tHiNkEr’S rOoM

Raila: So, what’s your … er … handicap?
Emilio: (Nervously) A bit of flatulence. Yourself?
Raila Snoring

Pic from East African Standard (http://www.eastandard.net)

WTF Of The Day

Apparently, Women in jeans cannot be raped

Congratulations to Sudi Simiyu and the lads for coming away with some silverware from Twickenham.

© KRFU

Though truth be told it was an agonizing game to watch. It began very poorly. The commentators had a dim view of the dizzying array of knock-ons, forward passes and fumbles.

For these it can be argued the weather was not the best and the pitch was slippery.

What I took issue with was the Kenyans’ irrational blind inclination to kick the ball whenever they got it, losing posession 11 times out of 10. I like to think Coach Ayimba put an end to this insanity during the half time break.

Second half play though was markedly better, despite the commentators describing the final whistle as “A relief”!

GO KENYA!!!

WTF OF THE DAY

Stories like these remind me why I have such a low opinion of “reality TV”

AOB

I’ve blogged about my iPod Martha before, and some of the more interesting possible accessories. Well, this one, via R, takes the biscuit (Borderline NSFW). Yikes!!!

 Notorious B.I.G & kOrN - Wake Up Now

Cricket is one of those games I personally don’t give a flying rat’s ass about. Really. The word ‘runs’ brings to mind loud and violently explosive activity from your Southern Border while seated primly on the white throne. I have no idea whether there are unders to complement the overs. I can’t think of a more doofusy game than one that breaks for the day and comes back tomorrow.

Many friends have bravely tried and failed to explain to me the workings of the game. We seldom get past the doofus looking running and bowling, and the antics of the gentleman attempting to bat, moving in a manner that suggests any sudden movement will cause a totally different set of runs to manifest themselves in the batsman’s trousers.

My attempts to replace ‘boring’ in my vocabulary with ‘cricket’ have been largely unsuccessful, but I am nothing if not optimistic.

However, cricket has suddenly become interesting, now that there are intrigues like corruption, gambling and murder. Ladies and gentlemen, we have an Agatha Christie mystery in the making. Consider that we have:

1. An exotic location (Jamaica)
2. Police officers with a fascinating accent (Jamaican police)
3. An eccentric elderly man (the Pakistani team’s cricket coach)
4. A dead body (see above) found in a hotel room
5. Lots of suspects with motive

Nothing can make cricket as interesting!

AOB

Resist the temptation to try and pitch to me the goodness of cricket. It won’t work. Really.

I WISH OF THE DAY

Oh if the doofuses we call our leaders could display such selflessness!

WTF OF THE DAY

Apparently people who live in cooler climates, like Geroge Bush, have bigger brains than those of us who live in warmer climates. Uh huh!

The Game & Kanye West - Wouldn’t Get Far

I was a very unpopular individual on Saturday. In the Argentina vs Germany match I was enthusiastically for the Fatherland. In the England vs Portugal match I was solidly on Portugal’s side while some other people were rooting for England. In the France vs Brazil match I was all for France, unlike some people.

And I somehow found myself not only a minority, but a minority deeply embedded in hostile terrain. Which stopped my exuberant cheering not a whit.

Italy vs Ukraine was no surprise to anyone so it doesn’t count.

As for Argentina vs Germany — Lehman delivered the goods. And removing Riquelme is something the Argentine coach will rue for the remainder of his days.

I’ll not be surprised if Germany takes that cup. I think they have the most solid team in the tournament. Goalie, defence, midfield and attack.

For a change, the underdog came out on top.

England - Portugal

I have never been a fan of England. England’s team reminds me powerfully of Beyonce Knowles. She looks good on paper (especially gloss paper) but when it comes to actual talent … does not deliver. That they failed to capitalize on a Portugal sans Deco merely belies this.

Having said that, I can at least sympathize with the English. Wayne Rooney is a young man desperately in need of a smack to his fat head. The moment he stomped down on Carvalho’s cojones every last male in the establishment we were watching the game in involuntarily winced and bent forwards. Carvalho now can probably become the fourth Destiny’s Child because he must be having an excellent soprano.

