Minority Sports Night

Last night, I ended up watching a whole evening-ful of minority sports, quite by accident. I’m not sure I could watch any of them for any longer period of time, but it was different enough to entertain me for a once off. In case you want to try something similar, here’s my guide to what I saw and what I thought.

You will need: Some red wine, a couch and some minority sports.

It started accidentally with the second half of some women’s World Cup hockey. New Zealand’s Black Sticks (you’d never get away with that here) versus hosts and world number one team in hitting a ball with an inverted walking stick, the Netherlands. Given that I was making bacon sandwiches before I started flicking through the channels, I missed the first half and with it, the only goals of the game. But it was fairly entertaining still, with New Zealand giving it a bit of a go and some exciting counter-attacking by the ladies in orange.
The rules are a bit difficult to work out if you are watching it for the first time and the commentators were – reasonably enough – assuming that the viewers had watched some hockey before. I have, but it was on ice and the players were bigger and wore more padding. So I was a little confused from time to time, but I gathered that the aim was either to score goals (obviously) or to hit the ball at your opponents’ legs (less obvious). If you manage the latter, you get a free hit of the ball, at which point you either to score a goal (obviously) or to hit the ball at your opponents’ legs (now more obvious).

Final score 2-0 to the Netherlands.

Over then (accidentally again) to the EFC fight between Cape Town’s Don “The Magic Man” Madge and Joburg’s Boyd “I’ve Got No Nickname” Allen. It was at the Grand West Arena and I’m guessing that Parow was completely empty last night.

Crickets. Tumbleweeds. A solitary tolling bell, perhaps.

Again, I don’t know a lot about EFCing, but apparently, this was a big fight and there were a number of EFCing people who were talking it up beforehand. Of course, they would do that. No self respecting sports channel sticks up soundbites of experts saying stuff like:

No mate – this is going to be rubbish. Save your time and go and do the washing up instead. Yeah, I know there’s a lot of it and the kitchen is freezing, but believe me, you’ll die of boredom if you sit down and watch this. Save yourself: go and soak that bacon pan.

Now, my experience is also that these things can be over-hyped in the extreme, but given that there was only the washing up to do and the kitchen was wholly unheated, I decided to sit through it.

What followed was rather incredible. Two guys, very evenly matched in every single statistic, both 70kg of pure muscle, kicked seven bells out of each other with amazing power, energy and determination for 25 minutes. I don’t mind telling you that I was transfixed. I even missed all the sponsors’ names. You know, the one who sponsored the fighters’ gloves, their shorts, their walk into the ring (sorry – “the hexagon” – as if a boxing “ring” isn’t actually “a square”), the actual sponsors of “the hexagon”, the company that sponsored the replays, the company that sponsored the company that sponsored the replays, the company that sponsored the ring girls (OMG – no-one tell the feminists!), the company that sponsored the energy drinks in the break between rounds, the one that sponsored the third LED globe from the left on the overhead lighting gantry and, of course, the betting company that sponsored the whole fight… so – you know – go and bet. Or something.

The aim of EFCing is to hurt your opponent as much as possible, but you’re not allowed to hit a hockey ball into their legs. However, you can just hit them or kick them, or shoot them (can we check that last one is right before publishing, please? – Ed.).

The fight went the distance, amazingly, with one guy having a big cut on his head and the other nursing a bloodied nose (who knew?) and was then declared as a draw, which seemed fair enough. However, by all accounts, including the breathless and sycophantic wonderment of commentator Sias du Plessis, I feel that I may have inadvertently ruined my future watching of EFC by starting with the best fight ever. This tweet, from regular commenter, biobot, summed it up nicely:

Looks like it’s all downhill from here.

Final score: A draw.

I avoided the (heavily sponsored) post-event press conference and switched onto the Isle of Man TT Races.

My links with the Isle of Man mean that I usually watch the TT for the flashing glimpses of scenery, rather than the actual motorbike racing. And to be fair, while I have a passing interest in the zoomy bikes and the nutters who sit on them, this was pretty much the case this time around too. It’s a difficult thing to watch in any other way, given that the course is nearly 38 miles long and there are only so many cameras to go around, so a lot of the incident, such as it is, happens away from where you’re actually looking.

Technology though, is making a bit of a impact, as you can now stick smaller, better cameras in more places – namely on helicopters and on the actual bikes. The latter works better, as the bikes now go so fast that the helicopters can struggle to keep up with them. That said, there’s still an awful lot you (sometimes thankfully) don’t get to see, like the fatal accident of Sheffield rider Karl Harris during the race I was watching.

The commentary is great, with just enough information to let you know what’s going on, but not so much that it drowns out the noise of bikes. It’s presented with good humour by ex-riders too, so it’s down to earth, honest and insightful. And behind it all, there’s still the glorious Isle of Man scenery in HD. There’s more TT programming on Supersport tonight and over the weekend, so delve in and have a look at my beautiful island.

Final score: Michael Dunlop won. Again.

None of these things will ever come close to replacing football in my list of great sports I like to watch, but I actually enjoyed a quick trip outside my sporting comfort zone last night, and I’ll certainly be giving it a go again soon – I believe there’s some international egg-chasing this weekend, so I might give that a go.

Almost fooled…

Incoming from my brother back in Sheffield, playing on my mounting anticipation of upcoming events in Brazil:

All right bruv, are you free later in June? You’ll never believe it but I’ve just won an all-expenses paid trip to the World Cup Finals on Talk Sport. It’s for me and 3 mates: 3 weeks all inclusive in Brazil with £2000 spending money. Flights leave from Gatwick, June 10, so if you’re free, could you put my bins out for me?

