Category: sport

Three things

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And they’re all about football, so if that sort of thing doesn’t intere… hello? Hello?

Hmm. Well, bugger you. I’m going to write it anyway.

Firstly, well done to Chelsea, who emphatically finished off the Premiership season with a little 8-0 drubbing of hapless Wigan “Athletic”.

Secondly, it’s 25 years since the Bradford Fire – the “forgotten tragedy of the Eighties“. 56 people died at that football match.
I can remember watching it on the news the next morning. I’d have been 11 years old and it would have been a Sunday. I had a habit of going downstairs at about 6am and watching the breakfast kids’ TV (such as it was back then), but the morning TV was dominated with the news of the fire. The pictures were horrific – I can still clearly see the man staggering out of the stand – on fire, but seemingly not even realising it.
It meant more because it was local to us and because there were so many stories of children being killed and injured just because they went to what should have been a celebratory match at the end of their championship winning season.
That top link is worth reading.

Finally, more happy news. We spent the afternoon at the Waterfront, gazing momentarily at the World Cup trophy. That’s my picture of it on the right. It was part of the Coca-Cola sponsored Trophy Tour and, despite the rain, was very well attended.
There was live music, an emotional 3D film of World Cups past (and future) and of course, the actual trophy. It was boxed in perspex, but you could get within a metre of it and no-one tried to steal it (as far as I’m aware).

Which isn’t very South African, now is it?

Wendy go down

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After a dramatic last day in the Championship, the only game that really mattered – wednesday v Palace at Swillsboro’  – finished 2-2.
And that, as the BBC Football website videprinter confirms, means that Sheffield wednesday find themselves relegated to League One:

As a lifelong Sheffield United fan, I am celebrating (again) this evening. I was going to go the whole hog with the fizzy wine, but I think an understated Castle Milk Stout will do the trick.

And then some fizzy wine.

Gym and Haircuts

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On my recent post about returning to gym after a prolonged (4 years) absence, I got a comment from Damien Tomaselli, a personal trainer, a part of which I have faithfully reproduced here:

I’m a personal trainer. I like to know what peoples attitudes towards exercise/gym are. You mentioned you don’t like the people at gym. I know your not alone in that. May I ask what it is exactly that you don’t like?

So, Damien et al, here’s the deal. For me, going to gym is like having a haircut: purely functional.
It’s a pain to have to do and I dislike actually doing it, but I enjoy the results. Generally, anyway. No-one can do it quite like Precious from Partners on the Waterfront and if she’s not around, it all goes a bit Pete Tong. (And have you ever seen his hair?)

The problem with gym is one that runs through any physical activity in South Africa: that is, the perception that if you’re not doing it completely full-on and seriously, then you might as well not do it at all.
Take a couple of sports I have dabbled in back in the UK: mountain biking and golf. I actually find myself scared to start doing them here, because then I have to join the club which talks about Shimano GT220-R gear sets and the new Ping carbon-fibre graphite shafted driver with the elliptical sweetspot.  I don’t care about all that crap – I just want to do it for some fun and exercise.

The same goes for gym, but the problem is exacerbated by the sheer arrogance of the gymming class. If you’re not bench-pressing 105kg, sprinting like a cocaine-snorting, demented hamster on the treadmill, wearing an understatedly cool baggy vest to show off your pecs or have the latest ever-so-small iPod attached to a big alice band around your sweaty bicep, then what the **** are you doing in there?
It’s like you’re suddenly part of some underclass for not being healthy or trendy enough or just not fitting in with the unwritten rules of serious gymming. But you still pay the same money as them to use the same equipment while having their sneering superiority complexes forced upon you.
Yeah well, sorry I’m not as super fit as you, but I actually do other stuff besides exercise. I have family, have braais, have friends that I can talk to without having to be running along a suburban pavement in a group of twenty runners, talking about running. I can drink a beer without having to feel guilty about the extra 3 kms I’ll have to do in the morning to run it off. I have a life.

