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A Quick Note to Those Not Interested in Football

19 Jun

Unlike those who complained about my multiple posts on the election, those of you not particularly interested in football are forgiven. It’s only a game, after all, and we all are allowed our own personal preferences when it comes to what sports we enjoy. If you prefer cricket or baseball, that’s fine. Please pardon the rash of football-related posts, but, to me, World Cup football is magical. Maybe less so for you. You’re not alone.

You may also just find reading the posts too painful to read. That’s okay, too; it’s so very English of you.

If you’re one of those people for whom these posts aggravate your Irritable Bowel Syndrome, I beg your pardon. There’s only a few weeks left (please knock wood now).

However, I do find some of the anti-football rants by Americans upsetting. G Gordon Liddy said he thinks it originated with “South American Indians [who] instead of a ball used the head, the decapitated head, of an enemy” while he was on the phone to Dan Gainor, who said “soccer is a poor man’s or poor woman’s sport” being sold as part of the “browning of America.” And Glenn Beck, ever the clever one: “Barack Obama’s policies are the World Cup—It doesn’t matter how you try to sell it to us, it doesn’t matter how many celebrities you get, it doesn’t matter how many bars open early, it doesn’t matter how many beer commercials they run, we don’t want the World Cup, we don’t like the World Cup, we don’t like soccer, we want nothing to do with it. The rest of the world likes Barack Obama’s policies, we do not.”

Of them, I’m slightly less forgiving.

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A Sobering Match Report—18 June 2010

18 Jun

By far, Algeria were the better looking team. The chiseled jaws, dark locks, strong noses and golden skin contrasting with the electric green, I’m afraid, put our boys to shame in the fanciable department. Thank Christ, David Beckham was looking pretty sitting, legs crossed at the knee, on the bench. I absolutely adored the shade of their goalkeeper’s jersey, though I’m not too keen on the fitted cut.  I was particularly taken by the dusky features of Karim Matmour, whose eyes brought to mind a gorgeous fella I spent a summer with in Strasbourg a few years back. Goodness, it must have been nearly twenty five years ago. Wait a minute . . . I’d better check my old diaries . . . could it possibly be that Matmour’s the son I never knew I had?

As far as the football goes, when the best thing I can say about our star player is that he managed not to lose his temper every time his touch was off, which was coincidentally every single time he got a touch, well, that really says it all, doesn’t it?

England, listen to me. You are no longer an empire. That’s okay. It really is. The world’s moved on, but thanks to your stubborn pride fuelled by the English media, you’ve not been able to. Football matches—win or lose—are not testaments or denials of a once-strong empire. Don’t put the weight of your entire history on a few dim but athletically talented men. Stop basking in old glories of a great empire and be a great nation. It will still be exciting when we win and it will still be upsetting when we don’t, but for god’s sake, focus on the now. Which granted today isn’t much to write home about. But I think you know what I’m talking about. Please, just stop.

Boys, Wednesday is make or break day.  Forget about the empire—it’s not England v. the rest of the world. It’s England v. Slovenia. Pull up your socks (not you, John Terry—socks should stop below the knee) and win a fucking match, will you? Eleven men in England shirts have won the World Cup before.

That was then, but it could be again.

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A Realistic Match Prediction—18 June 2010

18 Jun

England will win draw. But not because they [didn’t] played fantastically well.

Individual players’ strategies during the game will be “Oh my god, I’ve got the ball, I’ve gotta get rid of it” or “I’m kinda lined up here, maybe I should just kick it as hard as I can over towards that goal area.” A few will probably get carded, but there won’t be any serious injuries or errors.

No fans will be truly satisfied with the match.

David Beckham will look lovely.

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A Sensible Match Report—England v USA, 12 June 2010

13 Jun

Please note: The unfortunate circumstance of the USA goal as a result of Rob Green has occurred. We can’t change that now. Whether or not there were problems with the ball is neither here nor there. The plain and simple truth is that mistakes happen. All of you have made them; I have even come close myself. So I say, let’s not dwell on this. We must move forward.

Despite the incessant phone calls I receive from Mick McCarthy, the truth is I’m not really an expert on football. However, I would like to share a few of my observations.

WELL DONE TO ONE MISTER WAYNE ROONEY

I’m very impressed you managed to keep your temper under control this evening. Well done, son. The next challenge is to maintain that control while actually getting involved in play some time before the 71st minute.

MEMO TO FABIO CAPELLO

1. Your suit and glasses—absolutely divine.

2. Stevie (I can’t help but still think of him in that way) Gerrard rose to the occasion as captain, particularly in the first half.

