Fair Play and Fablass


For those unlucky enough to be watching NZTV coverage of the rugby let me tell you what happened. The welsh flanker and captain Sam Warburton picked up an opponent in a tackle, turned him over in the air and spear-tackled him, head-first, into the ground. A sending-off offence. So Irish referee Alain Rolland sent him off. The tv coverage missed half of this. TV in 1957land isn’t interested in anything that doesn’t involve some part of Dan Carter’s body, but you’d have thought at least ITV, who took the tv feed here in Blighty might have spotted a) the serious foul and b) the red card. They didn’t.

The first the pundits and commentators knew of it all was when they saw pictures of Warburton on the bench. They assumed he had been given a yellow card. This was Warbuton’s Rooney moment. A week after Wayne had been hounded out of town for kicking a player in the leg, Sam was given legal aid for trying to break a bloke’s neck. “Our little Sammy didn’t mean that”. “He’s not like that.” Well, Mr and Mrs Warburton, he did and he is. Sorry.

For the next 80-odd minutes (it’s still going on as I speak) the bleating from various welsh former players and their collaborators whinged and whined about the decision: Referee Rolland had administered a “huge injustice”. No he didn’t. Steve Ryder – the ITV anchorman – even said the welsh were “cheated” by the referee. No they weren’t. I happen to know that Mr Ryder is a Charlton Athletic supporter, so he can be forgiven for not having seen a lot of real sport. Fit professional men running around at pace must be very confusing to old Steve. Luckily he had former Rugby stars to help him out.

Francois Pienaar, the Matt Damon impersonator,  said the tackle was excusable in the cauldron that is a world cup semi-final. No, Matt.  Semi-final or no semi-final, you can’t pick a bloke up and spike him into the ground. When the kiwis do it to Brian O’Driscoll during a British Lions tour there’s a national outcry. If it were a Frenchman doing it to Lee Sixpence Ha’panney, Gareth Thomas would have been screaming blue murder. Not just screaming.

Next to Francois was Larry Dallaglio, looking lost without big Johnno to stick the boot into. Larry manfully joined in with Steve, Frank and welshman Martyn Williams in vilifying the ref. Oddly none of them lambasted the welsh for not taking advantage of drop-goal situations. Nor was the boot of Stephen Jones (surely now, the winner of Club Foot of the Year Award) blamed for the fact that they lost by one point. I lost count of how many kicks he missed.

The refs have been woeful this tournament and here at The Sharp Single we may have pointed out a few of the culprits. Rolland was never on our hit-list and certainly won’t be because of this performance. Though he nearly snuck in there when, with five minutes to go, he awarded a penalty to the Welsh in front of the posts. A shocking decision. Even Gareth in the comm box admitted it. Fortunately, Lee TwoBob missed the kick for the three points. If he’d have kicked that one the Taffs would have won the game due to a rank decision.

Didn’t hear Ryder and friends moan about that one.

The French were a poor rugby side all match. The Welsh looked up for it and none could have begrudged them the win. But they didn’t. Until the Australians change the rules, the side with more points wins the match. That’s how it works. Sorry. The English were shite all competition and are already back home paying their fines (those of them who aren’t still in Kiwi gaols). Good riddance to them. The Scotch never even bothered to send a team. So please, Wales, take it in good grace, shut up and fuck off home. Oh, and pick up those chips from your shoulders before you leave. Thanks.

Tomorrow Rugby Union meets Rugby League in the second semi-final. A game one side wants to play without forwards. After all, they beat the SAffers without any so why not the ABs ? If they win this cup it will be the death of Rugby Union. The Death of Rugby Union.

I pause here to allow my Aussie mates to pick up the keyboard and tap away furiously (cue the phrases “whingeing poms”; “spectator sport”;”jonny fucking wilkinson” etc etc  ad nauseum).