And that’s why I only go to gym when it’s quiet: Sunday afternoons or weekdays at 11. It’s why I plug myself into my music before I go through the door, why my distinctly uncool but ever so practical 120GB Classic iPod remains tucked into my pocket, playing distinctly uncool but ever so enjoyable music. Sure, I’m hugely unfriendly – I don’t make eye contact, I don’t talk – I just do my cycling or circuits and I leave. It’s not a bloody singles club – it’s purely functional.

Like I say – I hate gym. But I’m already starting to like the results. And that’s why I’ll be back again tomorrow afternoon: head down, training hard and ignoring the twats.

UPDATE: Gym Bunny “Come Sweat With Me” online dating ad sounds death knell for all things gym.

Any excuse

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Don’t expect too much this evening.

I’m utterly knackered. Emotionally, mentally and physically this week has been draining. Somnially, it’s been a complete disaster. And I’ve inhaled enough Icelandic volcanic ash to close a nation’s airspace.

Actually, that last bit wasn’t true. But the rest was gospel. And while today I have been completely out of it, having spent the day at home looking after two demanding, but hugely lovable little kids, when I have ventured towards any sort of information source, all I have heard about is flight chaos in the UK and over the counter World Cup ticket chaos in South Africa.

It’s difficult to blame anyone for the Icelandic volcanic ash issue. Even the neanderthals that were interviewed by Sky at Manchester Airport were understanding, using a softer “Ug!” rather than the more aggressive it’s-Willie-Walsh’s-fault “Ug!!” (note the extra exclamation mark) that they were voicing last week. 

The World Cup ticket debarcle is also difficult to pin on anyone. Or, rather on any one. It seems to me that at every stage of the process, each person or organisation involved failed in their duties in some way.
FIFA, whose computer system was overwhelmed – again. First National Bank with their irritating “How can we help you?” tagline, to which several thousand people can now respond: “By getting enough application forms to your bloody branches, you tossers!”; and lastly, though I hate to say it, the individuals buying the tickets themselves.

EyeWitness News was reporting that punters were angry that the cheapest (Category 4) tickets had sold out so quickly. Well, here’s some news for you – I have 24 of them and I have had for well over a year now. It wasn’t so tough – all I did was actually get my arse into gear a whole 15 months before you. No overnight queues, no fighting with the person behind me who thinks I should be behind him, no last-minute computer glitches, no issues with Cape Town games being completely sold out (shock). Not hard.

So, while I think the Local Organising Committee, FIFA & FNB have let people down – badly – it could all have been avoided if those people weren’t jumping on the bandwagon so very late on.

But I bet you haven’t learnt a thing…

What a good idea

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Sometimes a good idea comes along and doesn’t get anywhere because it doesn’t get the support it deserves or needs to take off. I would give you examples, but because they never got the support they deserved or needed, I’ve never heard of them. Usually, the only ideas that ever get anywhere are those that are going to make someone, somewhere, some money: cars, computers, drugs etc etc.

But the good idea I heard today isn’t going to make much money. Instead of Rands and cents, this one is all about the currency of goodwill. Which makes you feel all happy and warm inside, but won’t buy you beer. So not perfect, by any means, but still pretty good.

The idea is the brainchild of the improbably-named Dean Oelschig, a creative type from Jo’burg. But let’s not hold those facts against him, for he has come up with the idea of #worldcuphost. This is what is called a hashtag, which is a word or phrase, prefixed with a # that people can search for easily on Twitter.
And Dean’s idea is that willing people from South Africa advertise themselves on Twitter as #worldcuphosts so that visitors coming over from foreign parts can ask all those vexing, awkward or downright stupid questions about the country and how to “do stuff” here – and hopefully get a quick, helpful answer.
I am already predicting a plethora of beer-related queries, interspersed with several on transport, a couple on the weather and maybe even one or two on the football. But mainly beer.

And because the people on twitter are generally of a somewhat higher intelligence and educational standing than on other, less enjoyable social media platforms which involve feeding other people’s penguins on their imaginary farms, the answers those tourists will get will be honest, informative and helpful. Right?

So, go and advertise yourself as a #worldcuphost. 
Better still, retweet this post (use the little button below) so that people know what it’s all about, because obviously, the more people that are aware of this – on either side – the better it will work. 
Let’s do our bit to make this World Cup a even better experience for those visiting South Africa.