Classified ads are a great place to find people taking liberties with language. People always talk about having a 'Genuine reason for sale'. As opposed to what, an artificial reason? I don't want to be buying a car, ask why it is being sold and have the man go, 'Well, next week I'm moving to Kazakhstan with Dame Kelly Holmes and our 16 illegitimate children. I don't need the car; we're riding there on a cart pulled by Red Rum and Shergar'.
The problem with those adverts is that you have a limited number of words, so short, familiar phrases like this are used. These limitations causes further problems. The best advert I ever saw was in a cycling magazine. I think it was advertising a bike, although it could have been the Virgin Mary. It started off alright, a couple of lines describing the bike. Then it said, 'Genuine reason for sale. Never ridden, wife is pregnant'.
I rang him up anyway, because I was interested in buying a bike. He said 'have you got anywhere to put it?' - I said 'Well I've got room in the stable, I suppose'.
It frightens me just how many uses of the word 'fuck' there somehow happens to be. But how is it actually possible to 'shut the fuck up?' What, exactly, is the 'fuck' in this context? It could only be some sort of German suitcase manufacturer I've never heard of. As in:
'Right, darling, so I've packed the clothes, the suncream and the travellers' cheques. What should I do now?'
'Oh, just shut the fuck up, will you?!'
'Okay, done that, now what?'
'Now get the fuck out of here!'
That could work, I guess.
People go on about how friends, couples and partners apparently get on 'like a house on fire'. Well excuse me. I've watched the news - I've seen houses on fire. I happen to know that's not an experience you'd be happy to replicate. It doesn't work the other way round though. People don't go, 'Well, my house burnt down like a very cute couple'.
I suppose its something about the metaphorical 'heat' or 'sparks' that two people experience when they are together.
Anyway, I knew a guy who was going out with this quite wonderful girl who people said that about, and I was really, really jealous of him. Even I joined in however, saying that they were just like a house on fire. And I suppose I was right to say so, because she was hot and he asphyxiated to death in his sleep.
The court case hasn't come up yet and anyway, I have an alibi.
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Ranthology #1 - Standards.
I hate how people abbreviate TV programmes to just one word. Who Wants To Be A Millionaire is just 'Millionaire', Coronation Street is just 'Corrie', Strictly Come Dancing is just...bollocks.
It is though.
The one that irritates me the most though is Deal or no Deal. Just four short words and you can't be arsed even with those? So people shorten it to just 'Deal'. Even the continuity announcer on Channel 4 does it:
'Now on Channel 4, it's time for Deal'.
This confused me the first time I heard it, because I thought they'd just changed the rules.
Sort of, '22 boxes, a quarter of a million pounds, just one question. 'Deal?'
That seems like an unnecessarily harsh version of the programme, I mean I know there's a credit crunch on and all, but...That's not even the same show anymore, just Noel Edmonds going, 'Right, we're going to give you a tenner, and you can take it and you can fuck off. - go on, get out of here'.
The same drop in standards can be seen everywhere. Even in supermarkets. You go into Tesco now and you're supposed to do your own checkouts. That's bad enough, but they also expect you to take your own bags every time you go shopping - and you should, by the way.
These things wouldn't be so bad on their own, but put them together and it causes problems. Typical scenario:
You go into Tesco - with your bags - pick up a basket and go round the shop putting stuff into the basket. You come to the checkouts, you put your basket on one side, put your bags on the other side, put your stuff through the scanner. You're just about to put the first item into your bag and the machine does this:
'Unexpected item in bagging area. Unexpected item in bagging area.'
And you find yourself going - UNEXPECTED? IT'S A BAG! IT'S A BAG, FOR GOD'S SAKE.
I mean, of all the things you would expect to find, in a bagging area, I'd have thought that a bag would be pretty high up on the list. If you'd had said to me you'd put a traffic cone on there, maybe, I don't know, the head of a crocodile and Barack Obama's left testicle, then yeah, I'd have said that was unexpected as well.
It'd also be a bit...weird. For one thing, how did they scan through?
It's fine though, because I've started getting my own back on them. You know how, each time you shop and re-use a bag, you get a Clubcard point? Well, that's really worked out for me, because I now do all of my shopping one item at a time. I now have enough Clubcard points to actually buy Tesco, which is nice.
It is though.
The one that irritates me the most though is Deal or no Deal. Just four short words and you can't be arsed even with those? So people shorten it to just 'Deal'. Even the continuity announcer on Channel 4 does it:
'Now on Channel 4, it's time for Deal'.
This confused me the first time I heard it, because I thought they'd just changed the rules.