Taking Kirk Franklin a bit too literally

Frank Lampard I fell sure hold some sort of record along the lines of “most unconverted shots”. The man’s soccer boots must be worn thin from all the balls he’s kicked this tournament. Footballs that is. Whoever decided that he should take a penalty really needs to have a short time out.

Lampard rues his 900^th attempt to score

Jose will certainly find it that much less difficult in deciding who to field between Ballack and Lampard.

As for Gerard failing to convert that penalty … sometimes its just not your day.

Gerrard tries to drill the ball into the net

As for that poor youngster Walcott … the young man was so far down the pecking order on strikers that it is entirely possible he never even changed into substitute gear and spent his time in jeans eating popcorn at the sidelines. As Shakespeare aptly put it, Much Ado About Nothing. I mean, the poor guy’s stats can be written entirely in binary!

One of the shorter lived stars

At least on the bright side we will be spared the crass nonsense of shots of Beckham, Mrs and her over-sized sunglasses every time Beckham, Mr, does anything, including scratching himself, about how she is “watching her husband with pride/concern/joy”. We don’t give a flying rat’s ass. Really.

Why do we waste camera film and press space on this woman? Enough already!

At least some gems came to light — and top of the list is Aaron Lennon. That young man needs a regular starting position.

This man has a bright future

And can everyone stop b**ching and whining about that supposed penalty? It was no such thing! Get over it!

Hats off to Ricardo. The man stopped 3 penalty shots. That is, if I’m not wrong, a word cup record.

Can probably catch a greased pig

And Luis Figo — he was written off as a has been Galacticos but the man clearly can still deliver. Portugal did not seem to miss Deco all that much.

Old may just turn out to be gold!

Christiano Ronaldo clearly is going to have a very bright future, and when the premiership opens very interesting relationships indeed will be observed between Ronaldo, Rooney and Neville. Though I’m officially taking bets to see who the English fans will boo loudest — Ronaldo or Rooney.

This guy may just captain Portugal in 2010

Brazil - France

This was a great game. Brazil was beaten fair and square. No amount of griping will get over this. After 90 minutes Brazil had ONE SHOT ON GOAL ONE. BRAZIL! Testament to a solid performance of the French midfield and defence. Barthez had a largely idle game and may even have taken a nap. That he used some of this idle time to do some knitting has been proven as a vile and unfounded rumour.

It is extremely rare to see a plainly desperate Brazil fighting hard to put one past Barthez. All the guns were flung at the attack. Personally if I were a defender the last thing I would want to see running towards me are Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Adriano, Kaka, Cafu, and Roberto Carlos who have proven time and time again they can pretty much score from anywhere, including behind the net.

Defender’s nightmare

Although I’m not entirely sure Ronaldo should have gotten that yellow card. I mean, there is quite a bit of him so he’s hard to miss. Allowances ought to be given.

Still, I wonder what would have been the outcome of Brazil had fielded the young team that trounced Ghana.

And in that game some new talent continued to shine. Frank Quasimodo (© KP) Ribery and Malouda in particular. Those lads ought to get starting positions henceforth. Trezeguet and his lot really ought to look into farming or some other worthy pursuit. They had an excellent game and I wonder as to the wisdom on substituting them!

Florent Malouda

Quasimodo Frank Ribery

And the old guard showed again why they trounced Brazil in 1998. Zidane in particular was brilliant, showing some flashes of footwork worthy of the Zidane of yore. That kanzu Ronaldo received in particular triggered wild applause, even grudgingly from Brazil fans. The pairing of Zidane and Vieira kept the Brazilians very busy.

Brilliant. Enough said

And Henry sneaking past the Brazilian defence to plant that ball at the top of Dida’s net — Priceless.

Finally beginning to get his International mojo

QUOTE OF THE DAY

Oh to be a commentator for a day!

“Oh, what a turn of events! Rooney sees red and then sees red!”

PIC OF THE DAY

Kahn & Lehmann (AP)

Snow - Informer

If the proverbial genie were to offer me five wishes right now my answer without hesitation would be the following:

1) To be associated with this logo

2) To wear this jersey

3) To be this man

Tana Umaga, captain of the All Blacks

4) To do the haka before quaking opposition at the IRB World Cup finals

5) World peace, yada yada yada

My love affair with rugby, curiously enough, came about purely by accident. Prior to Form 3 my love for the game was restricted to singing along to the impressive repertoire of unbelievably dirty rugby songs (of which my firm grasp has never waned). I know limericks and cheering songs that would turn the air blue.

