Wimbledon (Federer vs Murray)

Fred Perry

76 years ago Fred Perry won Wimbledon wearing a highly impractical linen outfit, complete with belt and button up shirt, he was the last British man to do so - all those years ago Andy Murray’s father was just a twinkle in his Grandfather’s nut sack and yet today he has the opportunity to end Britain’s Wimbledon jinx.  Down on Centre Court Tim Henman and Boris Becker both conceal erections as Sue Barker quizzes them on their opinions of the forthcoming match. In the famous Wimbledon dressing room Murray regurgitates his pre match haggis, pulls on his lucky tartan underwear and heads for the court where his adoring public await.  Meanwhile Roger Federer, attempting to win his seventh Wimbledon title, listens serenely to classical music, the final second in his mind to the ever lingering question: ‘why, when I am so rich, is my wife so average?’  Switching off Vivaldi’s four seasons he too heads for the hallowed turf of Centre Court, now worn and dusty from two weeks of abuse.  The pair emerge to rapturous applause, Murray chokes back more vomit and Roger shudders as his wife blows him a kiss from her seat in the grandstand.

The first game of the first set is fraught with tension and the Scot comes out on top breaking the Swiss’ serve and installing hope in the partisan crowd that the scrawny ginger man, whose appearance defies all notions of a sportsman, could repeat the heroics of the late, great Fred Perry, now immortalised in bronze at SW19.  Federer’s touch resembles that of Jack the Ripper in the early stages of the match as he skews shots into the stand, giving the cameramen an excuse to focus in on future monarch Kate Middleton and her sister Pippa, who sit like two porcelain dolls being undressed by the eyes of the entire male population. 

The players take a well-earned rest after a limb shuddering eleven minutes of tennis. The score stands at 2-1 to the Brit who munches provocatively on a banana as my mind wanders momentarily to the issue of health and safety; why when serves often exceed 130 miles per hour are the line judges not issued with hard hats as standard? The players take their places back on the court and immediately Roger Federer breaks back as Andy fails to hit the furry green thing over the net which turns out to be quite a vital part of the game of tennis.

A Sight to Behold

Centre caught resembles more of a theatre than a Sports Stadium, packed to the rafters with celebrities, politicians and Sue Barker’s sexual conquests whilst Boris Becker talks of unforced errors and unpaid child support payments from the commentary box.  The fans of inadequate social standing, unable to get a ticket for the feature event, settle for a place on Henman Hill, possibly the only geographical landmark in the country to be named after such an undeserving figure.  As a football fan I find the silence that tennis is played out in unusual and rather eerie, there are no chants about the sexual persuasion of the umpire and the smell of stale beer, fags and despair is replaced by the pungent aroma of the on-looking Victoria Beckham’s new perfume. The first set ends with the inhabitants of centre court on their feet applauding Andy Murray as he holds his serve to win the set, fist clenched he heads to his bag and rewards himself with another erotically consumed banana, as his coach Ivan Lendl sits motionless in his seat, amid the ensuing chaos, paralysed with either nerves or boredom.

Beating Roger Federer in a set has the same effect as poking a sleeping lion with sharp stick; it makes him angry.  In a blur of floppy hair and thumping aces, Federer holds serve before half of the capacity crowd have even returned their backsides to their padded seats.  The set goes with serve, each player searching hard for a break in the monotony, but it evades both of them.  Games pass by in the blink of an eye in a flurry of thunderous serves and limp wristed returns; a tie break looms until Federer musters a set point out through a combination power and intricate craftsmanship.  One set all.

Andy Murray’s mother looks like an elongated version of Anne Robinson, she sits stone faced, eating a deep fried mars bar shouting sporadic words of encouragement at her toiling son, covering the back of Ivan Lendl’s head with a spray of deep fried confection. The heavens open.  Cue a scene of frenzied chaos as flocks of people wearing turf coloured jackets storm onto the court, disassemble the net and pull the covers across in record time.  The players are ushered hurriedly off court as if they might melt in the rain and the coverage cuts to the studio as the British summer rears its ugly head outside.

