Sorry Pat

Well, there you go.

Last week I cursed the name of Pat Cash, former Wimbledon Champion turned tennis columnist for his unequivocal backing of one A. Murray to take this year’s title.

Sticking to my principles, oh alright then, superstitions, I thought that as Mr. Cash had, the previous Sunday, endorsed Rafa to go all the way only to see Rafa not getting to the end of the first day it was all over for Andy.

And it would all be Pat’s fault for daring not only to think the unthinkable but to print it in a National newspaper.


Altogether now,


Well done Andy, I never doubted you would do it one day!

The Curse Of Pat Cash

Well aren’t we enjoying an exciting Wimbledon?

Andy and Laura through to the second week. We’ll all sit back and say Laura did really well, whether she wins or loses and no-one truly expects her to get past the formidable Miss Williams in the next round.

Andy is a different matter.

He has been contesting semis and finals in Grand Slam events on a reasonably regular basis and of course lost at Wimbledon to the Fed last year, beat the guy on Centre Court to take the Olympic title, and then went on to claim his first Grand Slam over Novak Djokovic in the US Open

Add to that the fact that all the seeds under twenty in his half of the draw have gone and things should be looking good.

But not so fast.

Last Sunday, on the eve of the Championships, former Champion Pat Cash came out all guns blazing for Rafael Nadal to take the title. He offered reasoned thinking, good observation, a sound analysis of strong and weak points and a former player’s gut instinct to arrive at this conclusion and attempt to convince us of the same.

Rafa crashed out in straight sets in his first match.

So who does Mr Cash think will win now?

Yes you guessed it, with an ex champs reasoning, analysis, observations and gut instinct he reckons wee Andy can go the whole way.

Well thanks for that Pat. You can go off people you know!

Mid-Life Crisis

So some men, when they are feeling as if the brow of the hill may be receding. like their hairline, into the distance, go out and buy a big fuck off motorbike on which to bring forward their ultimate demise.

Others buy a fast car, see above, but at least if they get to pull in it they don’t have to lie on the damp grass, plays havoc with the old sciatica, mind you so does trying to get your leg over in a 2+2.

Others, perhaps in posession of all their material wants, turn to matters of grooming and dress. They might dye their hair, they might take to wearing a Breitling watch, they may sport a gold chain around their neck, perhaps holding a gold sovereign against their greying chest-hair. They might start to wear clothes that people a generation younger wear to underline their coolness and hipability.

None of this fools anybody, of course, we all know that here is a person afraid of growing old gracefully.

What, then, do we make of Roger Federer at the Australian Open.

The lilac shirt goes well with the grey shorts, (that’s what he’s wearing on his bottom and not the colour of his body hair) and Fed has always been quite partial to black tennis shoes,


WTF Rog, it’ll be odd socks and body piercings next.

Get a grip man.

Racist Tits?

Don’t you think this racism in sport business has gone too far. White footballers can’t tackle a black player in case he accuses them of racism for taking the ball off them, English Rugby fans have been criticised for waving giant Leeks at Welsh fans during an international match.

Beyond that, a trawl of the web reveals millions of articles about how terrible and repugnant racism in sport is but very few reported incidences and those that are documented are usually trivial in nature and relate to football.

About a million outraged articles were written by left leaning commentators on one incident in which Spanish football fans made monkey noises at a black player in the England team. WTF, nobody died. Where is the media outrage at the dozens, maybe hundreds of Syriac Christians being murdered every day by those righteous and justified Syrian freedom fighters that our western leaders are so keen to support.Where is the outrage at the Hindus being tortured and killed in Indonesia, a racist persecution that has been going on for decades.

But we hear little of this. A few Spanish chavs make monkey noises at at a football match or a white player, speaking in a voice so low nobody can hear him, says something a bit nasty to a black opponent and all hell breaks loose.

Well the scourge of imagined racism has broken out in womens tennis now. 22-year-old Danish player Caroline Wozniacki, stuffed towels down her kit to mimic the voluptuous figure of Serena Williams and walked out on the court to laughter during her exhibition match against Maria Sharapova in Sao Paulo. Now Wozniacki, whose boyfriend golfer Rory McIlroy was in the crowd, has now been accused of racism by some observers whose job is to be offended on behalf of people who can’t be arsed themselves.

Study the picture below and if you think it is racism rather than a bit of harmless silliness, go to America. There’s a job in the Obama administration waiting for you as a professional offence taker on behalf of The Prez Dude.


Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Another good day at the office for Team GB, the only downside being that should our athletes fall on hard times in their dotage they’re not going to get much from flogging their medals as they hardly posess rarity value.

A wonderful performance from Ben Ainslie was greeted with one of the most interesting situations for a post race interview ever witnessed, with Ben sitting on his Finn class dinghy whilst the BBC’s intrepid interviewer perched on the side of an adjacent rhib, that’s rigid hulled inflatable boat for those who don’t know.

As the boats bobbed and bumped on the slightly choppy water the Beeb’s man grabbed hold of Ainslie looking like he was trying to haul him overboard, and gabbled away excitedly about how “that has to be the most fantastic achievement from the greatest Olympic sailor ever.”
to which Ainslie replied, “Er, yeah.”

Short, succinct and to the point, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Jamie Murray meanwhile was re-tweeting a message his brother had received in the run up to his second encounter in a month with the beautifully elegant Roger Federer on the sacred lawns of SW19.

And this one wasn’t nasty.

The poster had given Andy a good piece of advice.

“Revenge is a dish best served at 138mph.”

Andy’s next to the last serve of the match was clocked at exactly that.

Olympic News: 100m bitching for bitter old queens

Wimbledon and The Role Of Snobbery In British Sport

Today’s blog comes from Guest Blogger The Hon. Tosser Olde – Phart, secretary of The Society For Preserving Snobbery In Sport.

Egad! A british chappie is in the final of the Gentleman’s singles at Wimbledon. Damn poor show in my opinion, this Murray fellow is certainly not a gentleman, one of his grandfathers was a professional footballer. Now some of you might be thinking “well so what, it’s better than all those Froggies, Dagoes, Yanks and damned colonials who usually win it. But is that so?

There are some of us who are still aware that the class system is the only thing that holds Britain together and so if we are to have a winner of Wimbledon it is more important that he is the right sort of chap than that he is British.

And as I say there are no gentlemen in the sport any more, the damned ruffians are all in it for the money. They are professionals. A true gentleman would never sully himself with tawdry commnercialism.

To make matters worse, the damned fellow is a Jocko. Who decided to allow Scots into the All England club. Is nothing sacred?

It is seventy four years since we last had a British chappie in the final. Bunnay Awsten was the last and I have to say things have been allowed to slide a lot since then. Names are important for a start. Bunny was a proper name for a gentleman amateur, it conveys the impression that he excels without actually trying very hard, that he does not take things too seriously. An English gentleman must never be seen to be taking things seriously.

Nowadays we have people called Andy, John, Jamie, Roger, Novak and Goran playing. Those are not gentlemens’ names, they’re bus drivers’ names. No wonder the chaps are not ashamed to be drinking their lemon barley water from the bottle at changeovers. People with bus driver’s names will behave as bus drivers would. In Bunny’s day competitors in the Gentlemens’ Singles would take their valet along to the court to mix their lemon barley water in a crystal decanter and serve their drinks from a silver salver. It is not winning that is important but how one wins.

One must wonder however is Lemon Barley water a suitable drink for a gentleman. Old Bunny would not have been seen dead drinking Lemon Barley water. He liked to sip a Pimms while taking his minute break and was often seen smoking a Dunhill cigarette through the Tortoiseshell holder he was presented with for winning the Swurrey Conty Gentlemens’ singles on four consecutive occasions.

It is a good thing that we have a British player contesting the British Tennis Championship but it would have been so much better is standards had been kept up.

Great Sporting Analogies #1

Just been watching the Aussie Open semi final, Nadal v Federer.

They had a break in the second set because of a firework display! Way to go Aussies!

But that’s not the point of the post.

Back in the day Stuart Hall, he of It’s a Knockout fame, was renowned for his long and winding introductions to his post football match reports for Final Score,bearing no relation to any football match ever, let alone the one that he was reporting on, and then finally having for instance rumbled on about the trials and tribulations facing Deadalus and Icarus in their efforts to escape their oppressors through the power of flight he would add something like, “And so it was for City tonight in their struggle to reach the Carling Cup final, they flew too high, their wax melted and they were sent plunging into the ocean of defeat below.”

You’ll be glad to know that this fine art is alive and well and currently being bandied about down under.

As Nadal was serving to level the first set at four all, having been three love down, one of the commentators came out with this masterpiece.

” It’s Australia Day today and Roger Federer is having a big party at his house with two huge security guards to not let Nadal in and Nadal just punched them both out with one left hook, one first set and now is knocking on the door. Federer is diminished into the little, little guy and Nadal is just pushing past, “Out the way, moveover, I’ll have a beer mate.”

