Freezing my nuts off, repairing storm damage and planting bulbs in a blizzard, that's about another thousand, but in containers this time, we'll plant them out, with great integrity and worthiness, later in the Monty Don year; too cold and windy for the garden, just now, need some community service workers for that, maybe some wilfully poor, wilfully disabled scrounging bastards or some idle unemployed bastards. I could teach them a trade, sort-of, and give them some self-respect, self-disrespecting bastards.
Freezing, sore, frustrated and miserable but lo, I find the Independent, normally filled with indecipherable grievance written by seventeen year olds on work placement has the cheering news that Mummy's Boy, Andy, is weeping in his haggis, again.
Freezing, sore, frustrated and miserable but lo, I find the Independent, normally filled with indecipherable grievance written by seventeen year olds on work placement has the cheering news that Mummy's Boy, Andy, is weeping in his haggis, again.
as well as sounding like one, he always looks like a bum. Green shoes?
Rolex Roger and Mr Jabberwocky, below,
always have such style, such elegance.
Maybe if poise and confidence are what Murray lacks, he should smarten up. And mind his manners.
I hate you, Mr Racket, you are a bad Mr Racket.
Not in my name, sunshine, not in my name.
If nations disowned prats like this, if Wimbledon and the PBC had censured that arsehole, John McEnroe, then nastiness and bullying would not, today, be so rife. Everytime he does this, Murray should be booed, until he realises that -no matter what his batshit crazy mother says - it is not all about him, sport or life.
Not in my name, sunshine, not in my name.
If nations disowned prats like this, if Wimbledon and the PBC had censured that arsehole, John McEnroe, then nastiness and bullying would not, today, be so rife. Everytime he does this, Murray should be booed, until he realises that -no matter what his batshit crazy mother says - it is not all about him, sport or life.
25 comments:
I had the (mis)fortune to watch the first 2 sets on the TeeVee - sound turned off so I didn't have to suffer further the inane witterings of the "commentators", who seem incapable of shutting the fuck up.
Murray, in his out-of-control rantings, cursing and swearing between points is clearly mad, and although he was playing well it was clear he would lose. His bit of totty is just as mad as well; did't see old hatchet face - maybe she's banned from our screens?
My wife watched it to the end and it was no suprise when she told me Murray had completely lost it in the last set. I went back to sleep and had a plesant dream, for once.
Such good sense, that; I used to watch PotBlack, with the sound turned down, Mozart on the hi-fi thing.
And I used to so like tennis, mr mike, even played some, poorly. Now, it is the preserve of ruffians and psychopaths, like everything else.
We must be glad that Old Mother Murray didn't steer Shithead towards politics for, as you note, he's madder'n fucking Hitler.
Like most avenues of life 'Sport' has been colonised by the 'new people'. Turn on the radio for some music - you're lucky to find any amidst the inane babble of the DJs. The TeeVee, FFS, I'm just about hanging in there with PBC4 - an 'industry' totally controlled by producer interests and almost entirely for the benefit of those interests - those hereditary broadcasters... Still at least Fry won't be succeeded by any offspring - unless!...
Sports used to be for school, now it isn't. Can't picture Adolf doing anything as stupid as playing tennis, it would be as undignified as Prince Charles playing professional darts. The emperor Commodus is still remembered, two millennia later, for playing sports in public, if beheading ostriches with a bow and arrow can be classed as sport. Bet he didn't fling his bow on the ground if he missed, even lunatic emperors were probably capable of remembering they were grown ups. The dildoisation of humanity continues apace.
-richard
The dildoisation of humanity. The mind fucking boggles, mr richard. And the main controversy about Murray is whether he is British or Scottish and not that he is a madman, in need of profound and lasting psychiatric care.
"Sport" is a recreational participation thing.
What is put out on TV is a bastardised money making concoction no matter what it is wrapped in.
Makes you wonder if he’ll ever win anything again…which makes you wonder how he ever won Wimbledon…which makes you wonder if his Wimbledon win was a win and not something else.
Let us no forget, though, that high-level sport enables people to reach their true potential; that bint, wotsername, Jessica something, off the Olympics, she had all that support and lottery money and patriotic fervour behind her in order that she could finally enter the banking trade, poppng-up all over the place, advising ordinary, non-GoldMedal winners about their current accounts, you must admit it is a fairytale ending, a banker, trapped in an athlete's body and now free And then there's that black guy, the skinny one, Mo, whooda thought that all these years he was really just a nutritionist, waiting for his big break, had to run his arse off, poor little bugger, before he could work for the Quorn people.
