Ah yes, the Superb Bowl is being played this weekend in Miami between two teams that no-one outside of their own cities really gives a shit about. The underdog team from New Orleans, after having finally dried out their stadium and sent their shelter-seeking temporary residents back to their own piles of sodden misery, was able to win enough games to make it to the Super-Dee-Dooper Bowl. This must be considered to actually make them the sentimental favourites, if for no other reason than the fact that their fair city is still in ruins and those of us with a conscience want to see them have something to celebrate, even if it is just winning some stupid sports trophy.
On the other hand Indianapolis have recently won the Monumentally-Awesome Bowl, their star quarterback is in every single commercial on teevee, and according to their owner they are God's favourite team.
That makes me want them to fail.
Badly.
Now, fair disclosure is required at this point. I am a Chicago Bears fan, and the fact that the Dolts last won the Fucking-Fantastic Bowl at the expense of my beloved Bears may (or may not) influence the level of vitriole I aim at them. That being said, I have had a deep-seated dislike for the Dolts ever since their quarterback was annointed as the greatest to have ever played the game. As anyone with half a brain knows, Joe Montana was the greatest to have ever played the game, and the fact that Pay-Me-More Manning was given this accolade before he had even won a Massively-Brilliant Bowl really pissed me off. But what really annoys me is that Paid-Too-Much Manning seems like a nice guy. He obviously has a great sense of humour, you'd have to waking up and seeing that face staring back at you in the mirror every morning, but the commercials he has done for Mastercard are very funny indeed. And this makes me dislike him more.
I hate being this conflicted about a person.
On one hand he has achieved an awful lot on the field of play, and off the field he apparently sticks to doing his missus, and only his missus which makes him a good guy (and as mentioned in my most recent blog of about 20 minues ago, a rarity indeed), and yet....he plays for the God-bothering Dolts, a team whose owner I would pay good money to watch having it explained, in very small words on Judgement Day by The Man Himself, that He actually never even watched the stupid games, never mind actively root for one team over the other...
You see, I don't dislike him personally, I just despise the team he represents.
And so there you have it. A game between two teams that in the end I really don't care about, a lip-synched half-time show by a band that is most famous for being the lead-in music on all twelve of the various CSI teevee shows, and not much else. At least nothing really Super except, of course, for the commercials.
As a loyal teevee slave, I will dutifully watch at least part of the game this weekend, and do what most folks do on this occasion, and that is, wait for the commercials because they are actually what make the game Super.
Friday, February 5, 2010
John Terry..bit of a bastard or a really BIG bastard?
As some of the three people that follow this blog may know, I like football. Proper football, you know, the game where the players use their feet to kick a ball, unlike the up-armoured, stop-start, make-up and crash-helmet-wearing American game that requires it's players to suck on oxygen on the sidelines after a run of more than 10 yards and where the foot rarely ever actually touches a ball.
They call it 'soccer' over here to avoid any confusion, as if there could be any such confusion when comparing a display of the two games. One game consists of two forty-five minute halves that is generally completed in 90 minutes. The other game consists of four 15-minute quarters that is generally completed in what seems like a little under four weeks.
Both games have one thing in common though. They are both played by men that more or less, have the morals of Tiger Woods on a Viagra-fuelled 3-day binge in Vegas. I know that is a fairly broad brush, but judging by the headlines in the press over the last few years, the fine, upstanding, family man is as rare an animal in professional sports as a republican with a brain (or a conscience) is in U.S. politics.
Throughout the years we have had many stories of baseball players, basketball players, golfists, cricketeers etc, screwing their way around the planet in an attempt to spread their DNA as far and wide as possible. Each time they have been received by the general (game-ticket paying) public as isolated examples of individual bastardism on the part of the shagger. This is then invariably followed by a period of pathetic and insincere mea culpas in the press, perhaps a visit to the high priestess of confession and redemption herself, Oprah Winfrey, and then bingo, presto, a few months later, all is forgiven, everyone breathes a sigh of relief and we begin the countdown for the next sport related scandal to break.
