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About The Ed

I'm a man of a certain age and weight who should know better. I live, moan and play in the Garden of England. In between rants and bouts of cramp I restore and retouch photos. At my age touching-up photos is a bit of a thrill. (see my photos)

Who Nameth This Child ?


Gotta love this from last week’s Independent Online.

Billy ‘36′ Twelvetrees and the best nicknames in sport

Nicknames perform important functions.  Some represent the high regard in which the recipient is held: Ace, The Panther, Big Man, Love Machine, that sort of thing.  But enough of my school days.  Others confer a sense of belonging, of acceptance to a group: Mr Cricket, The Kid, Eric The Red.

But, personally, I prefer the ones that give me a good old belly laugh.

billy twelvetrees 300x225 Billy 36 Twelvetrees and the best nicknames in sport

Billy ‘36’ Twelvetrees

What a start to the Six Nations.  I’ll let the proper rugby writers dissect England’s new sense of adventure, Ireland’s thrilling near-collapse in Cardiff and Italy’s monumental achievement in overturning the hapless French.

What I want to celebrate here is the emergence onto the international stage of the man with the finest nickname in the modern game.

Respect to Geordan Murphy.  It’s thanks to his Dublin accent that we arrive at this piece of mastery.  As in “Twelve trees are tirty six.”

Mark Waugh – ‘Afghanistan’

Life isn’t fair, is it?  Mark Waugh was one of the most elegant batsmen ever to take the crease.  He was graceful, technically correct, possessed of a cover drive that somehow managed to be both languid and violent, and able to whip good-length balls from outside off-stump through mid-wicket better than anyone bar Viv Richards.  Not only that but he remains the finest slip fielder I’ve ever seen, gobbling up catches off seamers and spinners alike in kid-leather hands.

And what nickname did this giant of the game get saddled with, being less of an early flourisher than his brother?  ‘Afghanistan’: the forgotten Waugh.

Such is the luck of the draw when you’re a twin, I guess, particularly when that twin is the relentless Steve Waugh (another epithet Mark had to put up with was ‘Junior’).  However, one member of the Barmy Army once tried to redress the balance by shouting, “Oi, Stephen.  Best batsman in the world?  You ain’t even the best batsman in your family!”

Alex Loudon – ‘Minotaur’

Cricket seems to throw up amusing nicknames for fun.  The late Graham Dilley was known as ‘Picca’.  Allan Lamb was, perhaps more obviously, called ‘Legga’.

My favourite of all time, though, even surpassing dear old Mark Waugh, was the title bestowed on Alex Loudon.  Although a highly talented all-rounder, Loudon never quite fulfilled his potential, gaining a solitary One-Day International cap for England.  He became known as ‘Minotaur’ because, as someone put it, “that’s all he ever went on.”

Still, Loudon had the last laugh.  He quit the game and started dating Pippa Middleton.

‘One Size’ Fitz Hall

I shall never, ever tire of this one.

I could go on about how appropriate a moniker it is for a journeyman pro with an uncompromising style who’s equally at home in midfield as at centre-half.

But, really, it’s just a very funny pun.

Martin ‘Chariots’ Offiah

Brilliant on so many levels, this.  As the man himself once explained when asked why he got the nickname:

“Because I could run very fast, I suppose,” he told the interviewer, exhibiting the sort of incisiveness that brought him 501 career tries, “and it rhymed with how people pronounce my last name.”

Reading between the lines, “how people pronounce” his last name is not the way that it should be pronounced.  Something like ‘OFF-y-ah’ is more correct, I believe.  But, hey, let’s not let that ruin a high-quality piece of wordplay.

Stuart ‘Britsa’ Broad

I know I’ve banged on about cricketers a bit.  But I can’t resist finishing on yet another.

You probably won’t have heard this.  Mainly because the group among which it’s been shared has, thus far, been quite exclusive. For me and a select band of cricket fans, the current England set-up includes characters such as ‘Tinker’, ‘Foxy’, ‘Yogi’, ‘Previous’ and ‘Vesta’.  But there’s one who stands head and shoulders above the others, and not just because he’s 6’5”.

Ladies and gentlemen, in case you haven’t read the sub-head above, I give you Stuart ‘Britsa’ Broad.

Beat that if you can…

Absinthe Friends


trevor Roberts Beer

Pictured during the Sharp Single’s 4th Anniversary Celebrations, held at the Huhne & Gove Wine Bar, Sidcup. Mr P de Paris drinks from a glass-blown replica of the legendary ‘Nose of  Heckler’.  Interpol are distributing a description of the jacket to all schools, hospitals and border agencies. Photo—Bing Indisheaves.

