Sport
Comments (0)

I’m feeling a little stronger now. I was stunned into a strange state of despondency after England’s pathetic exit from the World Cup, so it took me a little while to perk up and notice that there were other sporting events taking place. I’d completely missed the entire first week of Wimbledon… no great loss you might say, and frankly with each year that passes I feel more like agreeing with you.
Wimbledon… the home of lawn tennis, the great annual jamboree of grass, gut, logo-riddled sportswear and strawberries ‘n’ cream. A fortnight of sweat, swearing, grunting, bad manners and testosterone-fuelled fist-pumping. And that’s just the women. And Andrew Murray’s mother.
Andrew Murray… now that Wayne ‘Mr Potato Head’ Rooney and his chav mates have embarrassed themselves into oblivion, the mantle of ‘Great British Sporting Hero’ has been wrapped once again round the shoulders of the slack-jawed, charmless Caledonian. As I write, he is playing (and presumably losing to) Rafa Nadal. I won’t be watching. If I have to watch opposing foreigners batter each other into submission for some tacky, meaningless trophy, I’d rather watch Holland v Brazil or Germany v Argentina.
Oh, and I really hope Nadal wins. I have spent too long listening to our Scottish neighbours proudly declaiming that they would support anybody as long as they were playing England. Well, that cuts both ways, Jimmy.
There might be some cricket happening somewhere, I’m sure the Australians are over here at some point this summer. Perhaps I can sit in the garden and listen to it on the wireless…
Sphere: Related Content Pete Smith @ July 2, 2010