Sort of, '22 boxes, a quarter of a million pounds, just one question. 'Deal?'
That seems like an unnecessarily harsh version of the programme, I mean I know there's a credit crunch on and all, but...That's not even the same show anymore, just Noel Edmonds going, 'Right, we're going to give you a tenner, and you can take it and you can fuck off. - go on, get out of here'.
The same drop in standards can be seen everywhere. Even in supermarkets. You go into Tesco now and you're supposed to do your own checkouts. That's bad enough, but they also expect you to take your own bags every time you go shopping - and you should, by the way.
These things wouldn't be so bad on their own, but put them together and it causes problems. Typical scenario:
You go into Tesco - with your bags - pick up a basket and go round the shop putting stuff into the basket. You come to the checkouts, you put your basket on one side, put your bags on the other side, put your stuff through the scanner. You're just about to put the first item into your bag and the machine does this:
'Unexpected item in bagging area. Unexpected item in bagging area.'
And you find yourself going - UNEXPECTED? IT'S A BAG! IT'S A BAG, FOR GOD'S SAKE.
I mean, of all the things you would expect to find, in a bagging area, I'd have thought that a bag would be pretty high up on the list. If you'd had said to me you'd put a traffic cone on there, maybe, I don't know, the head of a crocodile and Barack Obama's left testicle, then yeah, I'd have said that was unexpected as well.
It'd also be a bit...weird. For one thing, how did they scan through?
It's fine though, because I've started getting my own back on them. You know how, each time you shop and re-use a bag, you get a Clubcard point? Well, that's really worked out for me, because I now do all of my shopping one item at a time. I now have enough Clubcard points to actually buy Tesco, which is nice.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Grammatics - Double Negative
Oh shit. I didn't want to do this. It looks I'm going to be forced to say that Grammatics' new single is a little bit...sassy.
I hate myself. Really I do. It is a phrase mostly applied to lowest-common-denominator chav-'n'-b that dominates the top 40.
But the way that minimalistic intro shuffles into view, a simple vocal melody leading into a bass-oriented verse, provides a platform for singer Owen to flex his silky vocal chords in a slightly sultry fashion. Lyrics about 'heavenly letting go' and 'we could do somethine we'd never desired to try'. Oo er. Thankfully, however, no Grammatics song ever goes from A to B without passing X, Y, μ, γ and π on the way. The chorus lifts the song up another hip-swinging gear, with its 'Hey sugar!' line at once a surprise and a highlight, before taking a solid lurch to the left(field) - not the band - with a sprawling middle eight section (that seems to end up as a second, independent chorus). Oh how I struggle trying to apply conventional pop song structures to a track like this. Here the band explore the dreamier, more expansive side of their soundscape, coming over like a dancier Mew, as guitar and cello once again resume their uneasy but devastatingly effective marriage.
The thunderous drum pattern (which will probably draw more unfavourable - and entirely wrong - Foals comparisons) which underpins the entire song gets star billing for a moment towards the end before another blast of that second chorus. The drums on this record have been captured brilliantly, prominent in the mix and sounding full enough to almost appear as if the band are actually live on your stereo.
Grammatics remain a classic Marmite band (another bloody phrase I hate myself for using); albeit a Marmite which few have been exposed to yet. This is 'pop' music crafted the way it should be. This is not a song to drift by in the background. It is fresh, exciting and just a little bit different. Give it a try, you might have found your new favourite band.
9/10
'Double Negative' is available on 7" vinyl and download. A clip is available to stream on their website or their MySpace.
I hate myself. Really I do. It is a phrase mostly applied to lowest-common-denominator chav-'n'-b that dominates the top 40.
But the way that minimalistic intro shuffles into view, a simple vocal melody leading into a bass-oriented verse, provides a platform for singer Owen to flex his silky vocal chords in a slightly sultry fashion. Lyrics about 'heavenly letting go' and 'we could do somethine we'd never desired to try'. Oo er. Thankfully, however, no Grammatics song ever goes from A to B without passing X, Y, μ, γ and π on the way. The chorus lifts the song up another hip-swinging gear, with its 'Hey sugar!' line at once a surprise and a highlight, before taking a solid lurch to the left(field) - not the band - with a sprawling middle eight section (that seems to end up as a second, independent chorus). Oh how I struggle trying to apply conventional pop song structures to a track like this. Here the band explore the dreamier, more expansive side of their soundscape, coming over like a dancier Mew, as guitar and cello once again resume their uneasy but devastatingly effective marriage.
