Tuesday, March 29, 2011


The Olympics. Of all the sporting tournaments on God's earth, this is the one that probably brings us closest together. Everyone remembers their first Olympics. Shit, everyone remembers the first Olympics, back when Pan cheated at dominoes and some teenage doxy got turned into a bag of onions. Rich or poor, black or white, atheist or mormon - regardless of our differences, the Olympic Flame burns brightly in each and every heart.

With that said, I recall a grand total of three people I've met, over the course of 34 years, who actually gave a fig about the Olympics:

1) Mr Smith (real name), the repulsive PE pervert who used to get off on spanking small boys with a plastic rounders bat, while simultaneously lobbing a million spanners into the entire theory of 'evolution'. This red-faced cunt, who also liked 'Northern Soul', would scream utterly incomprehensible obscenities in our faces, such as "I'M NOT ASKING YOU TO BE BOB BEEMAN, BUT STOP ACTING LIKE A SPASTIC!" ((to this day, I'm grateful that I have no fucking clue who Bob Beeman is, and I spit on whatever Olympic trinkets 'Bob' did or didn't win)). Proof of this cuckold's miserable sadism was the lengthy essays he'd force us to write whenever we were caught skiving in the boiler room. These would inevitably ((so as not to tax the fuckwit's dying brain cells)) be based on the starter line, "THE FIVE BEST THINGS ABOUT THE OLYMPIC GAMES ARE...". In truth, all we had to do was fill 2 sides of A4 with "THE FIVE BEST THINGS ABOUT THE OLYMPIC GAMES ARE THE FIVE BEST THINGS ABOUT THE OLYMPIC GAMES ARE THE FIVE BEST OLYMPICS ABOUT THE GAMES THINGS ARE", etc, because the dipstick couldn't read and just threw our work in the bin anyway.

2) The mentally ill Kiwi woman who I had the misfortune to share a flat with in Bethnal Green in 2004. She would wake up at the crack of dawn, plonk herself yoga-style on the sofa, turn on the BBC's Olympic coverage and literally not move until midnight. How is it possible to be interested in every sport under the sun? I suspect this madness was actually a ploy to stop me and the Australian girl from watching Hollyoaks when we got back from work. ((Also, for a so-called 'sports lover', the passive-aggressive Kiwi witch used to sulk and bang pots around noisily if I ever had the audacity to flick on the football)). As a result of this month of invasive gymnastic bullshit, I grew to wish BBC sports presenter Clare Balding nothing less than an impromptu , unmarked grave.

The Kiwi twat once went into a sanctimonious rant about how, seeing as I didn't vote, I didn't have the right to criticise the government. I asked her if she knew the name of her chosen party's education secretary. She suddenly went off on a tangent, bringing up dead WW2 soldiers and how they'd given their lives for my right to vote, etc. I tried to point out that they were probably more worried about their own impending fate should some mental, one-bollocked nazi have managed to stamp his jackboot over the entire globe, but I soon gave up and went out for a pint. Let's face it, if you'd transported the 1930s/40s unions to the march last Saturday, you'd now have anarchists complaining how their peaceful protests were overshadowed by the horrific violence in Hyde Park.

3) Some guy who worked at a company I was at, who owned no music. Seriously! He liked "all sorts of music", but didn't own a single CD. I guess it's no surprise then that he uncritically liked "all sorts of sport" and probably dug a Brazil shirt out of his wardrobe every four years. He was a sycophant and a pub bore.

As for the Games themselves...I remember precisely the following five events:

* The time somebody planted a bomb at one in the US
* The time the PLO shot the Israeli team in 1972 ((and I only remember that 'cos of a documentary about it, years later))
* The time that Irish woman cheated by taking drugs in a swimming pool. Or she didn't, I can't remember now...
* The Japanese Judo team who won
* The time Baxter caught Tucker Jenkins hiding in the gym 'horse', perving at girls

I mean, what else happened? Who cares? It's just the non-musical equivalent of the Proms. The football games are rubbish - even complete trivia anoraks who've memorised everything about Cowdenbeath's friendlies between 1960-2010 know bugger all about what happened at Olympics matches. Watching 17-year olds with 6-year olds' bodies, who haven't eaten in 12 months, prancing around with ribbons and circus swings is even worse than Minipops - at least the kid pretending to be matey from Imagination was funny. Weightlifting is unwatchable crap, the poor man's version of those 'World's Strongest Men' contests, where that Icelandic guy used to roar, "I'M NOT A BLOODY ESKIMO! I'M A VIKING!" before going bright red and nearly killing himself dragging an HGV over a distance of 10 metres. I blame fencing for our 'health and safety gone mad' culture. I mean, there's a button on the end of your sword - why the facemask? Every now and then they stick on some 'wacky' new sport that we're all meant to go nuts over - like sumo wrestling. Sorry, but I remember fat kids fighting at school, and it was a hell of a lot more entertaining than that tedious crap. As for swimming - look, I swam 2,000m for Help The Aged once ((or was it 1,600m? 800m? I can't remember, go with 2,000m)) and I promise you, you don't need a nose clip. A waste of resources and tonnes of stupid gadgets you don't really need, that's the Games in a nutshell. Ban the bastards.
Blimey, I was chatting with a mate at work yesterday about the "Glitter-like paedo fest" [(c) all papers everywhere] that was Minipops, and here I find said show in a BTI post! (We were talking about Trevor Horn's alleged involvement in doing some of the backing choons). You obviously have your finger on the pulse of important cultural issues. Fair plays to ya.

Other Olympics "highlights" - watching East European weightlifters in the 80's games, and guessing who'd been gobbling the most steroids; that American feller (Carl whatshisface) winning everything in 1984; Daley Thompson doing his bit for the kids; and Fatima "come on, that's surely a bloke!" Whitbread throwing the jav like a proper geezer.
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