Paula Radcliffe lost the marathon - that is if you share the UK’s belief that she owned it the first place. A couple of miles from the end, she was passed and relegated into a rather respectable (in most Athens 2004 athletes opinion) 4th place…and then she quit. Not broke down, collapsed, ‘ran-out-of-steam’, or any other tabloid titular subtexts. But like many before, and many to follow…she quit while she was behind.
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That great chewing-gum chomping, red-faced Scot Alex Ferguson has gone mad. Actually, to put it more precisely he has been mad for a while, but his previous record has numbed fans like myself to the fact. First game of the season with central midfielder Roy Keane in at centre-back, with centre-back John O’Shea jogging about in centre-mid has me scratching my head, and not for the first time. I admit that we are not playing that badly considering injuries and a suspension, but that’s beside the point.
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Apart from an unbelievably painful beach-of-stones, Brighton was a bundle of fun. Bravely, I did my first ever, properly executed forward-somersault. There are many painful failures on my living room floor, when i was a 10-year-old novice stuntman, who would faithfully try one just in case i had suddenly improved from my last near-death attempt (why do kids - like me - do stuff like that!). Admittedly i was on a trampoline this time, but it still took some nuts - which were nowhere to be seen when i bottled out of my backward-flip mid-air. I should really have got some pictures of Spidernosa in simulated superhero action, but unfortunately i was far too delerious in my excitement: “Trampoline! It’s a trampoline and i’m allowed to go on it! Yaaaaaay!!!”

All of this was brought to mind by the zany ChallengeTV show SlamBall. It’s basically a cross between basketball and trampolining, in an enclosed perspex court. It has to be seen for the adrenaline-filled power dunks to be believed, not to mention the alley-oops and the full-contact NHL rules!

I’d love to play it…just to re-live my stuntkid days of yore.

While listening to Chomsky, in his documentary “Manufacturing Consent” he mentioned how sport was an avenue which displayed peoples’ sheep-like obsession for matters that are completely irrelevant to their lives. It was a bit harsh - as not everyone can change the world by writing a book - but he highlighted it as wilful ignorance and supported the point, when he noted that, on tuning in to any sports station, ‘John Smith’ callers ring in with the most obscure facts about their teams. Even moderate fans (as opposed to fundementalist) recall statistics and formulate opinions on the minutiae of football strategy, calling for the head of their manager on a platter, surrounded by reams of information about mistakes that he may not have even been aware of. Never though is this passion and verve directed towards the issues that matter. The masses ignore the political debate that is paramount to their destiny.

Sven Goran Eriksson is likely to be sacked - or be forced to resign - for the rather insignificant matter of sleeping with his secretary. He is single (now), childless and living in the ‘free world’ so what’s the problem? If we were as critical of our PM, as we are of the national team coach - heck, even a mid-league Premiership team - our Premier wouldn’t last half a season. At the moment the team isn’t getting results. Bad decisions have been made and even the criticisms of external consultants haven’t resulted in rectification. Our team’s disciplinary record needs improving. The transport and medical staff’s resources are shocking, and the less said of our abuse of the 3-foreigners rule the better. Our finances are good, but that’s only due to the rapidly inflating cost of the tickets (which it seems the fans are borrowing money to afford), and who says money buys titles anyway? We haven’t got into Europe yet, and the coach’s flip-flopping is disrupting morale.

If Eriksson should go, for shagging his help then Blair should go for helping his shag. (Below the belt i know, but it’s so true.)

Ron Atkinson has resigned from his ITV commentary role after making a racist comment that - unfortunately for him - was broadcast live to parts of the Middle East that were still recieving the feed.

Although most of the UK sites won’t tell you what he said, it turns out that he said referring to Marcel Desailly:

“He’s what is known in some schools as a fucking lazy thick nigger”.

Not to his face…obviously!

You may/may not have noticed…but about 80% of the Scottish players had the same - highly disturbing - jerky twitch when the camera focused on them during their singing of their (rather quaint) national anthem. Drugs in sport? Bah…nonsense!

Chris Eubank - one of my all-time favourite boxers - was arrested on Tuesday, following his one-man (and a HUGE truck) Downing Street protest over the Iraq occupation. It seems UK sportsmen just can’t help but get into the news recently.

Today at 2:30 i kick-off against the Old Beal’s for my football team. The last time i played them, was the last day that my car - a Rover 620ti - actually ‘ran’.

inline update: I just realised that the last time i played the Old Beals was 12th April. Today is the 11th October…exactly 6 months later. Life amuses me…
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I’m a Man United fan through and through, but even i have to admit that any human who looks like Bart Simpson on steroids, is probably taking drugs too.

In all honesty though, i have to admit i think Rio is innocent. However, he must also have been aware of the drugs test, as well as the repercusions for non-attendance. My optimistic outlook re: his guilt/innocence, probably stems from a desire for Man United to trounce the Premier League pretenders ‘contenders’ this season sans Beckham.
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I guess a measure for how passionate one is about their sport is how often they have the fantasy of being ‘the lucky fan’, when the team loses a player. You know the one…
It’s the staple diet of Disney-style movies; half the team is sick, and a plucky local fan ends up being the suprise star substitute, astonishing people with his untamed, raw talent.

I have imagined coming on at Wembley, for Man United of course, scoring many an unfeasibly good goal. I’ve imagined feeling every muscle in my body rippling as i sprint to a new world record 100m time. But even my imagination is scared at the prospect of playing Rugby. To me it is a crazy sport.
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