The thunderous drum pattern (which will probably draw more unfavourable - and entirely wrong - Foals comparisons) which underpins the entire song gets star billing for a moment towards the end before another blast of that second chorus. The drums on this record have been captured brilliantly, prominent in the mix and sounding full enough to almost appear as if the band are actually live on your stereo.
Grammatics remain a classic Marmite band (another bloody phrase I hate myself for using); albeit a Marmite which few have been exposed to yet. This is 'pop' music crafted the way it should be. This is not a song to drift by in the background. It is fresh, exciting and just a little bit different. Give it a try, you might have found your new favourite band.
9/10
'Double Negative' is available on 7" vinyl and download. A clip is available to stream on their website or their MySpace.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Some opinions from the last few weeks in sport...or a small subset of it, at least.
In this edition:
Football - on Burnley (briefly), England and the World Cup.
Motorsport - Button - a worthy champion, 'Crashgate'.
Tennis - Andy Murray, just leave him be, part 11023.
And finally... - Silly names, silly puns and silly videos. Altogether rather silly.
Football.
In an earlier blog, I noted the peculiarity that was David Nugent signing for Burnley. Well, the sight of Burnley recording what may well be their biggest Premiership win of the whole season against Sunderland – three goals scored by two ex-Preston players – was a turn of events so bizarre I'm quite surprised the Rift didn't open under Turf Moor.
So England are off to the World Cup, amid a blaze of hype about this being our best chance yet to bring home the trophy (© the red tops 1997, 2001, 2005). Here we go again. Forgive me for being a tad cynical; all we've done to reach the finals is win two matches. Yes, you heard me right. Those matches are; v. Croatia (home) and v. Croatia (away). All the rest should be gimmes, quite honestly. Considering that A. this is supposed to be our national sport, B. the money poured into the Premiership (or EPL if you're from outside these shores) and C. the wealth (pun intended) of talent we admittedly have in this country, all the games not involving Croatia in this qualifying group bloody well ought to be put to bed by our players. Anything less is just laziness. Even beating Croatia is not exactly up there with historic footballing legend; so they once finished third in the World Cup? Big deal. Only the fact that England lost to them last time (in qualifying for Euro 2008), when they really shouldn't have done, has built up a fervour over beating a team that hasn't done anything in world football for a good decade into it being an achievement unto itself. Which it is not.
In the time since the last World Cup, English (and in some cases, British) sport has found a new level - GB+NI have finished fourth in the Olympic medal table, had two F1 world champions, had its best World Athletics championships since 1993 and been athletics (men's) Europa Cup champions, found its most successful tennis player in the Open era, dominated track cycling and uncovered two road stars, a first world diving champion and made names in swimming, in the pool and on open water. The football team's closest counterparts, the England rugby union team, defied expectation to reach the World Cup final and put up a great fight therein.
England's football team, meanwhile, has failed to make the last 16 teams in Europe for the one major tournament in that intervening period. They have now cemented their place amongst the last thirty-two names in the world, at the expense of those sleeping giants of the global game Andorra and Belarus. While I accept that they as a team have looked good in those games, putting away teams seemingly with a new found confidence and professionalism (well for all that money they fucking ought to be professional about it!). The first test comes against Brazil in the Middle East (because that isn't about the money at all); then the hard work actually begins. So far, the England National Football Team have achieved precisely this much:
________________________
End.
Motorsport.
Jenson Button. How can a man who won six Grands Prix in a season have his world title questioned - especially when no other driver has won more than two? Not only that, but he has been able to produce recovery drives when his qualifying performance has admittedly gone off the boil. His drive to secure the title was worthy of a champion - risky overtaking manoeuvres on Grosjean, Nakajima, Kobiyashi and Buemi (the latter from a car length's back - how on earth did he manage to brake so late?) showed unbelievable skill and mettle in a pressure situation sans pareil.
Furthermore, if Button doesn't deserve to win, then who does? Barrichello, for being AWOL when the Brawn was at its best? Vettel, who made errors at critical moments (eg at Turkey when he really should have won from pole) or Webber, quick on his day but just too inconsistent? If anyone pulls out the old 'he only won because of the car' - go and watch some fucking F1 and come back with something better. Champions in this sport are always made from a weighted sum of car and driver capability. When Nigel Mansell won in 1992 it was the culmination of a talented driver having a long career near the front, but with the destructively quick FW14B at his hands and feet, active suspension and all.
Anyone who has watched Jenson (as I have) from 2000, when he made his debut, would recognise a driver whose smooth driving style means he gets the best out of a good car, but is less able to make a bad car drive well, unlike say Hamilton who likes a tail-happy car anyway. But remember, champions always come from good cars, so Jenson's style meant that he would be up there with the best this season. Recall for instance Imola 2004, when Button put his Honda on pole and drove away from Schumacher in the first stint, (albeit on a slightly lighter fuel load) - Schumi referred to his pace as 'mind-blowing'. Compliments like those aren't handed out like penny sweets in the playground.
