watched the start of that race, because I liked the look of the bridge and as the camera panned across the faces of the elite runners, it struck me, uncharitably, that they were all extremely ugly, maybe it's because they are so cadaverous.
Anyway, the point. As ever the sports news bulletins were dominated by the contents of the mornings sports chat show, rather than actual news. So, the headline story was about Jimmy Greaves thoughts regarding the Spurs board. Excuse me, but this is not news. If the thoughts of ex pros constituted news, Goals on Sunday would be setting the news agenda. Gary Richardson had also interviewed Lawrence Dallaglio, and the news bulletins through the day were dominated by the fact that he had phoned Brian Ashton. Well, the Saturday papers were full of this, as were the Sunday papers, so how was it worthy of such prominence?
It wasn't worthy of such prominence, neither of those two things were worthy of being mentioned at all, but the BBC has come to believe that it presenters are so important that any old drivel becomes the main news of the day. It happens every Sunday, have a listen next week, you will see that I am right. I like Gary Richardson, he's like a slightly less irritating version of Nicky Campbell, but they share the same fault; they are both determined to make the news, rather than report it and they see it as part of their job to trip people up..................pressure them into saying something they will regret. It has all become very predictable and very tiresome and it is hardly any wonder that no one ever says anything interesting on the radio anymore.
If you are still wondering what the ending of the Sopranos was all about, there is a very good, convincing explanation here. It's worth reading even if you don't need it explaining.
The Guardian has laid into Rudy Guiliani; it's good article with a very entertaining comment thread.
An interview with David Lynch
A load of photos that will make you go oooohh!
Thanks to Bob Piper for the following clip of Jeff Stelling, having a rant against poncy southerners. All sports presenters should be as knowledgeable and witty as Jeff.
Friday, November 02, 2007
I am getting a bit fed up of the preponderance of women in the BBC sports department, if they were any good, I wouldn't mind, but, by and large, they aren't, and I simply can't listen to Jackie Oatley. She shrieks and I have yet to hear her say anything insightful, I appreciate that the same could be said of Alan Green, but there you go. There also seems to be a preponderance of yanks discussing the football on 5 Live, or maybe it's the same one, putting himself about a bit. Why is he there? He adds little, he has no great insights, he doesn't make jokes, what is the point of him?
I'm not against women per se, or even yanks, but unless they are really adding something, why not use blokes, with a history in and a deep seated understanding of the nuances of the game, (not just any bloke, obviously, that way we end up with David Mellor) The Argentine woman on the Guardian podcast is superb, and at least one of the women on Sky sports is better than anyone on the BBC. In fact, why not employ everyone involved in the Guardian podcast, everyone of them is witty and knowledgeable about the game.
The podcast shows that is not difficult to find people who can talk easily about the game, but the BBC seems intent on diversity for diversity's sake, regardless of quality. Here's an idea, why don't they show how brave and forward looking they are by giving a microphone to a much under utilised group........the bloody working class?
The Guardian today has an article on some lost classics from the sixties that have been reissued. I used to fall for this shit once, I would read glowing reviews of someone I had never heard of and go out and buy it. I now realise that the reason these things are lost is not because they are cruelly neglected, but because they are shit; they were shit then and they are shit now. It's just the record companies milking a gullible public, with the connivance of the press. Don't fall for it.