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Flaming Olympics

Grandad December 8th, 2011

I see they are talking about bringing the Olympic Torch to Ireland.

Big. Fucking. Wow.

They seem to think that this is a big honour but I can’t think why. Flames are quite common these days with the invention of the match and all. In fact, I have just lit the central heating. Maybe I should have invited the neighbours in to admire The Flame?

I am dreading the Olympics. I am dreading the endless reports, replays and analysis. Any decent programming on television will go out the window to make way for endless film of wankers chasing each other around a track. How fucking boring can you get.

It wouldn’t be too bad if it were ordinary Joe Soaps taking part, but the whole business has descended into farce with millions being poured into the training. It’s like a clinically well oiled machine now and the best drop of excitement can only be achieved by someone shaving a millionth of a second off the previous record. We will also get the inevitable accusations that some contestant should be disqualified on the grounds [pun!] that they drank a cup of coffee in the previous six months. So fucking what?

To make the Olympics more interesting they should really allow performance enhancing drugs. Each contestant could wear the logo of the drug company and we could watch with baited breath as the runners cross the finishing line only to explode in a blaze of glory. The contest would then be between the drugs and not the contestants. I reckon that would liven things up considerably. We could even see contestants being disqualified for not taking drugs. Heh!

In the meantime, if I see some tosser running past the house carrying a flaming torch, I suppose I can always ask him for a light?

Rambles , sport
Comments(12)

Being a good sport

Grandad June 20th, 2011

I have never made a secret of my dislike of sport.

Having said that, I have partaken in the past.

I once played rugby for my school. I was damned good at it too, but was suspended from the team after scoring five tries for the opposition. They should have realised that being short sighted was a handicap?

I once played hockey for RTE. For some unknown reason I was co-opted onto the team as an emergency measure. We won the match too, mainly because the opposing team ran out of players.

I used to play darts. A lot. It was the one sport where my abilities radically improved in direct proportion to the number of pints I had consumed. That fell by the wayside though as I was banned from too many pubs.

I have played golf in the past. Once. I even have a full set of golf clubs. Actually I have two sets, as TAT left his set here and forgot about them. It’s not a game that would appeal too much though as it involves a lot of strenuous exercise. Having played it though, I can testify that it isn’t as easy as they make it look on television.

Where is all this leading …… ?

Oh yes.

Doug over at Broadcasting From A Shed pointed me in the direction of a bit of a kerfuffle about Rory McIlroy and whether he is Irish or British. He pointed out that The Journal had a vote on it. For those of you who are sensible enough to dislike sport, apparently McIlroy has won a major golf tournament.

This shite happens every time someone from Norn Iron wins something or loses something. If they win, the Irish call them Irish and the British call them British. If they lose then the Irish call them British and the British call them Irish. It is unbelievably childish but you can regularly witness this phenomenon on both RTE and the Beeb. Who the fuck cares? Is it that important? The fucker played well [apparently] and won the damned thing so what does it matter where he comes from?

The Journal obviously got wind of the fact that I was writing this. They ran scared and added a third option to their poll. Yes – they added the ‘who the fuck cares’ option, but dumbed down on the language a bit. I’m glad to see that that option is in the lead.

Are we actually beginning to see signs of maturity in these Fair Isles?

-oOo-

I forgot to mention…….

If anyone so much as hints that “we are all Europeans now” or any other similar shite, you’ll get what’s coming to you. The Fourth Reich thrives on acknowledgement.

Much ado about nothing

Grandad May 25th, 2011

There is a sub-set of the human species out there that leaves me completely baffled.

This sub-set goes about its business, reading the tabloids, backing horses, swilling lager and having illegitimate children, and I go about mine. Thankfully our paths rarely cross, but occasionally they do something that leaves me wondering at the sanity of the world.

For the last short while I have been seeing mentions of a thing called a super-injunction in the UK. Apparently this is a device to prevent anyone talking about a subject. By its nature, you don’t even know who has taken one out, or why. Now I could imagine the Windsors taking one out if one of their offspring had been caught shagging corgis or something, but beyond that I couldn’t see any justification for one.

Yesterday I read that Ryan Giggs took out a super-injunction to prevent the press writing about a ding-dong he has been having with Imogen Thomas. Or was it the other way around? Who cares?

Lets have a closer look at this.

First of all, if I have a secret, I shut the fuck up about it. I don’t go screaming from the rooftops that I have a secret and that I will sue anyone who talks about it.

The next point is Giggs. Who the fuck is he? He is a bloke who kicks a plastic ball around a field and gets paid obscene wads of cash for the privilege. What exactly is his contribution to society and the advancement of the human species? Sweet fuck all. Our bin man contributes more and probably gets paid in a lifetime what Giggs gets in a week. In other words, Giggs is a waste of space.

And what about the Thomas lass? I had never heard of her up to yesterday, but apparently her entire claim to fame is that she was once part of a fucking reality television programme. Is that the best she can do? Is this her entire claim to fame [apart from shagging Giggs]? Quite frankly both of them are a waste of oxygen and the world would be no worse off if they were both Raptured off to Deep Space.

What worries me is not that Giggs was porking Thomas or even that he got out an injunction to try to keep it a secret. No. What worries me is that people actually give a flying fuck. That sub-set of humanity actually gets itself in a tizzy over something that is a complete and utter non-event.

There are times when I despair.

Rambles , sport
Comments(15)

Who is Tiger Woods?

Grandad April 6th, 2010

The news was on the television last night, but I had the sound turned down.

Yer Man – what’s his name – the black fella – Tiger Woods was shown strutting around and being interviewed.

I turned up the sound a bit to see what crime he had committed, and fuck me, but they were all talking in hushed reverent tones about him. He is making his first public appearance since his ~~minor~~ major indiscretions were revealed.

So fucking what?

Here is a bloke who stuck his mickey in a few places where he shouldn’t and the missus caught him out. It’s all part of the great game of life. It goes on in every fucking parish in the world, so there is no startling news there.

What is Tiger Woods world famous for? Apart from having a stupid name, he is world famous for whacking a ball around a field with a fucking stick and for screwing a few waitresses! How daft is that? If he had discovered perpetual motion, or was the person who solved Fermat’s Last Theorem, then maybe I could just understand, but hitting a ball into a hole in the ground? Fuck off!! And now they are making a huge deal about his making a comeback?

During a press conference, he put on a meek doleful voice and said that from henceforth he was going to give a good example to people. What idiot is going to take example from a golfer? Is he the new Messiah? Is he the new spiritual leader of the world? I know we could badly do with one, but a fucking golfer? He needs to be taken down a peg or two.

I don’t even like him. He plays like an automaton, with no sense of playing a game, which is all it is. It’s not fucking rocket science. There is no art or talent involved – just a bit of practice.

I could beat him any day.

I can guarantee he can’t sail one of Sandy’s dried deposits through the neighbour’s window like I can.

Tosser.