Jenson's world title has been the hardest to win - an early lead whittled away while the other teams caught up has left us on tenterhooks for months and put him under incredile pressure. More pressure, I suspect, than most of us would be able to handle. That alone should be reason enough to deflect criticisms of worthiness for his world title.
***
The main story of recent F1 was actually 'Crashgate'. Erstwhile Formula One commentator James Allen was a great fan of game theory, and specifically its application to a Grand Prix. He would get very excited about the boffins and their computers back in the team factory, running through different scenarios and plotting their outcomes. He would talk about the unusual strategies employed by teams 'out of position' on the grid. Most ironically, he would hold up Renault and Nelson Piquet Jr's one-stop strategy in Germany in 2008 as the gold standard on the subject; the one which vaulted him from his 17th starting slot to an eventual 2nd, thanks to a timely safety car.
Well it seems the Renault team decided to take the idea a stage or two further a few weeks later in Singapore. Under the floodlights, team bosses Flavio Briatore and Pat Symmonds (according to Piquet Jr. and his father) asked Piquet Jr. to crash in order to bring out the safety car – timed straight after teammate Fernando Alonso's pit stop, which allowed him to take the lead since all other teams would pit under the safety car conditions.
Can I make one thing clear though: it is not really race fixing, is it? Fixing implies that all the variables that make sport what it is have been influenced to such a degree as to be nullified; this necessarily includes those normally outside the participants' jurisdiction (in this case, the Renault team). In this case, 'all' Renault did was to use one of their own team members to maximise their chances of victory.
From a purely sporting perspective, Renault therefore did nothing hugely out of the ordinary. It is no more 'fixing' the outcome of a race than using the second driver to back the field up, while the lead driver scampers off into the distance. How many times has commentator Martin Brundle referred to the teammate as a 'rear-gunner' for his leader? Perhaps Brawn should be hauled in front of the FIA when Jenson Button won the Monaco Grand Prix by virtue of his teammate being slow enough to allow Button to open up a large gap in the first stint before his pit stop.
That is not to say that what Renault did does not cross a line, however. Asking a driver to crash is presumptuous in the extreme; although the safety levels in F1 have improved considerably, a car crash is an inherently unpredictable event, even with one of the world's most skilled drivers at the helm. Young Henry Surtees was killed as a result of a freak occurance in an accident earlier this year in a Formula Two race; how can any team boss risk this of their driver?
Renault got away lightly with the punishment; a suspended sentence rather than a fine. McLaren's involvement in the also-lazily titled 'Spygate' scandal of 2007 cost them $100m (interestingly, Renault were also implicated, but not punished). Perhaps with Renault reputedly on the edge of pulling out of the sport altogether, the result is not a surprise, especially since that figure may well run a team for two whole seasons in years to come.
Tennis.
Andy Murray. Again. Sorry, Murray haters. I know there's a lot of you.
So Murray played in the Davis Cup with a slight wrist injury, and aggrevates it to the point of having to pull out of Tour tournaments - including the Shanghai Masters. He'll be losing a stack of ranking points in the process in this, the indoor hard court leg of the World Tour (at which Murray is arguably the best in the world and is defending 3 titles including two Masters). All to try and fight a losing cause for a team whose credentials are of practically no worth at all. Now that they have been relegated to Euro/Africa Zone II, I hope Murray gives up on Davis Cup altogether. Now can you please get off his back and let him get on with it?
Dan'sWide Weird World of Sport
5 really silly names for sports teams:
Super Aguri (Formula One)
Evidently anything but super.
Total Network Solutions (now The New Saints) (Football)
Led to Sky Sports' Jeff Stelling's joke "They'll be dancing in the streets of Total Network Solutions tonight!"
Wakefield Trinity Wildcats (Rugby League)
Either name on its own would be bad enough, but both together? And the inclusion of 'Trinity' spoils the alliteration, surely the only reason for a name like 'Wildcats' in the first place.
Brisbane Roar (formerly Queensland Roar) (Football)
The fans of also-stupidly-named Perth Glory would chant 'Queensland Roar is a fucking stupid name, a fucking stupid name...'
Serramenti PVC Diquigiovanni-Androni Giocattoli (Cycling)
Just too long.
Ridiculously contrived sporting puns.