Absolutely priceless.

Twinkle Toes Federer

Having been abandoned by my entire family yesterday evening I took the opportunity to luxuriate in catching up with the tennis currently underway at the O2 arena in London.
I had several matches stacked up on the Sky Planner, as I live with a bunch of philistines none of whom appreciate the beauty of tennis and would rather watch Rugby Union, cookery programmes or inane music videos, oh and football so long as it isn’t Man Utd., philistines I tell you.

Anyway I started off with Djokovic looking a bit carthorsey in places and succumbing to David Ferrer of Spain, Andy Murray’s earlier conqueror.

Then I watched Nadal and Tsonga, some lovely tennis there and Tsonga is superb at the net.

Finally I hooked up with The Fed playing Berdych. This year Fed hasn’t been at his best, and being taken to three sets you could argue he still isn’t and perhaps will never be again.
But there’s one thing you can’t fault and that’s his nifty footwork as he quicksteps around the court.
Obviously a second career beckons when he finally hangs up his racquet.
Get this man on “Strictly…” quick

They’ve Done It Again

They’ve done it again! Even though I warned them, they’ve gone and done it again.


What? I hear you ask.

The bloody sports media, that’s who and what.

Over the last few weeks Andy Murray very quietly won back to back tournaments out in the far east.

You didn’t know it at the time because the press were very quiet on the subject, too busy gloating over that pasting City gave United, rumbling about Wales winning the rugby world cup or not, (See, that’s another instance. The press were all full of how England were going to stuff everybody, ha, and Wales were just getting on with the job of stuffing everyone. Then what happens? England get knocked out, as do Scotland and Ireland and all the attention turns to Wales, pages and pages of the stuff, some of it at the front of the papers too, (I particulkarly noted with dread an article about how fantastic Captain Sam was, how he inspired his teammates and took such pride in his role) not just the back and well it was all over then bar the recriminations really wasn’t it? Wales never had a chance once the media started eulologising them and poor old Captain Sam.)

Back to the tennis. Last week the tour returned to Europe and the press began to take notice, Murray was on a roll, he could win again, he could overhaul Rafa Nadal as world No 2.

He could retire in the third round with a bum strain.

But were they deterred?

No, they still had to keep on.

Rafa chose not to play in Paris.

Djokovic was suffering from a shoulder injury.

Federer doesn’t really strike fear into anybody’s heart these days.

Murray was practically guaranteed to win this tournament.

Today Djokovic withdrew.
The only real threat left was Federer and we all know that’s no threat at all, don’t we?

Sky sports coverage started with a lengthy montage of Murray’s greatest moments, lifting trophies right, left and centre.

“Stop it!”, I yelled at the screen. “Don’t you know what you are doing?”

But then they cut to the commentators sitting either side of the trophy up for grabs in gay Pareee. The intended connection was there for everyone to see.

“Please don’t!”, I sobbed. “Please don’t do this.”

But they weren’t listening.

And so having exercised their hex to the greatest extent we went to the match, according to the subtext ready to watch Murray steamroller aside his lanky opponent, Berdych, and continue his majesterial progress towards the title.

“You stupid bastards!”, I screamed. “Don’t you know what you have done?”

Berdych won having dropped the first set and got the second on a tie break.

When will they ever learn?

Queer Theory bullshit dominates same sex marriage debate

Wimbledon: Qualifiers and disqualifiers.

Having a lazy afternoon watching tennis today as there is still nothing in the news worth getting excited about. I really can’t be arsed trying to put a satirical spin on the stoey of the Royal ginge and the lingerie model.

At the moment down in SW19, Jo Wilfred Tsonga is giving Federer a fright which is good not so much because with Federer out Andy Murry’s chances will be improved but because Tsonga is actually an entertaining player to watch, a rare thing these days.

Elsewhere the uber-bore Novak Djokovic is playing a guy who fought his way through the qualifying rounds. Shades of Boris Becker who was supposed to be commentating today but was last seen dragging Kete Middleton’s more nubile sister off towards the broom cupboard.

The only match apart from Federer – Tsonga I’ve taken any notice of this year also involved Djokovic who was playing the Cypriot Marcos Baghdatis. Baghdatis played brilliantly but was overpowered in the end.

It’s a pity but even if he had won and gone on to fight his way through to the semi finals he would have had to be disqualified for the worst crime in professional tennis – having a personality.

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