3. Aaron Lennon was in fine form. Tell him I said that.

4. Frank Lampard needs less hair gel and more focus.

5. Glen Johnson worked hard and shed blood, which has got to count for something.

6. I’m not going to comment on your choice of Rob Green. As I said, we can’t dwell on it.

7. Less Heskey, more Crouch, please. A Crouch and Rooney partnership is magic.

8. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl, but have you ever thought to mention to the players that sassing the referee never comes to any good?

COMPLAINING ABOUT THE VUVUZELAS MEANS YOU ARE A RACIST

I think the condemnation of the drone of the vuvuzelas is too much. Throughout my travels in Africa, I’ve come across a number of enormous horns and have never found them too hard to handle. Pay attention to the action, my friends.

THE STYLE, THOUGH, WAS QUITE VULGAR

Both the orange and the yellow boots have got to go. Besides being dreadfully hideous, they unfairly call the eyes to the feet of certain players. This was distracting to me as I was trying to focus more on their asses.

I’m not a fan of the USA’s sash. I’ll avoid any making any comparisons to beauty pageants, because I’m sure pundits everywhere have already done that. I’ll just say this: unless you’re the heir apparent of a small European principality, a sash is never the right choice.

Although he played his little heart out, Tim Howard’s goalkeeping get-up was too flash for me. When will the world accept that very few people look good in head-to-toe orange? Rob Green’s kit was much easier on the eye and also coordinated nicely with his surname. But I’ll move on from that. Mustn’t dwell.

Additionally, something must be said about the hairstyles. The close-cut clip look, so favoured by English lads, may not be at the cutting edge of fashion, but let’s face it—it makes us who we are. My god, just pause for a moment and imagine what potato-faced Rooney would like with a mop of hair. Frightening. Though there was more variety on the heads of the Americans, most of it was appalling. Robbie Findley’s was too reminiscent of Lionel Jefferson’s. Oguchi Onyewu—it’s a mustache and beard, not mustache or beard. And I’ve only got one word for Landon Donovan: your forehead is out of control.

THE FINAL WORD

Overall, it was not a totally unenjoyable/enjoyable (delete as appropriate) way to spend ninety-seven minutes of one’s time.

(An England match is never an England match without a mention of David Beckham. Sigh. He’s so lovely.)

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England v USA—Whatever is a Girl to Do?

11 Jun

It’s important for me to post this before Saturday’s match.  I’ve recently received a few communications (some bordering on threatening) asking me to declare my support for one or the other team. I have no qualms about being upfront regarding my allegiance and I shall do so now publicly.

But before I do, let me say that I am very proud of both countries’ efforts.

Soccer, as the US so charmingly insists on calling it, has never garnered much support in that country, but it’s good to see some young men have ignored that, learned to play and do so quite well. More impressive (and perhaps partially due to the influence of one particular player in that country) is the passion within the team. It’s a lovely time to be alive when men clinging to each other is a symbol of patriotism. I love that this US captain is so athletically gifted. Mmmmm. . . me likey.

The English, on the other hand, have always been shit hot football supporters and there’s little more satisfying than watching a team meet the expectations of its fans.  Not one, not two, but every single player on this team is ready to take on the world. And you can’t fault them for being keen. England has won the World Cup before (I can’t recall the exact year and it’s something they rarely mention), and they could very well do so again.

Additionally, let me say that I hope both nations come together tomorrow to support their players. It must be such a thrill for anyone to be adored by all of their country—a thrill most of us could only dream of (though my recent placing in both Maxim‘s and FHM‘s Woman of the Year lists brings me slightly closer to that thrill than most of you will ever be). Having some national pride doesn’t have to lead to ignorance, insanity and racism.

So now that I’ve cleared up any doubts about where my devotion lies, I’ll hear no more about.

Go team.

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And So It Ends….

11 May

Earlier Brown resigned from the whole thing…..he said “Fuck it, I’ve had enough” (I’m loosely translating it from Politicianese). Whether it was from frustration or simple acceptance of defeat, he resigned as the leader of the party and the leader of our country. Brown got in touch with the Queen. And the rest is history.

I did speak to some American chums today. We’re actually getting a little  coverage in the US, which has to mean something (though I’m not sure just what). Here is what Americans are saying about the great Great Britain.

They also found the transfer of power quite hard to accept as it was without the flash of their inauguration.

Apparently President Obama has already big upped Cameron by phone. They’re quite good friends after they went out clubbing the last time Obama was in town. Obama praised Cameron’s rhythm and Dave commented that “No one vogues like the President.” So I guess it’s all set now.

It appears David Cameron is our man now. With a little Clegg on the side.

Hmmm…..I need to have a little think.

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The King Maker and The Game Changer

10 May

Gordon Brown pulled a dastardly trick today by announcing he’s standing down. Must have felt good (in a way) to show he still makes a difference (in a way).