When Manchester United first won the Premiership and FA Cup in the same season, it was largely attributed to the state of the Old Trafford pitch, which was often compared to an Arctic area of permafrost. Commentators said they did the Double on tundra.
The tennis player jumped out of bed in the afternoon, having slept in. Rushing down to the tournament grounds he looked at his watch once more and exclaimed, in his Australian drawl, "I'm not going to be on time for my match!". He was late, he knew it.
I wish I was responsible for this, surely the greatest headline of all time. It was from The Sun, referring to the time Inverness Caledonian Thistle (perhaps another contender for silly team names) knocked Celtic out of the Scottish Cup:
'Super Caley Go Ballistic Celtic Are Atrocious'.
Genius.
Video of the month.
Thank God for Cuddles himself, Cadel Evans, superbly winning cycling's World Road Race Championships in Mendrisio in September because it gives me a perfect excuse to show this snippet from an interview during the 2008 TdF. No doubt the related videos will highlight some other contretemps with the press. But for the sheer incongruity of him holding a cuddly lion while berating a poor reporter this is a winner every time.
Football - on Burnley (briefly), England and the World Cup.
Motorsport - Button - a worthy champion, 'Crashgate'.
Tennis - Andy Murray, just leave him be, part 11023.
And finally... - Silly names, silly puns and silly videos. Altogether rather silly.
Football.
In an earlier blog, I noted the peculiarity that was David Nugent signing for Burnley. Well, the sight of Burnley recording what may well be their biggest Premiership win of the whole season against Sunderland – three goals scored by two ex-Preston players – was a turn of events so bizarre I'm quite surprised the Rift didn't open under Turf Moor.
So England are off to the World Cup, amid a blaze of hype about this being our best chance yet to bring home the trophy (© the red tops 1997, 2001, 2005). Here we go again. Forgive me for being a tad cynical; all we've done to reach the finals is win two matches. Yes, you heard me right. Those matches are; v. Croatia (home) and v. Croatia (away). All the rest should be gimmes, quite honestly. Considering that A. this is supposed to be our national sport, B. the money poured into the Premiership (or EPL if you're from outside these shores) and C. the wealth (pun intended) of talent we admittedly have in this country, all the games not involving Croatia in this qualifying group bloody well ought to be put to bed by our players. Anything less is just laziness. Even beating Croatia is not exactly up there with historic footballing legend; so they once finished third in the World Cup? Big deal. Only the fact that England lost to them last time (in qualifying for Euro 2008), when they really shouldn't have done, has built up a fervour over beating a team that hasn't done anything in world football for a good decade into it being an achievement unto itself. Which it is not.
In the time since the last World Cup, English (and in some cases, British) sport has found a new level - GB+NI have finished fourth in the Olympic medal table, had two F1 world champions, had its best World Athletics championships since 1993 and been athletics (men's) Europa Cup champions, found its most successful tennis player in the Open era, dominated track cycling and uncovered two road stars, a first world diving champion and made names in swimming, in the pool and on open water. The football team's closest counterparts, the England rugby union team, defied expectation to reach the World Cup final and put up a great fight therein.
England's football team, meanwhile, has failed to make the last 16 teams in Europe for the one major tournament in that intervening period. They have now cemented their place amongst the last thirty-two names in the world, at the expense of those sleeping giants of the global game Andorra and Belarus. While I accept that they as a team have looked good in those games, putting away teams seemingly with a new found confidence and professionalism (well for all that money they fucking ought to be professional about it!). The first test comes against Brazil in the Middle East (because that isn't about the money at all); then the hard work actually begins. So far, the England National Football Team have achieved precisely this much:
________________________
End.
Motorsport.
Jenson Button. How can a man who won six Grands Prix in a season have his world title questioned - especially when no other driver has won more than two? Not only that, but he has been able to produce recovery drives when his qualifying performance has admittedly gone off the boil. His drive to secure the title was worthy of a champion - risky overtaking manoeuvres on Grosjean, Nakajima, Kobiyashi and Buemi (the latter from a car length's back - how on earth did he manage to brake so late?) showed unbelievable skill and mettle in a pressure situation sans pareil.
Furthermore, if Button doesn't deserve to win, then who does? Barrichello, for being AWOL when the Brawn was at its best? Vettel, who made errors at critical moments (eg at Turkey when he really should have won from pole) or Webber, quick on his day but just too inconsistent? If anyone pulls out the old 'he only won because of the car' - go and watch some fucking F1 and come back with something better. Champions in this sport are always made from a weighted sum of car and driver capability. When Nigel Mansell won in 1992 it was the culmination of a talented driver having a long career near the front, but with the destructively quick FW14B at his hands and feet, active suspension and all.
