Wednesday, November 02, 2005


I'm sure nobody needs reminding of the tragic events that unfurled in London this summer. I thought that fucking cricket world cup would never end, but thank Maradona, the expected elevation of the victorious team members to super-cool celeb status has been pretty muted so far. Anyway, what are all you 'pundits' chatting about?? Cricket becoming 'trendy' and capturing the hearts of our nation's youth--- even back in the 90s, the Pakistani kids in South Luton were always playing it, up against that disused Methodist church off Bury Park Road , with chalked 'stumps' on the brickwork and a tennis ball (well, til the cops came, searched them all and confiscated their cricket bat - but they always came back, sometimes using a plank). The Ashes = Live 8 ; Luton street cricket = Conflict at the Brixton Academy. DIY not ECB!

I'll be honest, I'm not a very sporty person. I blame PE. PE teachers really are the lowest lifeforms on the planet, aren't they? I mean, what sort of boring cunt tries to recapture his youth by putting on a TRACKSUIT?? Terrible language I use, I know, but I've never spat "Spastic!" in a child's face because (s)he couldn't get to grips with 'rounders' (UK version of baseball, but twice as boring), and quite frankly if you, dear reader, have ever taught PE, I'd like to wish you a violent and excrutiating death under a loaded tram. In fact, if you've ever taught PE- what the fuck are you doing on this URL anyway? Pervert!

BUT! ANyway...for a break from all this music schtick, here's the definitive BTi RIP guide to the wonderful world of SPORT. Nazi Ron take note!


Called the 'Sport of Kings', but does anyone actually watch it if they haven't got a bet on? Can you imagine? "Oh no, I never gamble, what a waste of money! I just like watching the horsies run around and seeing if the man in pink beats the man in blue and yellow". BTW, big up the IRA for disrupting the 1997 Grand National - when they did the re-run the next week, the subdued mood meant that the favourites all bottled it, and my horse, Lord Gylene, stomped to victory and landed me 80 quid. Shame he's probably been boiled into glue since.


There was a time when UK schoolkids suddenly contracted American Football fever. Small kids would be grabbed by the shoulders and asked "Chicago Bears or LA Raiders??" "Er...Ch..Chicago Bears!" small kid would stutter. "Chicago Bears are GAY!" bigger kids would announce, before laying into him. Why did everyone in rainy Britain insist on liking LA Raiders? Cos Eazy-E dug them? I thought it was a load of old pants. Worse still was when ex-Spurs player Clive Allen joined some English American Football team - the Crouch End Commandos, or some equally pathetic name. Even more embarrassing than that Hoddle / Waddle single, "Diamond Nights".


American Football without the shoulderpads and SPG helmets


Oh come on. Caber tossing I can understand - but chucking a tiny wee metal ball from under your chin? Hardly worth the effort. And these liquidised raw liver-glugging freaks call chess 'sad'!


Now, here's a real sport - take a load of kids, stick them on motorbikes without brakes, and make them speed around an ice rink. The last rider remaining, after the others have skrikked across the ice like big eels and are being stretchered away from their mangled bikes by a St John's Ambulance Crew, is the winner, and gets to spray champagne all over lapdancers.


Golf is shit. My first ever job was tidying up a shooting range for three sovs an hour, when I was 15. I had to show up at 5am, and spend 3 hours scrambling around in mud and rain, picking golf balls out of the quag and then loading them into a washing machine that spat them all back out onto the floor. I only did it once and that was enough to make me hate all golf players and fans til the day I croak. Wankers.


I never got into basketball either. It's obvious that the point of 'shooting hoops' is cloaked in archaic fertility rituals, and not very interesting ones at that. Now, if the hoops represent wombs, dangling in mid-air, then what does the horizontal net of the volleyball court represent? Either way, when I was at school, watching volleyball was the only time I wished I was a girl (do you know, my ma told me that if I'd been born a girl I'd have been christened 'Katherine'. I haven't a clue why I just blurted that out). "Oh yeah", you tut, "How original. Every moron with a plonker likes watching volleyball, with those scantily clad Brazilian girls sweating and grunting on the beach". Bollocks! If you really want an erotic vision of volleyball, imagine four girls with identical mod haircuts and pasty white skin, all playing it outdoors on a freezing cold, grey Wednesday morning, in total silence, wearing white T-shirts and short, neatly ironed skirts, and then the ball smacking off one of the players' thighs and leaving a red mark (what can I say, it does it for me)


I think this is an Indian variation on the old UK craze 'British Bulldog', where two lines of kids charge into each other and anyone who gets caught on their own ends up with two black eyes and a broken nose (recently revived at those violent 'corridor of death' stand-offs at Brazilian parties, but you're better off asking one of the bloggers who actually knows about it). Channel 4 used to show it on Saturday mornings in the early 90s. I don't know if this was because they genuinely thought it was interesting, or if it was just an excuse to laugh at the Indians with big moustaches being 'wacky'. I asked an Indian seafarer about it, not so long ago, and he thought the idea of it being televised in Britain was 'mad'. British Bulldog was banned in the end.


Numerology (and therefore occultism), matched with heavy drinking and the best bunch of misfits since the X-Men. Steve 'The Adonis' Beaton, "Truly a dartist among dartisans", etc etc etc


A Stakhanovite's take on pool.


Never really got into boxing, as I was disappointed that televised Barry Mc Guigan slogs never equalled the intensity and bloodshed of "Rocky 2", but Thai kickboxing tournaments are a must see. If you ever go to Bangkok, go to Lumpini Stadium, and go for the cheapest tickets (about a fiver) behind the chainlink fence, right at the back, at the top - you get all the hardcore gamblers going crazy and doing old 80s football ground-style surges down the concrete steps. Plus, you also see some bone-cracking ultra-violence, but with an interesting ritual before each match and some ace drumming.


I don't know if anyone recalls, from the days of the original BTI, the All-Ireland Donkey Derby in Mullaghmore. A few people thought I'd made it up, but it does actually exist and is a bona fide annual event. All I'll say is that this is the best spectator sport I've ever had the pleasure to witness, even though for weeks after it felt like it was some crazy dream. Maybe it's just a Celt thing, but if you do, heaven forbid, get bored with the constant patter over the tannoy (including requests for children to refrain from interfering with any of the runners), there's usually a fortune teller's caravan next to the burger van, where you can go to be told you'll drown next Tuesday. For best effects, go when there's a downpour.


Unless you're fortunate enough to support the mighty Tottenham, fuck real football! Bunch of overpaid prima donnas....reclaim football now! I don't want to provide advertising for anyone on here, but I'm heading down BAr Kick in Shoreditch this weekend for a serious game of table football and there's 20 quid riding on Burnt Oak beating Northern Ireland. So come on then, bring your crew, I'll thrash you all! Obviously though if you walk around saying, "Excuse me, are you Martin?" I'll shake my head and feign ignorance. Which, as you may have sussed six months ago, isn't exactly hard.
Comments: Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?