Meanwhile Clegg is still whoring it up between the two parties. “Things are going well with Posh Boy,” he coyly whispers, “But wouldn’t someone from the other side like a little go?” Really! The Tories are promising AV (when I was in high school, AV meant the Audio-Visual Club, therefore my previous analogy of Clegg being the nerd holds true) while Labour’s agreed to chuck their leader. My oh my, Nicholas. Aren’t we the big I am?

Although it’s clearly giving him a rise in the trouser department, Clegg is ultimately doing the right thing and, more importantly, the thing he said he’d do. He said he’d talk first to the team who won the most, which he did, and now he’s talking to the other. We certainly can’t fault a man who keeps his promises (though why one of those promises has to do with pornography, I’m still unsure).

What’s more of a concern is which one of those twats in the Labour Party is going to become leader. Surely, it mustn’t be the little squirrel woman (in addition to her obvious shortcomings, she rides a motorbike for goodness sake!). I can’t picture Banana Boy as leader. Could we trust a woman with 9 points on her license to drive our nation forward? And Balls. No, not Balls. Balls should be lucky he’s got as far as he has with a name like that. No country, not even those with the most generous of obscenity laws, is going to be led by a man names Balls. (And lest you think I’m being petty, please recall that’s he made a right Balls-up with schools. Sure, it’s only kids, but do you want him doing something similar to people who really matter?)

So I suppose we’re still at the Waiting Game. Each and every party said they wanted change. It looks as though change it will be.

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The Day After Election Day 2010—In Case Something Happens

7 May

We have a hung parliament.

I’m not sure exactly what that means. I can only presume that all laws are in limbo until this gets sorted. Christopher says the traffic light is out near the Sainsbury’s roundabout and I notice that my post has yet to be delivered. I advise that we all stay in our houses until it’s safe again. If you venture out and come to danger, you will have no one to blame except yourself (especially if you didn’t vote).

From what I understand, after abandoning the traditional democratic route, our government may be decided via a technique most often employed in American high schools. Junior David Cameron was hoping to be Big Man on Campus yesterday.  His plan was muddled by the pesky underclassmen (whom he’s doggedly tried to befriend in the last few weeks, despite the fact he clearly despises most of them since their parents work at his father’s factory and they neglect to wear school colours on pep rally days) when they refused to vote him a clear winner for Prom King. He’s now courting sophomore Nick Clegg, the nerd who is bound to come of age after this experience but first must wrestle with a moral dilemma (if this were a John Hughes film, he’d be played by Anthony Michael Hall), with a “big and open offer.” Nick Clegg’s playing coy (after all it was just weeks ago Cameron and his gang gave him a swirlie in the boys’ bathroom) but seems to be flirting with the idea. Former Prom King, senior Gordon Brown, is trying to stay cool. He thinks he’s taking the high road by giving them the go ahead to talk behind the bike sheds, but says he’ll be waiting when Clegg sees Cameron for the bully he really is. Cameron’s made the “I’ll–call–you” sign to Clegg, who hopefully will have time for a quick chat with an older and wiser friend who lived through a similar situation back when he was in Downing Street High.

How will it work out? Will the rich kid get the prize? Will the outsider make a difference? Will the old guard learn a lesson? And where is Molly Ringwald?

I’ll be keeping you up to date as I can, but I must confess I’m glad Dimbleby’s signed off for a bit. He’s clearly over tired. I didn’t like the way he reacted to the discussion of the election on blogs and Twitter. David, don’t mock something you clearly don’t understand. Get some sleep, my son. Things always seems clearer after a little kip.

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Election Day 2010—As It Happens

6 May

7.10:  As a devoted citizen of Great Britain, not only did I submit my postal vote in plenty of time to be counted, I also went down to the polling station at the parish council to vote there, just to make sure.

8.30: Bumped into a second cousin, twice removed, of Lord Sutch at the flower shop…he’s got his fingers crossed, a mouse in his pocket and a very, very large rosette on his waistcoat.

9.33: Yesterday Nick Clegg tripped over a clump of grass while on walkabout at Royal Eastbourne Golf Club and muttered “Divot,” unaware his mic was still on. Was the scandal too late in the day to affect voters?

10.42: Despite the fact that I’ve not had it set this morning, my hair is looking rather fetching.

11.10: Jodie Marsh announces she’s hoping for a well hung parliament.

12.08: Could have sworn I heard a crack in the voice of our local radio DJ at the top of the hour, as he said the Prime Minister’s name. It was like a goodbye between lovers. I made sure to avert my eyes from the wireless, to show respect for his sorrow.

13.58: WE HAVE A WINNER! Kevin Pieterson is the man in power as England defeat Pakistan.