Anyone who has watched Jenson (as I have) from 2000, when he made his debut, would recognise a driver whose smooth driving style means he gets the best out of a good car, but is less able to make a bad car drive well, unlike say Hamilton who likes a tail-happy car anyway. But remember, champions always come from good cars, so Jenson's style meant that he would be up there with the best this season. Recall for instance Imola 2004, when Button put his Honda on pole and drove away from Schumacher in the first stint, (albeit on a slightly lighter fuel load) - Schumi referred to his pace as 'mind-blowing'. Compliments like those aren't handed out like penny sweets in the playground.
Jenson's world title has been the hardest to win - an early lead whittled away while the other teams caught up has left us on tenterhooks for months and put him under incredile pressure. More pressure, I suspect, than most of us would be able to handle. That alone should be reason enough to deflect criticisms of worthiness for his world title.
***
The main story of recent F1 was actually 'Crashgate'. Erstwhile Formula One commentator James Allen was a great fan of game theory, and specifically its application to a Grand Prix. He would get very excited about the boffins and their computers back in the team factory, running through different scenarios and plotting their outcomes. He would talk about the unusual strategies employed by teams 'out of position' on the grid. Most ironically, he would hold up Renault and Nelson Piquet Jr's one-stop strategy in Germany in 2008 as the gold standard on the subject; the one which vaulted him from his 17th starting slot to an eventual 2nd, thanks to a timely safety car.
Well it seems the Renault team decided to take the idea a stage or two further a few weeks later in Singapore. Under the floodlights, team bosses Flavio Briatore and Pat Symmonds (according to Piquet Jr. and his father) asked Piquet Jr. to crash in order to bring out the safety car – timed straight after teammate Fernando Alonso's pit stop, which allowed him to take the lead since all other teams would pit under the safety car conditions.
Can I make one thing clear though: it is not really race fixing, is it? Fixing implies that all the variables that make sport what it is have been influenced to such a degree as to be nullified; this necessarily includes those normally outside the participants' jurisdiction (in this case, the Renault team). In this case, 'all' Renault did was to use one of their own team members to maximise their chances of victory.
From a purely sporting perspective, Renault therefore did nothing hugely out of the ordinary. It is no more 'fixing' the outcome of a race than using the second driver to back the field up, while the lead driver scampers off into the distance. How many times has commentator Martin Brundle referred to the teammate as a 'rear-gunner' for his leader? Perhaps Brawn should be hauled in front of the FIA when Jenson Button won the Monaco Grand Prix by virtue of his teammate being slow enough to allow Button to open up a large gap in the first stint before his pit stop.
That is not to say that what Renault did does not cross a line, however. Asking a driver to crash is presumptuous in the extreme; although the safety levels in F1 have improved considerably, a car crash is an inherently unpredictable event, even with one of the world's most skilled drivers at the helm. Young Henry Surtees was killed as a result of a freak occurance in an accident earlier this year in a Formula Two race; how can any team boss risk this of their driver?
Renault got away lightly with the punishment; a suspended sentence rather than a fine. McLaren's involvement in the also-lazily titled 'Spygate' scandal of 2007 cost them $100m (interestingly, Renault were also implicated, but not punished). Perhaps with Renault reputedly on the edge of pulling out of the sport altogether, the result is not a surprise, especially since that figure may well run a team for two whole seasons in years to come.
Tennis.
Andy Murray. Again. Sorry, Murray haters. I know there's a lot of you.
So Murray played in the Davis Cup with a slight wrist injury, and aggrevates it to the point of having to pull out of Tour tournaments - including the Shanghai Masters. He'll be losing a stack of ranking points in the process in this, the indoor hard court leg of the World Tour (at which Murray is arguably the best in the world and is defending 3 titles including two Masters). All to try and fight a losing cause for a team whose credentials are of practically no worth at all. Now that they have been relegated to Euro/Africa Zone II, I hope Murray gives up on Davis Cup altogether. Now can you please get off his back and let him get on with it?
Dan's
5 really silly names for sports teams:
Super Aguri (Formula One)
Evidently anything but super.
Total Network Solutions (now The New Saints) (Football)
Led to Sky Sports' Jeff Stelling's joke "They'll be dancing in the streets of Total Network Solutions tonight!"
Wakefield Trinity Wildcats (Rugby League)
Either name on its own would be bad enough, but both together? And the inclusion of 'Trinity' spoils the alliteration, surely the only reason for a name like 'Wildcats' in the first place.
Brisbane Roar (formerly Queensland Roar) (Football)
The fans of also-stupidly-named Perth Glory would chant 'Queensland Roar is a fucking stupid name, a fucking stupid name...'