Mental Breakdown

The players eventually return to the court and exchange gentle shots with each other, like friends sharing a rally in the height of summer, before battle recommences under the engineering marvel that is the 80million pound roof on Centre Court.  Henman Hill is now a rainbow canvas of umbrellas, their owners gazing unerringly at the big screen, entranced by Murray and Federer, hard at work.  The third set’s sixth game is a turning point, lasting just shy of 20 minutes and consisting of six break points and ten deuces, it is a test of the players’ mental capability as well as physical stature.  The mammoth game ends in heart break for the Scot who looks weary as he fires a backhand listlessly into the net.  The players walk to their seats, one rather more spritely than the other.  Murray fails to recover his composure and Federer takes a smug bite from a Toblerone content in the knowledge that he leads two sets to one.

The fourth set is a drab affair lightened only by the insistence of drunken fools – who no doubt climbed into Centre Court, ticketless – punctuating the thick silence with slurred ‘Come on Andys’.  If the Scot doesn’t win this match at least the Murray genes look set to take a drastic up-turn in fortunes; his girlfriend sits angelically providing the antidote to his mothers’ stern, chiselled features.  Federer serves and with a puff of chalk and a flailing of Andy Murray’s racket, moves one point away from being crowned the winner of Wimbledon once more…  The inevitable is delayed momentarily as Federer strikes the net before Murray fires the ball long signalling the end of the tournament.

Champion....again

Federer collapses to the ground, hands clasped to his face as he attempts to comprehend his achievement amid a mixture of disappointed gasps, polite applause and utter reverence for this genius of Centre Court.  The presentation party assembles in familiarly efficient fashion and the players are awarded their trophies before Sue Barker thrusts a microphone in the face of the defeated Scot, who attempts valiantly to form coherent sentences in the midst of a mental breakdown.  He thanks his fans, coaches and family in a speech that coincides with the release of two and a half weeks of pent up emotion.  His words are forced through supressed tears, making it sound like he is delivering his speech from a massage chair.  Murray takes his final bow and traipses off Centre Court sparking a mass exodus from the grandstands as flocks of tweed clad spectators head for home.

With Fred Perry’s record stretching yet another year and Andy Murray visibly damaged by the defeat, there is only one question that remains, why on earth does the Wimbledon trophy have a pineapple on it?

Charity - Niemann Pick

A few months ago I made a grave error of judgement.  I found myself in Newcastle City Centre, labouring with a particularly vile hangover when I was approached by a woman in a coat so bright that it weakened my already shaky constitution.  She engaged my in a fairly one sided conversation and after a whirlwind couple of minutes I found myself leaving the scene having sent a ‘one off’ text donation in a bid to put a halt to the demise of the tiger in jungles the world over.

The orange lady’s bluster was convincing as she set about making me feel personally responsible for the dwindling numbers of these majestic beasts and for the rest of the day I wore my, ‘I’m helping to save the tigers’ sticker as a badge of valour and told anyone who would listen of my recent transition from being part of the problem, to being part of the solution. 

Bob Geldof - Charity big shot

My elation and pride were short lived, not 25 minutes had passed when the bombardment began and I received the first of around 50 calls from the, ‘save the tiger hotline’.  The man’s gracious tone, in light of my text donation did – albeit briefly – make me feel a bit like Bob Geldof after Live Aid, yet soon enough the conversation turned to commitment, (a terrifying topic for any man) as he effortlessly arrived at the words, ‘direct debit’ and ‘monthly donation’.  Needless to say I panicked and hurled my phone into the river Tyne.

The point that I am trying to make is that, for a lot of people, the only time that we will entertain the thought of giving to charity is after a skin full the night before.  This of course should not be the case and whilst saving the tigers is undoubtedly a worthwhile cause, the topic of charity as a whole is often greeted with an uneasy grimace from the general public.  A lack of information about certain charities is perhaps to blame for a lack of donations, as not all of the countless registered charities worldwide have the money to advertise on television or pay people to stand in the high street dressed in ridiculous jackets.

Two particular Charities that are lacking in any kind of exposure are the Niemann Pick Disease Group (NPDG) and the Niemann Pick Research Foundation (NPRF).  Niemann Pick is the name given to an extremely rare set of degenerative conditions for which there are currently no cure.  The NPDG and the NPRF are dwarfed in a competitive charity market by such giants as Cancer Research and Help for Heroes and aim to generate awareness of the disease and raise money in order to continue research into an effective treatment, as well as providing valuable support for those who live with the trials of the disease daily.

To put the rarity of this disease into some kind of context, imagine the start line for the London Marathon; a sea of colour, animal costumes and worried faces as the camera works its way through the crowd to capture the first regretful steps of those pushing their bodies to the limit to raise money for a number of charities.  Within those thousands of people there may be one or two running for a Niemann Pick charity, most likely those who have been directly affected by the condition.

