I love the olympics as much as the next man but….

13 08 2012

I enjoyed watching the olympics but then I usually love watching the olympics. The olympic fortnight allows us to watch sports that are normally alien to British television; Hype-free international football, Handball, Archery, Cycling, Water Polo.  As usual those sports were a joy to watch. I also loved some of the more obvious moments; Wiggo, Bolt, Michael Phelps congratulating the swimmer that beat him, Jade Jones kicking someone’s head in, Mo Farah, etc etc.

However I wasn’t allowed to just enjoy the olympics by simply watching it. I was told that I had to feel part of it. I was constantly reminded of how great and special it all was. I couldn’t simply just watch I had to comment on it. Everyone wanted to know if I was watching; people on the street asked; “Did you watch the equestrian events?”, social media was agog; “Did you see the hockey?”, Even my mum was as it; “Did you watch the handball son?” I was sick being forced to say; “Yes, and wasn’t it fantastic!!!!”.  Luckily I always stopped before I could add “……….and I hope we win more medals today!!!”.  BBC Breakfast were mainly responsible for planting this impulse in my head.

At least I think it was the fault of BBC Breakfast, the BBC presented seemless programmes from the same glass-walled room for 24 hours. I’ll blame BBC Breakfast anyway, they saddled us with co-presenters from BBC Sport during the important morning part of the day.

Normally I BBC Breakfast is a trusted friend in the morning, someone who tells me what the news is and what the weather might be like. During the olympics we were force-fed hope in a very earnest tone and made to deal with jingoistic celebration after victory and hectoring jingoistic judgemental inquests after defeat.

I was in a catch 22 situation, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t watch anything else at this time; Teleshopping is on 90% of freeview’s channels, ITV has Daybreak and Channel 4 plague us with the most abhorrent programme ever committed to celluloid; Will and Grace. I had to listen to BBC Breakfast’s presenters insinuate that I would be worse than a killjoy without a soul if I told people what I actually thought about aspects of the olympics. I certainly didn’t want to be labelled like that.

I longed to tell people that my patience with the olympics had started to dwindle by the end of the third days because I realised that I was only ever 15 minutes away from a damning judgement, “why, why, why???” was the mood.  The irritating post-event reporters were really awful in this regard. Their quarry, usually beaten, would try to slink past but they were never quick enough. The cunts with mics only need a millisecond of time and a millimetre of space to thrust their mics into obviously heartbroken faces; “So why have you deprived the British nation of a gold medal it so richly deserved?”

The media helped to created such an judgmental atmosphere that some defeated competitors felt that they needed to apologise to us for “failing”. You know as if the flabby audience would understand what it’s like to compete in an olympics. Even in the afterglow of a ‘rather good olympics” people are still judging.

I think my patience finally ended when Team GB’s Equestrian team appeared on BBC Breakfast and were feted like Wiggins, Hoy and Ennis. BBC Breakfast made it look as though Britain was one great big team. The exact point that my patience went was when a chinless  equestrian wonder used the same sentence to thank both the lottery and his horse’s owners for helping them to win a gold medal. So we’re all in this together, except for the equestrian team, they had access to two sources of funding while other athletes were denied access to finite lottery funding.

As I’ve already said the coverage wasn’t the only thing I didn’t like about the olympic experience, the pressure of having to be interested was awful. For example I didn’t like seeing estate agents prove how patriotic they are, as if a Team GB poster will attract passing trade;

I hated the way the shopkeepers of North Devon blocked my way with pro-Team GB sandwich boards, as if telling the world they’ve watched the olympics is going to help people;

I really really disliked the olympics when they allowed Cameron of the Creasefree Forehead to come out with more shite in public;

“We are saying out with the bureaucratic, anti-risk culture which has led to a death of competitive sport in too many schools and in with the belief that   competition is healthy, that winning and losing is an important part of   growing up,” he said.”

Even though it’s well-known that “the bureaucratic, anti-risk culture” was introduced in 1982 by the looney left gay mafia he still chose to have another crack at folk devils. He didn’t stop to think that all of the gold medal winning athletes were produced in this culture. He didn’t stop to think about that because he’s an opportunistic cunt.

Yesterday I had the biggest reason to dislike the olympics, I saw the pernicious effect of the media coverage……..

“At roughly 2:30 PM I realised that I needed bread and milk.

This meant leaving my house so I decided to respect the mores of polite society by removing my stained t-shirt. I went upstairs to do this. I threw on the closest thing to hand. This happened to be a replica of the German football shirt worn in Euro 2008. 

I left my house. It took roughly 10 minutes to get from the end of my front garden to the end of the checkout queue with a fully laden basket.

There was a woman behind the till but she couldn’t serve me because she was busy putting a new roll of receipts in the till. As I waited patiently to be beckoned I wondered how often they needed to change the till rolls. Bloody hell, it was hot!

Then I was beckoned forward. I strode forward purposefully up to the counter,  I put my basket on the counter and smiled at the woman, she smiled back. I knew was I was doing!

Then she asked; “So why are you wearing a German shirt?”

All of a sudden I didn’t feel like I was in a Co-Operative, I felt like I had something to hide. It wasn’t so much the words, it was the expression she wore, it was the curled lip as the words passed through her mouth. The word “German” had obviously contaminated her mouth, it was as though a passing farmer had filled her mouth with the foulest silage imaginable.

I let it pass and put my goods in the durable plastic carrier bag that I’d brought with me.

She couldn’t give up; “So why are you wearing a German shirt?”

I tried to think of a line that to placate my xenophobic questioner, 2 milliseconds later I still had nothing. Then something popped in to my head, a complete lie; “Oh my Aunty’s husband is German, he gave it too me”.

She looked satisfied for a second.

She wasn’t satisfied; “Well THEY didn’t win as many medals as WE did THEY?”

I tried to make my face say “FUCK YOU, YOU XENOPHOBIC HARRIDAN” but  I had no idea how to use my feature to form that expression so my mouth said “Bye” instead.

Jesus, that fucking woman, in St. Asaph’s Co-op, had been made to feel like the olympics was a way of Britain regaining its imperial glory by proxy.

Fuck You Cameron, Fuck You BBC, but most of all Fuck You Seb Coe.




One response

13 08 2012

City status must have gone to their heads. I see this as a progression, anyway; at least she said ‘medals’ and not ‘wars’.

I saw Jade Jones in ASDA last year, before she was ‘famous’. Actually, I saw a girl dressed in full Taekwondo gear walking around ASDA, sans pads, which I found peculiar and then thought nothing more of it, until I saw her on the telly before her semi-final. See, I was failing to recognise Olympic minority sportswomen before it became ‘cool’.

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