 

Six Nations Final Score


six-nations-preview-650x308

 

Wales 23 vrs 30 Ireland.
Dogshit Park.
(No boots in the bar, please)

Wales’ Jonathan Davies‘ (no relation) turn to put the urn on (he’s done sod all else today). Wales to go on to play Basingstoke Ex A in the Plate competition, where they will field their new signing, the unexpectedly available, Peter Odemwingie, formerly of  QPR WBA.

 

Get It Down, You Zulu Warrior


Here’s something from someone called @WelshDalaiLama on Twitter. All good fun and optimistic on his part I reckon, but well-intentioned for all that. Once the Welsh Oozalem themselves into Wooden Spoon position, I suspect they won’t need the rules of a game to dive into the bottom of a bottle or glass. My doctor has advised me not to be driving or be near heavy machinery during an “epic” monologe by Eddie Butler of the Observer (he changed his name by Deed Poll), but it’s certainly worth keeping an eye (or ear) out for Pit Bullisms.

rugbydrinkin

It seems the BBC have come up trumps with the amount of coverage they have during this year’s northern hemisphere Rugby competition, with “Live and Exclusive” coverage of the Championship promised. They certainly do seem to be very excited at wrestling the coverage from Bitter Barnsey and Woeful Will over on Sky. Though I feel that the BEEB may soon be accused of overkill in the not-too-distant future. Breakfast News’ hilariously awful Mike Bushell this morning chose the Millenium Stadium to misread his own pisspoor script in what seemed like a mini-series rather than a sports report. We are promised much more from him throughout the tournament. Oh Deep Joy!

I’m also hearing that every evening at 11pm there will be a live discussion programme on the big Rugby issues of the day, hosted by Claire Balding and Keith Vaz MP, as it is written in the Charter of the BBC that they should appear for at least 12 minutes every hour of every day the company broadcasts. At least that’s how it feels at the moment.

As usual, some of the information above may not be true at time of publication (apart from the bits about Wales and Mike Bushell).

rugbygridsale

One Day More. Until the Next One.


It has been brought to my attention that there are those who would rather watch Les Miserables than Django Unchained. Also that there are those who are more excited about which team Darren Bent will play for this week, than whether the Welsh Rugby Team can continue their wonderfully entertaining run of form this Saturday. It is, as you well know, a funny old world. Yes, Association Football’s transfer deadline is upon us again — with the added delight of the T’BBC Salford now joining the Sky Sports team in beaming us images of miserable and wet reporters standing outside Main Road or The Baseball Ground informing us that they spotted the Evian van arrive early this morning, but the driver was tight-lipped about the prospect of who was in or who was out.

So for those people who enjoy such things, here’s a timely piece— what the youth are calling a mashup— a MASH-UP— I believe. Pay particular attention to Marouane Fellaini‘s hopping between Italian, Welsh and Generic Johnny Foreigner accents. Mind you, ’tis a fine piece of work, even if I am none the wiser what a Belgian sounds like, and which has put me off even more (if such was possible)  from going to see the movie at the Kinema (is Ron Moody still in it ?).

Kickin’ and a Gougin’ in the Mud and the Blood and the Beer


Just for a change, I’d like to talk about one of the good things in life.

djangounchained1212146

He’s back and at last he’s brilliant again. Probably his best movie since Pulp fiction, the great QT returns with this sensational epic. If you don’t like plot, edge, witty dialogue, then go ‘chase me, chase me’ down to middle earth and go see the Hobbit with the rest of your Dungeons & Dragon set. But if you can stomach barrels of blood, acres of character and the funniest Ku Klux Klan scene since Blazing Saddles, then go and take yourself along to see Django Unchained….just don’t take your mum.

Be prepared to hide behind your hands in scenes which give more than a passing nod to the the torture scene in Reservoir Dogs. The much maligned Tarantino has been accused of having lost his touch, with the spiffingly over-rated Inglorious Basterds taking most of the stick for an ailing career. Well now, even if you had no time for Basterds, and didn’t get the brilliance of Death Proof and it’s sensational soundtrack, take yourself along and see a proper movie.

Certainly not for the faint-of-heart, Quentin delivers big time, yet again. It’s a long movie at 2 hours 45 mins, and the longer it goes, the more outrageous is the action, and the more blood is spilt. Well before then, you’ve forgiven the director for everything he wants to throw at you, and allow any outlandish stunt or ridiculous scenarios to wash over you. It’s like Kill Bill, just with horses and six-shooters. And so, so much better.

And look! the erroneous poster above even gives you two more reasons to go see it: Sacha Baron Cohen (or Kurt Russell) never actually made the final cast of the film. Russell quit for ‘unknown reasons’ (like Kevin Costner before him —phew!)  and Baron Cohen had too many commitments to his project The Dictator. Having now seen both movies, Sacha should now be put on a 24 hour suicide watch.

So, welcome back Quentin. A world choked with the smug smog of smeg by Peter Jackson and James Cameron needed you back.

And why not, indeed ?

Good poster too.