Serramenti PVC Diquigiovanni-Androni Giocattoli (Cycling)
Just too long.
Ridiculously contrived sporting puns.
When Manchester United first won the Premiership and FA Cup in the same season, it was largely attributed to the state of the Old Trafford pitch, which was often compared to an Arctic area of permafrost. Commentators said they did the Double on tundra.
The tennis player jumped out of bed in the afternoon, having slept in. Rushing down to the tournament grounds he looked at his watch once more and exclaimed, in his Australian drawl, "I'm not going to be on time for my match!". He was late, he knew it.
I wish I was responsible for this, surely the greatest headline of all time. It was from The Sun, referring to the time Inverness Caledonian Thistle (perhaps another contender for silly team names) knocked Celtic out of the Scottish Cup:
'Super Caley Go Ballistic Celtic Are Atrocious'.
Genius.
Video of the month.
Thank God for Cuddles himself, Cadel Evans, superbly winning cycling's World Road Race Championships in Mendrisio in September because it gives me a perfect excuse to show this snippet from an interview during the 2008 TdF. No doubt the related videos will highlight some other contretemps with the press. But for the sheer incongruity of him holding a cuddly lion while berating a poor reporter this is a winner every time.
A racist on the BBC?
Finally, after all these years, on BBC1 on Thursday night a racist was unveiled to the nation. Yes, Andrew Neil on 'This Week'; in the week that Gordon Brown was forced to admit his favourite type of biscuit, Neil referred to his two studio guests Dianne Abbott and Michael Portillo (pictured below) at the top on the show as a 'chocolate hobnob' and a 'custard cream'. Shocking.
Clearly no offence was intended, but it did create one of those double-take, 'Did he really just say that?' moments. Sadly the show is un-iPlayer-able (to coin a word).
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
What is the point of Gok Wan?
The title is probably enough for most, but can anyone actually answer that question? I mean, for a start, that's not a real name. People don't call their kids Gok. I'm sorry, I know that's probably a bit...borderline, we wouldn't be having that problem if he was say, Gok Smith. But really. Gok. That's not a name, more like onomatopoeia from a Batman comic.
"Oh, I'm Gok. These are my brothers, Biff and Bam, and my sister, Kaboom."
And this guy gives fashion advice?!?! He looks like Mark Lammar, circa Shooting Stars, with his head trapped between closing lift doors. Just imagine Lammar when he was captain of team A, flanked by two teammates, each pushing against a cheek with an open palm. It's Gok!
If this blog achieves nothing else, I'd like to single-handedly be responsible for the downfall of Gok Wan. Is there such thing as career homicide? I'd like to try it.
"Oh, I'm Gok. These are my brothers, Biff and Bam, and my sister, Kaboom."
And this guy gives fashion advice?!?! He looks like Mark Lammar, circa Shooting Stars, with his head trapped between closing lift doors. Just imagine Lammar when he was captain of team A, flanked by two teammates, each pushing against a cheek with an open palm. It's Gok!
If this blog achieves nothing else, I'd like to single-handedly be responsible for the downfall of Gok Wan. Is there such thing as career homicide? I'd like to try it.
Friday, 16 October 2009
Masterchef: The Professionals
Why the rush? Seriously.
This is a programme where snooty presenters oversee snooty chefs serving snooty food to snooty people. Just like the meals produced in the show, it is divided up into three distinct courses; the introductions to the chefs and the critics, followed by the actual cooking bit, then the X-factor style 'and the winner is...' results bit.
The main portion of the show, then, is a breathless run through the chef's individual perfomances in the kitchen; all close-range, quick-fire, heavily edited shots of the chefs at work. At all points the chef and ourselves are reminded of the eternally ticking clock in which one of the two presenters shouts a random number of minutes left before the food goes out, all interspersed with pseudo-profound, Yoda-esque one-liners. Adding to the overall perplexity is the pulsating dance music ensemble this whole thing is set to, giving that off-your-tits-on-E, Ministry of Sound feel to the proceedings. Probably the only reason the viewer doesn't keel over at this point is that the body can't decide what to have first; an epileptic fit or a mild coronary. That and the brief moments of respite where we watch the chef analyse his/her own performances in the sancturary of that bit at the back of the kitchen with shots of their tortured expressions betwixt morsels of hope or despair or both, coming on like it's the fucking Shawshank Redemption.