14.21: You mustn’t spoil your ballot paper—if it’s a close call, they award extra credit for neatness.

15.03: Crisis for the BNP. Hoping to get his party’s webpage back in its full glory, Nick Griffin spends the last twenty four hours trying to do a Downfall parody meme for the election, but cannot post it. He does not see the irony.

16.21: Rarely do we know in advance that a day is going to be historic. Today is one of those days. Here’s a thrifty tidbit for you: buy an issue of each of the major papers and seal them in plastic. In the future, you will be able to sell these on eBay for a good £2.50 each. Free money!

17.43: Cameron claims Obama’s support before realizing that the “slick” the President is working so hard to get sorted doesn’t refer to him.

18.15: Shock news…Charles Kennedy can’t take the pressure, steps down and has, in the last half hour, developed a drinking problem.

19.47: If you’ve not voted yet, get your little bottoms into gear. As soon as you’re behind the curtains, read each of the parties’ names carefully (sometimes they do try to trick you).

20.19: Christopher’s heading over here shortly to accompany me for the election results. It’s a potluck event. I’m providing cheese, crackers, biscuits, and other nibbles. Christopher’s bringing Bacardi Breezers.

21.14: If Nick Griffin is standing in Barking, shouldn’t Cameron represent Cockermouth, Brown Pity Me, and Clegg Lickey End?

22.00 Anyone who’s been turned away from the polling booth, please remember that my ballot box is accessible twenty four hours a day.

23.44: They’ll keep the red flag flying here (in Sunderland).

0.28: I do hereby declare that Joan Collins should keep her trap shut.

1.01: My first experience with a Swing–O–Meter was in my early twenties at a rather unorthodox job interview. It was measuring something slightly different than the one is tonight (though my result was highly un-Conservative).

1.34: Gordon Brown finally genuinely smiled. A genuine one is much less scary. Congratulations, Mister Prime Minister.

1.46: Freedom for Tooting!

2.21: Oh, Lembit. How we’ll miss your quirky ideas and gal pals.

2.32: Just because the UK followed the US style of televised debates doesn’t mean you needed to go whole hog and introduce American dodgy scandals at the polls. My word, there are already Facebook groups set up to protest!

3.01: Well done to the Monster Raving Loonies for giving Cameron a real run for his money. I’ve no doubt you fought as hard and as determinedly as you could. I’m sure your constituency is proud.

4.37: Porn destroys lives—ask Jacqui Smith.

4.52: Balls.

5.59: I can’t believe Nick Griffin’s reaction. I was surprised when he got the tears in his eyes, but when he fell down, went foetal and began rocking like a baby, I just about shit myself.

6.44: I’m cross with Christopher. I think he’s eaten too many biscuits. He’s just spent quite a bit of time moaning on the floor, distracting me from the lovely Nick Clegg’s results. I knew Jaffa Cakes were a bad idea. I’ve always said they’re not real biscuits; now perhaps Christopher will accept that I’m right.

7.08: Now I’m feeling a bit funny in the tummy. I didn’t have any Jaffa Cakes, mind—I think it’s just the feeling I get when I hear Clegg described as the “king maker.”

7.47: I’ve put Christopher to bed, but he can’t seem to settle. I’m going to go sit with him for a bit. Gordon, don’t stand down while I’m gone.

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The Rage That’s Killing Our Holiday Season

15 Dec

I’ve not really wanted to do this, but my letter box and phone line have been deluged with requests for my opinion on what the media appears to consider a very important issue of the day.

The Christmas Number One.

Before I comment on this year’s debacle, I would like to point out that in other parts of the world, they do not have this problem. What is the most popular song at Christmas is of no more matter to Americans than the name of the British Prime Minister or the number of civilian casualties in Iraq. In Sweden they prefer focusing on the love of family; in Slovakia, they’re too busy cooking prunes in cabbage soup; in Mauritania, they celebrate the birth of our Lord; and Australians worry a bit more about whether or not to top themselves than they do about what record disc is selling the most copies. You know I never like doing this, but this is one time when I must say, Britons, sort your heads.

Nonetheless I live here now and, because part of my career is having my finger on young people’s pulses, here is my final word. Swearing is generally inappropriate (even more so on morning radio, I hope you were instead tuned into Thought for the Day instead); I thought everyone was well aware of this. Saying bad words is neither clever nor cute. But fuck me is Simon Cowell’s music shite.

Music is a vital part of my life, as it should be in all our lives. I’m not much of a singer myself, but I have inspired countless young men to tickle their ivories and pluck their G-strings.  I think we all can agree (at least according to recent polls in Boys’ Brigade Gazette) that I am beloved by all segments of the British population, so perhaps this most recent tribute to me could be the Christmas Number One that will finally unite our nation.

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