Setting foot on the pitch itself, however, was another matter altogether.

Until the day during sports when a certain gentleman, clearly bent on terminating my lineage, prematurely tackled me. Or, to be more accurate, attempted to plant my head and shoulders beneath the surface of the pitch. All that I can say is after that tackle there are some 5 minutes of my life that I cannot account for. I came to with 20 odd people looking down at me as i attempted to convince my lungs to resume duty. They were in fact drawing lots for what I was wearing. Steve my son, I owe you one!

As my lungs resumed their duties, I spat grass, weeds and pebbles from my mouth, retrieved the assorted pieces of my t-shirt and tried to remember whether i was a bipedal or quadrupedal creature, I came to the very philosophical conclusion that I had experienced the absolute worst experience that can ever happen to you during the game (aside from having your cojones grabbed by your opposite number in the confusion of a scrum or a maul).

(more…)

Can you say “YEAH BABY”!

Much as Manchester United played better, the Carling Cup game between Liverpool and Chelsea is another illustration that winning a game and winning a match are not always the same thing. Jens Lehmann quite literally saved the team, during the 120 odd minutes of the game AND the penalties.

My man of the match - Jens Lehmann.

And to all those Man U goons who disturbed my peaceful enjoyment of our victory –NEXT SEASON, MY SONS AND DAUGHTERS! NEXT SEASON!

And speaking of Man U, o ye fans had better be concerned if you will ever get to next season. Malcolm Glazer could turn Old Trafford into a potato farm if he were so inclined. He could issue instructions for the team to buy themselves some nice tutus and become an ice skating team. In fact next season we could see Keane and Scholes on hands and knees saying “pil first, back pil pinkie” in a thrilling game of marbles.

Still, you could end up playing cricket. Or pie throwing. Or hop scotch. One has nothing if not hope.

How Jose Antonio Reyes manages to alternate between being a genius and a schmuck will require quite the research. On retrospect it was wise to rest Sol Campbell — he could not have lasted 120 minutes. I wonder if the game would have gotten to extra time had Venger rested Fabregas and put Van Persie, Reyes and Bergkamp to trouble Rio Ferdinand and his lads from the very beginning. I wonder how it might have been with Henri on the pitch.

But props where they are due — Wayne Rooney is lethal now but will be an assassin in a couple of years (unless of course he becomes another Michael Owen). Lauren was clearly unable to handle Christiano Rolando, despite great efforts, and it showed. That’s another phenom right there in the making.

PIC OF THE DAY

One of the few occasions a man can hug another without raised eyebrows

Creed - My Own Prison

On my way to work I had a chat with a small boy as he hobbled painfully towards his establishment of learning. A few minutes of friendly banter had me discover that he was limping due to a football injury sustained in the course of duty for his school. The exact nature of the injury brought back a few bits of nostalgic memory.

Years ago when I was a blissful high school boy, sports was not just sport. Sport was a religion. You were nothing without your sport. In particular, the male High School Boy was wanting to the extreme if he did not play at least one of the following:

• Rugby
• Basketball
• Football

Things like volleyball, cricket, tennis, etc were not considered sports. They were as a matter of fact, novelty pastimes. In the pecking order of sporting glory, they were just above hopscotch, cops and robbers and marbles (but there was a time marbles made a popular comeback)

Personally I was firmly in the category of rugby. There is something to be said about running suicidally towards 15 beefy gentlemen who are hell bent of ploughing you right into and beneath the soil. You could always tell these — they had a peculiar stiff legged gait (prevent bloody knees from sticking to trousers) and stiff arm motions (prevent bloody elbows from doing the same). The usual cuts and bruises from rugby spikes would decorate the rest of the person.

However, much as we were at risk of losing large expanses of skin as well as spraining and breaking assorted limbs, we always considered ourselves more fortunate then our brethren at the soccer pitch. This is because it was entirely possible for them to stop a strongly swung soccer boot with nothing more than their shorts, their boxers / briefs/ y-fronts (delete as appropriate) and last and certainly not least, an extremely sensitive areas we will call the cojones.