As fof Britain's Andy, well, if we are willing to condone his bad behaviour, even though we should be ashamed of him, then what about Jihadi John, the British Beheading champion? He works hard at his game, like Andy, alright, he has lapses in taste, like Andy, and he takes himself a bit seriously, like Andy but in most important ways they are alike, both think they are doing the right thing by their mothers and they are both stark, raving mad and a menace to civilisation. Doesn't seem quite fair, everybody wants to kill John and nobody wants to kill Andy. Well, practically nobody.
call me ishmael said...
"....high-level sport enables people to reach their true potential;"
"Reach" or "Demonstrate"???
It always seems to me as though it is just ego trying to get out
Mr ishmael, Because hatred is a negative emotion, Why dont you commission a portrait of harris
painted by the lovely Kim ive read she is an accomplished artist, then
that would be a positive and balance everything up
On the subject of commentators, well, frankly, they’re absolutely taking the mickey. Andrew Castle – a totally useless cove dressed up as an ambulance chasing lawyer and on the subject of Pot-Black, I still lovemesnooker to bits I do but John Virgo – I kid you not – John Virgo is the top of my list of people who I hate. It’s a most peculiar thing – I physically, viscerally, unreasonably hate the fella so much it’s almost worth popping my analyst on danger money and popping down the sanatorium. Never won a gaddarned thing in his life and yet seemingly has the temerity to criticize guys who have more skill in their turds than that gimp of a tool has in his lardy lump of wasted compost.
May I draw the jury's attention to Mr Adrian Chiles?
No, fuck off, you may not. Ay-dreeun Choyles is a non-person, loike. Peaky Blinders should 'ave 'is soddin' eyes out, next toime them in town.
Didn't you mention, mr dick, thar Maestro Virgo had more sins barring his path to Heaven than mere impertinence?
And where, pray, is our mrs woman on a raft? You betimes join her voyage and might, therefore, some intelligence venture; nigh two moons have passed since her last despatch and no tugging at her ghostly moorings her elegant whimsy doth revive or rejuvenate. Might she be lost overboard, jesting, now, with great Neptune, or waylaid, perchance, by Yorkists, during her last reported landfall; upon Christmastide she did there disembark and from thence a seasonal greeting did despatch; sombre and anxious groweth the heart at this absence. If thou seest her, sayeth Hello, she might be in Tangiers.
I doubt, mr henry, that we will find ourselves, man and dog, gambolling in karmic harmony for as mr mike advised us, the Murray doxy, whatever her artistic accomplishments, is also as mad as a fucking hatter.
I do quite like archery. A gold medal is achievable by anyone who can stand still and open three fingers. Very Zen-like, and no room for hissy-fits or any mental state other than pure calm. As George McDonald Frasier wrote, "any fool can loup."
-richard
What I do know, mr alphons, is that had mr jgm2 or I, at school, behaved remotely like Murray, detention would have been the very least of it; losing a game of fives or a rugby fixture, these were opportunities to practice Grace, winning was an occasion for magnanimity; snarling and punching the air were nothing to do with very competitivd games. They should call this something else, it's nothing to do with sport.
I keep meaning to, mr richard, I loved Zen in the Art of Archery. Maybe this birthday.
I don't know - i've not seen her for a while myself. We used to hang around live blogging the Question Time programme but that's died now presumably because some libel lawyer objected to the panelists being called paedos all the time - lilly livered landlubbers!
Alas, she must drownded be, food, now, for sole and flounder, for claw-snapping, crustacean crab and lobster and for slithery, scaly things, with stalk-ed eyes, dwelling on Ocean's dark, cemetery floor, no more mrs woman on a raft to deftly chide and inform us on matters of the court and the Law's ruinous writ; her fellows and comrades, rafting distant or homeward-ward, will in our melancholy keening share; farewell and Adieu, to our own maritime muse, friend and confidante. Alas, alack and welladay.
Tender us, Master Dick, without delay, such further rumour or conjecture as you may discern regarding her dire and dismal fate. God speed ye, old friend.
Alas, she must drownded be, food, now, for sole and flounder, for claw-snapping, crustacean crab and lobster and for slithery, scaly things, with stalk-ed eyes, dwelling on Ocean's dark, cemetery floor; no more mrs woman on a raft to deftly chide and inform us on matters of the court and the Law's ruinous writ; her fellows and comrades, rafting distant or homeward-bound, will in our melancholy keening share; farewell and Adieu, to our own maritime muse, friend and confidante. Alas, alack and welladay. Tender us, Master Dick, without delay, such further rumour or conjecture as you may discern regarding her dire and dismal fate. God speed ye, old friend.
Will defo keep an eye out, buddy. I'll ask around in her usual haunts. Pretty sure she's just got bored for a bit and has used up her furious - Bridlington falling into the sea - bet she's livid.
Mrs Anna Raccoon has been churning out ace emotional stuff. I reckon WoaR's in lerve!
Best to you and yours dude
Whitby...uurrgghh...no one would give a fuck about Brid - save a job in fact.
Thank you, mr dick.
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