The whole emphasis on speed is baffling to say the least. On one occasion, when the chef ran out of his allotted 'time' and the meal was now Officially Late, the host pointed out that the diners 'will be waiting now.' What the hell were they doing hitherto? Playing bloody darts? Eventually the chefs get to 'plate up' - which is surely not a real phrase - where they take laughably large plates and arrange practically sod all on them, while the hosts stare down and shout 'come on' and cause the poor guy to put ice-cream on the fish and vinegar on the pudding amid the confusion. They are then presented to the judges who raise quizzical eyebrows at each other, forgetting all the while that they are BEING PAID to EAT FOOD. Lucky buggers. Just to ratchet the tension up another notch, the shots of each service are underscored by a single low musical note, giving the vague impression that one of the dishes has been poisoned or that the maitre'd is actaully concealing a large cleaver under his suit and about to turn on the critics. Which would be different, at least.
After a good twenty minutes of this carry on, the chefs are gathered together for the results. At this point, due to the mad rapid-fire production approach of the actual kitchen segment, no-one can quite remember who cooked what, including the audience at home, the hosts and even the chefs themselves. In fact by this stage, remembering what day of the week it is becomes quite a task. Compounding matters further, the presenters then announce the chefs in turn as winners and losers in no logical order, who - once they recall what their own names are - either stand in a non-designated winner's area or march disconsolantly out the door.
This process, with subtle tweaks, has been running for a number of weeks, whittling down the contenders. Eventually one chef will rise above all others, and presumably spend the rest of his/her days on Valium trying to calm themselves from the relentless time pressure they have been subjected to and go and work in the world's only Michelin-starred library. I have to say, however, that despite my attempts to send this programme up, I found it oddly compelling, if only because my idea of fine dining is one where you do the tin of beans in the pan instead of the microwave. I just wish they'd slow down a bit.
This is a programme where snooty presenters oversee snooty chefs serving snooty food to snooty people. Just like the meals produced in the show, it is divided up into three distinct courses; the introductions to the chefs and the critics, followed by the actual cooking bit, then the X-factor style 'and the winner is...' results bit.
The main portion of the show, then, is a breathless run through the chef's individual perfomances in the kitchen; all close-range, quick-fire, heavily edited shots of the chefs at work. At all points the chef and ourselves are reminded of the eternally ticking clock in which one of the two presenters shouts a random number of minutes left before the food goes out, all interspersed with pseudo-profound, Yoda-esque one-liners. Adding to the overall perplexity is the pulsating dance music ensemble this whole thing is set to, giving that off-your-tits-on-E, Ministry of Sound feel to the proceedings. Probably the only reason the viewer doesn't keel over at this point is that the body can't decide what to have first; an epileptic fit or a mild coronary. That and the brief moments of respite where we watch the chef analyse his/her own performances in the sancturary of that bit at the back of the kitchen with shots of their tortured expressions betwixt morsels of hope or despair or both, coming on like it's the fucking Shawshank Redemption.
The whole emphasis on speed is baffling to say the least. On one occasion, when the chef ran out of his allotted 'time' and the meal was now Officially Late, the host pointed out that the diners 'will be waiting now.' What the hell were they doing hitherto? Playing bloody darts? Eventually the chefs get to 'plate up' - which is surely not a real phrase - where they take laughably large plates and arrange practically sod all on them, while the hosts stare down and shout 'come on' and cause the poor guy to put ice-cream on the fish and vinegar on the pudding amid the confusion. They are then presented to the judges who raise quizzical eyebrows at each other, forgetting all the while that they are BEING PAID to EAT FOOD. Lucky buggers. Just to ratchet the tension up another notch, the shots of each service are underscored by a single low musical note, giving the vague impression that one of the dishes has been poisoned or that the maitre'd is actaully concealing a large cleaver under his suit and about to turn on the critics. Which would be different, at least.
After a good twenty minutes of this carry on, the chefs are gathered together for the results. At this point, due to the mad rapid-fire production approach of the actual kitchen segment, no-one can quite remember who cooked what, including the audience at home, the hosts and even the chefs themselves. In fact by this stage, remembering what day of the week it is becomes quite a task. Compounding matters further, the presenters then announce the chefs in turn as winners and losers in no logical order, who - once they recall what their own names are - either stand in a non-designated winner's area or march disconsolantly out the door.
This process, with subtle tweaks, has been running for a number of weeks, whittling down the contenders. Eventually one chef will rise above all others, and presumably spend the rest of his/her days on Valium trying to calm themselves from the relentless time pressure they have been subjected to and go and work in the world's only Michelin-starred library. I have to say, however, that despite my attempts to send this programme up, I found it oddly compelling, if only because my idea of fine dining is one where you do the tin of beans in the pan instead of the microwave. I just wish they'd slow down a bit.
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