The one vivid memory I have of my days in Standard 3 was undergoing precisely this experience. My best friend at the time, Allan was attempting to kick a ball in front of me, and just before he did I would nudge it to the side. This went on for quite a while until in a lapse ii failed to nudge it enough and it ended up right before me. Allan swung at his intended target and missed, after a fashion that is. Even now, some decades later the experience is almost fresh in my mind. Even in my tender years, it was like being hit by a Concorde whose front is decorated with assorted nails, screws and barbed wire, and for good measure, the whole contraption is connected to a live wire.

Needless to say, relations between us were strained for a while. But I digress.

On the soccer pitch, the chances of an opponent striking at a ball and ending up personalizing issues and striking yours were very high. If there is bad blood between opponents, this risk increases in orders of magnitude. After watching several soccer matches from the safety of the sidelines (soccer was not my thing) I observed a common pattern.

Matters would generally revolve a ball descending towards the earth and two opponents attempting to kick it at the same time. Generally feet would collide but if one opponent was faster, or one was recovering from a night at the Carnivore, the timing would be off and someone would get kicked in the cojones.I interviewed a number of victims and came up with the following general flow

• You attempt to kick a ball
• Someone inadvertently or otherwise, kicks you where you should not be kicked
• You feel like a pair of claymore mine have gone off in your shorts and now termites in soccer boots take up residence in your shorts
• Every last of your faculties, including breathing ceases operations
• Motor functionality stops (including balance)
• Excruciating agony, second only to Hell
• You fall to the earth

Now, what would happen next would depend on circumstances.

If it was a boy’s school, or such an environment that had no females present, you were at liberty to grab at your jewels. All play would stop, even if a goal was but a second away, as all the players, referees, audience and passing males would commiserate deeply with you feeling your pain agony.

If, however, there was at least one female present, you were NOT, repeat NOT to grab at your jewels. You could grab at anything else. An unofficial convention was that you were to grab at your head with both hands, signalling to all the state of affairs.

You would then be carted off the field to begin the healing process. This ranged from a few minutes to a couple of days.

If Paris had done his homework, he needn’t have wasted an arrow going after Achilles’ Heel.

AOB
The price of having a half hour conversation with A, oceans and continents away at 6 in the morning? Priceless

En Vogue - Hold On

The success of Ben Ayimba and the lads at the sevens tournament filled me with pride. That was just GOOD STUFF!! Granted the performance has been fluctuating but I dare say next to athletics our Sevens teams has been one of our most successful sports ventures.

I’m also reminded of the good old days of dabbling in the game, in the capacity of the second row, first jumper. For those unschooled in the specifics, the jumper is the dude who stands between very beefy characters and is lifted by his shorts skywards to catch the ball during line outs. The only problem with this particular position manifested itself after you had caught the ball, descended back to earth and passed it onto your team mates. After that myself and my opposite number would invariably follow the same routine, which was to fish our shorts out of nether regions, and run uncomfortably into battle. Why, you ask? Just picture yourself being lifted into the air by your shorts alone and the effects of gravity trying to bring you back to earth while strong men try to keep you in the air using your shorts! If my sons are deformed I’ll know why.

The morning after each game the 15 of us would be easy to spot. There was an excellent chance of bloody knees and elbows, as well as the regulation grass burns. Something one quickly and painfully learns is that bloody knees and trousers do not a good match make. Blood tends to have an excellent affinity for trouser, and parting the two occasionally had one hitting the higher notes of the octave. This plus the bruises from being trampled over and the mini cuts from having studs grinding into your person made us frequent and permanent addicts of deep heat and aspirin. The body long gave up trying to patch its own knees and as a result impressively smooth scar tissue is still with me to this day

But in the heat of the moment, in the adrenaline rush as you suicidally ran straight into a pack of 5 beefy men with every intent to break you in half, the exhilaration was worth every last bruise! Sigh! To go back in time to the good old days…..

Another entrant into the blogosphere is Miss K’s Au Lait

Norah Jones - Come Away With Me