It won’t of course come down to the forwards. It’ll all be decided by a moment of genius or stupidity by Quade Cooper. By not changing his name from Quade, you’d have thought he’d been stupid enough for several lifetimes. Sadly not. This bloke makes Campo look like a solid and safe pair of hands. He was born a Kiwi but plays for Aussie. How to make friends and influence people. Quade (my spellchecker still doesn’t like that)  has the chance tomorrow to make a lot of friends, on one side of the Tasman or other.

So I shall remove my beret and don the Silver Fern in the hope that a team still using the scrum and lineout to secure good ball can prevail over the 13-man, tap-thru-the-legs tactics of the Wallabies. I wonder if, as the teams come out, they’ll be a bloke pretending to make noise by blowing into a conch shell, jumping up and down and sticking his tongue out ? I do hope so, it’s so frightfully exciting. Not at all boring.

I worry that referee Craig Joubert is officiating this one. Clearly the better of the refs on show, he should be doing the final not the semi. One can only surmise what that means. Bryce Laurence or Wayne Barnes anyone ? Now THAT would be a final worth watching.

Service Update


Good morning

I had hoped to be limping around the hospital grounds on my sticks or at least a zimmer frame by now, cheerily answering all your emails but I fear the damage and the drugs have left me dizzy, drained and sickly.

Have cancelled visitors for a while at least til I can be sure not to throw up on them. Hopefully by next week I’ll be back to my old miserable self.

Please don’t take offense, I’m just not very well.
Thanks again for your v kind thoughts. And of course, come on England !
MB

Pink Birds


Another in an occasional series when readers of The Sharp Single are invited to stick their hands in their pockets. This time it’s the turn of the long-suffering Incumbent who has decided to take part in The Race for Life – a charity run/walk to raise money in the fight against cancer.

Me and she have come to an understanding where, if she promises to finish the course, I promise to sit in a pub overlooking Blackheath common and watch her do it. Now you can’t say fairer than that. If anyone would like to sponsor me or help me with my long and painful vigil, please send a large-ish cheque, postal order or luncheon voucher to The Landlord, The Crown, Blackheath, or just show up and give me the cash. Failing that, please click on the link below and drop the old bird a couple of quid.

We thank you.

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/katetaylor1204

Ladies Night


A bit of a kerfuffle down at The Shovel the other night when four women walked in – all at once. The Incumbent and I watched from our little dark corner. The regulars were in shock.Pints of Mild and Mackeson were placed heavily on the bar. There were so many raised eyebrows it looked like an explosion at a Carlo Ancelotti factory. There hadn’t been five women in this bar at the same time since VJ night. The landlady sensed a business opportunity and polished up the Martini Rosso bottle on the optic rack.

Some of the younger regulars (those in their fifties) appeared never to have seen a female before. One bloke ricked his neck trying to get a better view of a plump woman’s cleavage. Well, I say cleavage – heavy breasts swinging around a lady’s knees inside a frumpy cardigan (think Carol Kirkwood drinking a pint)- but it was getting these guys excited.

I’d needed to get out of the house in case I watched any cricket (there’s no tv in the pub). After seeing the might of Ireland trounce Ashes-wining England I was feeling pretty low. How many hours have I wasted watching England football and cricket teams march into world competitions with an ill-judged air of confidence only to be humiliated by 11 part-timers or “minnows” ? Jesus. I might as well support Scotland. I can’t write any more. It’s 7.30 in the morning and we’ve just collapsed to 171 all out against South Africa (who, in all fairness, have actually played the game before). All the joy in my heart that was present after the English outplayed the French at Rugby last weekend (queue French bleats of dodgy refereeing and “Anglo-Saxon conspiracies”) have vanished like an old oak table. With Charlton Athletic Oozluming (again) and the cricket boys due to get the first Easyjet flight home from India, I wonder if my subs to Sky Sports and the time I spend watching it might be better spent elsewhere.

There’s a crib match down the pub later. Great spectator sport.

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