Given my somewhat chequered history in terms of donating to charity it would be hypocritical of me to ask you to donate to this cause – that is not the point of this – the point is to raise much needed awareness of this disease.  The more people that know about it, the more that can be done to fight it.

You managed to sit through a thirty minute video about an elusive child capturer so I’d imagine that it is not beneath any of you to spare a couple of minutes to visit the website and make yourselves aware. http://www.nprf.org.uk/index.html Thank you.

Beauty

To quote Clint Howard’s character in The Waterboy, ‘I am not what you would call a handsome man’, if I were to appear on ‘The Love Machine’ I would most likely become one of Stacey Soloman’s unfunny footnotes as I am ditched and both the light in my booth and my self-esteem fade. It is no secret that my jaw has been the target of much ridicule over the years given its unnatural dimensions, leading numerous people to ask whether I have suffered a stroke or if I was dropped as an infant.  To the best of my knowledge, this is its natural shape.

I do have some redeeming features; I happen to think that my calves are exceptional – toned to perfection after years of running around football pitches – and I have seen far more horrific belly buttons in my time than my own.

Beauty is a touchy subject in our society but I am a firm believer of that old cliché that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; it’s the reason I have a girlfriend – either that or she has a fetish for facial disfigurements.  There are many superficial things that contribute to ones perception of beauty in another, for example, if a girls ‘beauty’ looks like it can be removed with the aid of a wet wipe then she immediately becomes a less attractive prospect.  This does not mean to say that all make-up is bad, rather that it should be applied sparingly – often the term ‘foundation’ is confused, which results in girls looking like they actually plan to build a house on their face.

The face of inner beauty

Jesmond, the plush suburb of Newcastle, is home to more than its fair share of ‘beautiful people’.  The girls float into the bars on drifts of cloud whilst the male population struggles to contend with dropping jaws and bulging crotches, yet contrary to the Hollister Co. employment policy, beauty goes much deeper than what can be seen on the surface.

I’d like to think that I possess a certain set of solid values that would ensure people perceive me as someone of adequate inner beauty; I always hold the door, I say please and thank you and I refrain from public displays of masturbation – all highly desirable traits in any human being.  Of course some people go that extra mile to cover up any physical imperfections by being exceptionally attractive on the inside.  Mother Theresa had a face that closely resembled a scrotum and therefore chose to spend her life helping the poor in her native India in a bid to appear more beautiful – it worked.

Ken Barlow - Pussy magnet

Alcohol is incredibly effective in blurring the lines of physical beauty which can result in a nasty surprise once the sun rises and the hangover kicks in.  At this point, less attention is being paid to a persons’ potential inner beauty and more to devising a quick and quiet escape route.  The truth is we all have our body hang-ups, mine is my jaw, whereas others may worry about their weight, but we can all take comfort and hope from recent revelations about William Roach (Ken Barlow), living proof that you don’t need to be beautiful, or interesting to be found attractive.

Quiz Shows

Television schedules these days are punctuated by a great many quiz shows on which contestants compete to win money, holidays, and above all, pride.  The viewing public play along at home, insistent that if they were to go on that particular show that they would perform significantly better than the idiot using two of his three lifelines before the £1000 landmark, or the bloke who thought it was Marilyn Manson who famously sang happy birthday to the President John F. Kennedy.

CJ - The evil face of teatime quiz shows

One of my personal favourites is ‘Eggheads’, where teams challenge a formidable quiz machine, made up of five from a pool of around eight expert quizzers.  Kevin is imperious, I have never yet seen him out-witted; looking at him, it is hard to imagine him doing anything other than digesting encyclopaedias in his one bedroom flat with the faint sound of Babestation in the background as his only company.  Daphne and Judith make up the female contingent on Eggheads and are often targeted as the weak links by their challengers, but despite preferring to spend their time scantily clad on street corners - rather than revising - they are seldom defeated.  The rest are an unimpressive blend of middle aged men whose flair for general knowledge is their only redeeming feature.  A paragraph about the Eggheads would not be complete without mention of possibly the most horrific human being on the planet.  CJ epitomises everything that is wrong with the world and whilst there are no amount of words that could describe how much the British population despises him, anyone who has seen the programme will know what I am talking about.