The latest sports-related "I shagged someone I shouldn't have" scandal involves the Chelsea and England skipper, John Terry. According to the stories floating around, Captain "can't keep his dick in his pants" decided to screw a tasty bit of fluff that was not his wife. To be fair, she was a wife alright, which might have led to his initial confusion as he was poking her in the whiskers, just not his. Whose wife was she? One of his team-mates'. Yup, instead of knobbing any one of the hundreds of pneumatic, low self-esteem tarts that throw themselves at professional athletes, he decided instead to bump uglies with one of his team-mates' missus.
Now, I have never met John Terry personally, but this move seems to indicate that he ain't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Typically, the usual social protocol after saying "I do" is that you stick to shagging only one person, and typically that is the person that said "I do" right after you. Not the Maid of Honour, the bridesmaids or any other tasty strumpet that takes your fancy, and certainly not the wife of one of your mates. Capt. 'straysalot' apparently didn't get that memo.
All of this I think you'll agree, makes John Terry a bit of a bastard. He cheated on his wife and his team-mate, which is bad enough, but what made him a really big bastard was that rather than admit to what he had done after being caught, he had the story gagged in the UK media. He got his lawyers to make it illegal for anyone to even talk about it.
Until this past week.
This past week, the gag order was lifted and the sordid ugly truth has been spilling out. In the process John Terry has managed to 'elevate' himself from just being a low-life wife-cheating bastard, to being a lying, cowardly, low-life wife-cheating bastard that had the balls to fuck around on his wife and kids, but didn't have the balls to admit it when he got caught.
And that makes him a really BIG bastard.
They call it 'soccer' over here to avoid any confusion, as if there could be any such confusion when comparing a display of the two games. One game consists of two forty-five minute halves that is generally completed in 90 minutes. The other game consists of four 15-minute quarters that is generally completed in what seems like a little under four weeks.
Both games have one thing in common though. They are both played by men that more or less, have the morals of Tiger Woods on a Viagra-fuelled 3-day binge in Vegas. I know that is a fairly broad brush, but judging by the headlines in the press over the last few years, the fine, upstanding, family man is as rare an animal in professional sports as a republican with a brain (or a conscience) is in U.S. politics.
Throughout the years we have had many stories of baseball players, basketball players, golfists, cricketeers etc, screwing their way around the planet in an attempt to spread their DNA as far and wide as possible. Each time they have been received by the general (game-ticket paying) public as isolated examples of individual bastardism on the part of the shagger. This is then invariably followed by a period of pathetic and insincere mea culpas in the press, perhaps a visit to the high priestess of confession and redemption herself, Oprah Winfrey, and then bingo, presto, a few months later, all is forgiven, everyone breathes a sigh of relief and we begin the countdown for the next sport related scandal to break.
The latest sports-related "I shagged someone I shouldn't have" scandal involves the Chelsea and England skipper, John Terry. According to the stories floating around, Captain "can't keep his dick in his pants" decided to screw a tasty bit of fluff that was not his wife. To be fair, she was a wife alright, which might have led to his initial confusion as he was poking her in the whiskers, just not his. Whose wife was she? One of his team-mates'. Yup, instead of knobbing any one of the hundreds of pneumatic, low self-esteem tarts that throw themselves at professional athletes, he decided instead to bump uglies with one of his team-mates' missus.
Now, I have never met John Terry personally, but this move seems to indicate that he ain't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Typically, the usual social protocol after saying "I do" is that you stick to shagging only one person, and typically that is the person that said "I do" right after you. Not the Maid of Honour, the bridesmaids or any other tasty strumpet that takes your fancy, and certainly not the wife of one of your mates. Capt. 'straysalot' apparently didn't get that memo.
All of this I think you'll agree, makes John Terry a bit of a bastard. He cheated on his wife and his team-mate, which is bad enough, but what made him a really big bastard was that rather than admit to what he had done after being caught, he had the story gagged in the UK media. He got his lawyers to make it illegal for anyone to even talk about it.
Until this past week.
This past week, the gag order was lifted and the sordid ugly truth has been spilling out. In the process John Terry has managed to 'elevate' himself from just being a low-life wife-cheating bastard, to being a lying, cowardly, low-life wife-cheating bastard that had the balls to fuck around on his wife and kids, but didn't have the balls to admit it when he got caught.
And that makes him a really BIG bastard.
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