Git. 🙂

Feel free to cut and paste to annoy your mates. I’m pretty sure that’s what he did…

End of season rumination

It’s that time of the football season when everyone starts wondering about next season (with the mild irritant of the World Cup not withstanding). Not this chap, of course. He’s upset because he doesn’t like something that a lot of other people do like and he’s comparing it to archaeology because that’s also something that over a quarter of the World’s population enjoy on a weekly basis, so it’s totes a completely valid comparison. I would say that I’m sorry that he doesn’t like football, but that would be lying because I actually don’t give a toss that he doesn’t like football.

MOAR FOOTBALL PLEASE!

And so to the real subject of this post, which is not whiny people who choose their friends poorly and can’t use an iPod or change a radio channel, but… FOOTBALL!

The way Sheffield United finished off this season was little short of spectacular, which was great because we (easily) avoided the ignominy of relegation and we almost (almost) even made the playoffs. This, however, is not so good, because it has raised expectations ahead of next season and left us thinking that we are favourites to win the league and be promoted, just like we were this season, when we nearly got relegated. Even I am getting my hopes up and I’m notoriously boring and rational. It’s stoopid.

Those hopes and dreams can be easily shattered. Look at Liverpool. So near, and yet so far. The Tall Accountant always believed that they could go all the way and win it, but it just wasn’t to be.
We’ve all done it: “We could have won the league, if only… if only… if only…”

Well, for the TA’s delight and delectation, here it is! The definitive way that Liverpool could have won the league: If Only Goals Scored By English Players Counted:

livwin2

Yep. Even with Luis’ fantastic contribution, Liverpool would have won the league. Man U would have done ok, Arsenal would have been nowhere and Champions Manchester City would have been relegated as joint lowest scorers with Newcastle – just 4 goals each. Half of Norwich’s goals were scored by English players, but then they only got 28 in the real world. Cardiff did surprising well, with 70% of their goals being scored by English players, despite them not being English club. Madness, ne?

I’d love to work this out for Sheffield United (who have 19/32 English players in their squad), but given that it (cleverly) takes into account the nationality of the players scoring against us as well, it’s just too complicated. Four of our top five scorers were English, but then… do you count own goals too? And if so, only by English players?

Let’s just assume we’d have won the league as well. Just like we’re going to next season.
Right?

Dream Job?

Having just dealt with 15kg of Lego at Alex’s birthday party this weekend, you might think that I’d have gone off the plastic stuff for a while. But no – and what could possibly combine Lego and my love of football better than a combination of Lego and football in Chris Smith’s “English football stadiums built out of Lego” project? Not only does Chris get to… well… build English football stadiums out of Lego, he also got the UK Government to give him a grant of £5,000 (that’s R89,148.01 at today’s exchange rate *involuntary clench*) to do it.

ZZ230414legostadium-2 Here he is “doing” Goodison Park, just down the road from where Steven Gerrard threw the title away this weekend. Interestingly, the supposed omnipresence of Lego was found wanting by Chris, which is why he started doing what he is doing:

The 31-year-old former primary school teacher came up with the idea after searching the internet for football-related Lego already on the market and drawing a blank. He uses pictures of the stadiums, Google Street View and his own experiences of grounds he has visited to build the models.   Mr Smith is now hoping to turn the project into a business, Brickstand, and intends to sell the finished stadiums, branded t-shirts featured images of the models and other football memorabilia built from Lego.

It’s a brilliant idea! The plan is to do all 92 of the football league grounds, but on Hawksbee and Jacobs’ podcast yesterday, he suggested that he might just “go rogue” and throw in Celtic Park as well. YOLO! I’m left wondering what I can build that people might want to buy and that hasn’t already been done by either Lego or someone innovative like Chris?

Very Proud

Wow. What an intense 90 minutes of football yesterday. How good was that match compared with the dull sterility of Saturday’s semi-final? It must have been brilliant for the neutrals. Sadly, I’m not a neutral in this particular case and it was a sad end to our amazing FA Cup run, but what a way to go out. As the Nike adverts surrounding the field repeatedly proclaimed:

If you go down in flames, at least you were on fire.

And yes, we were. Aside from fifteen crazy minutes just after half time, including that one Ricky Villaesque run from Tom Huddlestone [“Tackle him! TACKLE HIM!!!”], we matched Premiership Hull City blow for blow and the team made us all very proud. Gone was the Wembley “stage fright” from previous visits, as we went all out for it from the first minute. From the Yorkshire Post:

Yesterday, dreams of becoming the first team from the third tier of English football to reach the FA Cup final died amid Hull’s superior football. But in a first half where United assumed control and then a late rally that briefly brought hope of forcing extra time, Clough’s men did their superb travelling army of fans justice.
No wonder that the hordes from Sheffield afforded their players a standing ovation at the final whistle. It was thoroughly deserved, and not just for yesterday’s efforts with the manner in which Clough has transformed the Blades being nothing short of remarkable.

The future is looking bright.

I went through every kind of emotion over the 90 minutes and together with the heat (and possibly a couple of rather strong homebrewed wheat beers), it left me completely exhausted. I’m not quite sure what state the Blades players were in, but if the Sheffield Star is to be believed, they had some… er… “male issues” at the final whistle.

star

Hmm. “Prostate on the turf”? Some problems with their R’s there.

Thankfully, all I had to do was wander upstairs to my (stupidly hot) bedroom. Many of the United fans had a long trip back up from London, arriving back in Sheffield well after midnight.

All in all, an amazing effort and a magical cup run, which started away against Colchester United early last November.

We’ll just have to win it next year instead…