‘Pointless’ is a pioneer in the evolution of television quiz shows and is made all the more enjoyable by its dynamic duo of presenters, Alexander Armstrong and Richard Osman, who - when the roaring trail of fire that their quiz is currently blazing, dies out - could easily carve out a career in the comedy industry as a double act.  The concept of the game is a clever one; pairs of contestants must battle stupidity and nerves to answer questions with the least common answer (kind of like the opposite of the format on Family Fortunes).  For example, when presented with the task of identifying the world’s most evil men, CJ from the Eggheads would earn you a high score whereas Joseph Kony would produce a more desirable lower yield.  The four pairs that begin the game are whittled down over three rounds, before the final round in which the remaining duo competes for what is admittedly a pathetic prize fund when compared to other shows.

Not all of the newer quiz shows are good though; the less said about ‘Cleverdicks’ – Sky Atlantic’s recent stab at a quiz show - the better.  The show consists of a decrepit Ann Widdecombe - labouring with haemorrhoids - firing questions at an array of poorly dressed, yet unquestionably intelligent, virgins.

Ladies man - Roy Walker

‘Catchphrase’ is often cited as one of the best Gameshows ever to grace our television screens, in its prime Roy Walker hosted the show in which two contestants would compete against each other to correctly identify a plethora of animated catchphrases; ‘Say what you see’.  A great deal of fun to play from the comfort of your own home, ‘Catchphrase’ offered a lucrative reward for the victor, in the shape of a holiday to some far flung resort on top of any money accumulated throughout the show.  ‘Catchphrase’ and its famous mascot Mr Chips, saw a brief revival in the early noughties, post Roy Walker but the show was never the same without the Irish lothario undressing the female contestants with his eyes.

A mere 15 questions stood between contestants and one million pounds on ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire?’ but few managed to reach that landmark, even with the aid of three lifelines.  One individual who did manage to conquer the 15 questions was Judith - of Eggheads fame - who nonchalantly answered the Million Pound question correctly.  One contestant on the American version of the show who, when faced with the life changing Million Dollar question, had the gall to use his final lifeline to ring his Dad and tell him he was about to become a millionaire.  Whilst the feeling of winning the jackpot is most likely the pinnacle of that person’s emotional capabilities, the feeling of answering one of the early routine questions wrong and leaving the company of Chris Tarrant empty handed must be hard to take.  This was never going to be an issue for Major Charles Ingram who, with the help of a coughing accomplice, cheated his way to £1,000,000.

Gameshows provide society with an academic outlet, a means of affirming one’s metal capacity and intelligence.  There are many components that make up a successful quiz show: a charismatic host, an interesting concept and a play-along-at-home appeal.  Britain’s love for Gameshows and the apparent enjoyment in watching others squirm under pressure will ensure that the producers at Challenge TV will remain in employment for years to come.

This guy has balls! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsw3TILXXBk

Joseph Kony

Pure Evil

Evil comes in many forms, the visible thong protruding from a pair of size 20 jeans and allowing Adrian Chiles to present football are just two examples of evil in modern society and whilst the repugnant nature of an oversized thong exposed in public and the brummy’s droning nonsense are at times hard to contend with, we tolerate them with the knowledge that there is far greater evil in the world.

The majority of you reading this will have already seen the video that is doing the rounds on Facebook and I for one have not been as affected by an online video since ‘Two Girls One Cup’ emerged.  The video is an attempt to make the world aware of Joseph Kony.  Kony is the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), a group that holds its roots in religion – members insist spirits contacted Kony directly to carry out this mission throughout Uganda.  It recruits vulnerable children to do its inhumane bidding, in a war for power.  Despite my hatred for oversized thongs I would much rather have the misfortune of being stuck behind a plus sized female than meet Mr Kony.

Furious

Kony’s ‘mission’ involves ripping the childhood away from entire communities as young unassuming individuals are snatched from their homes, handed guns and sent out to kill.  One of the celebrities supporting the campaign is Angelina Jolie who is unsurprisingly furious with Joseph Kony for stealing ‘all the good kids’ as she aims to strengthen her own tribe.

I, like many others, was ignorant to the horrific crimes being committed up until I saw the video on Facebook and at 29 minutes long, I had little faith that I was going to stick it out for the duration – my level of patience often leaves me unable to complete a sandwich – yet as the video went on I became more compelled to learn about the actions of this evil man whose global exposure is growing by the day.  The situation in Central Africa is summed up in the video by a young boy who says simply, ‘It’s sad’.  

The aim of the video is to raise awareness of the man who has reaped havoc in Central Africa for decades and ultimately overthrow him.  The term ‘Make Kony Famous’ is a recurring theme and  given Kony’s elusive nature it isn’t really feasible to increase his exposure in the usual way and put him in the Big Brother House.  The video is undoubtedly moving and thought provoking and no sooner had my faith in humanity been restored than it was ripped away by an army of cynics professing to know every detail about the LRA and insisting that a campaign on Facebook is frivolous.  The power of social media is not to be underestimated; in 2009 a campaign by fans of Rage Against the Machine to overhaul to grasp that the X Factor had on the Christmas number 1 was launched through Facebook and proved successful.  As humans we are criticized time and time again for not ‘doing our bit’ for third world countries, yet the Invisible Children Foundation is a prime example of a society working within their means to help others less fortunate.

The cynicism with which people have viewed this attempt to make the world a better place is the reasons why politicians would rather sit on the fence and pick the splinters out of their arses than commit to any kind of meaningful change.  There is no pleasing some people.

The man everyone is talking about, Joseph  Kony

Often we go to bed at night with worries on our mind and at one time or another these worries will force us to lie awake staring at the ceiling whilst imagining the worst possible outcome for whatever may be troubling us, be it a relationship, an exam or the fact that your football team is fourth bottom of the entire football league.  Yet all of these concerns – except maybe the last – pale into insignificance when we realise the panic that these children in Central Africa must feel as they lay down at night.  We have all heard fictional tales of the bogeyman, yet for these kids, it’s a terrifying reality.

How do you stop a man so focused on power that he will exploit the children of his nation to keep it? I am not saying that we should all board a plane to Uganda and hunt for Kony ourselves, this would be foolish and costly, I am merely echoing the message of Jason Russell and the Invisible Children Foundation to expose Kony for what he is and make others aware in the process.  So if you haven’t already, take half an hour out of your day to watch this video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc  Enjoy!

Mobile Phones

The Evolution of the Cell Phone 

We live in a society when the event of losing your mobile phone is a more traumatic experience than losing your virginity.  We rely more heavily on our phones than anyone could have ever imagined when they first emerged as hulking monstrosities attached to the owner – tangled in wires - by a shoulder strap.  Mobile phones are no longer a device simply used for communication between two individuals and the advancements in the technology we now have access to are remarkable. 

The amount of time we spend with our eyes fixed on the screens of our phones and our thumbs clicking away has served to make us less social creatures over time, yet there is no doubt of the advantages to us brought about by the evolution of the mobile phone; it is far easier to call for help in an emergency rather than use Morse Code, for example.  Older generations are baffled by today’s technology and the effortlessness with which the youth of today use it – the look on the face of a parent when attempting to get to grips with a smartphone is similar to that of a young child when they first realise they have hands: utter wonderment.

I was witness to a conversation a few days ago between two girls, who could not have been older than 12, one of whom was lamenting her ill-fated decision to opt for a Blackberry as opposed to an iphone – when I was that age I was sporting a ridiculous haircut and a Motorola which weighed around half of my body weight, there was no danger of me losing it - if it left my pocket I would have floated away - and I was more likely to dent the pavement than shatter my phone if I were to drop it.  I realise now that if I pulled that phone out of my pocket to answer a call not only would I probably pull a muscle but also be looked upon as some sort of caveman. 

Owning a mobile nowadays gives you access to another world and one of many possibilities to be explored is the art of ‘Sexting’.  A popular hobby amongst professional footballers, ‘Sexting’ has really taken off over the past few years and is the process by which concupiscent men and women relay their sexual desires to one another via text message.  Its appeal is in its covert nature; the unassuming public have no idea of the lewd content of the messages that whizz by their ears through the atmosphere before reaching the handset of a person equally as hard-up as the sender.

Steve Job: A pioneer of Mobile Phone Technology

So what is the best phone? Does the Blackberry ensure higher social regard or is the iphone the more desirable smartphone? Could it be the case that the likes of Samsung and LG are making up lost ground since Steve Jobs kicked the bucket resulting in the ideas at Apple HQ drying up?  Nothing is clear and the competition will no doubt continue for years to come as the capabilities of these gadgets reach new highs but there is one universal nugget of knowledge, however when it comes to the topic of mobile phones, that is not up for discussion…

The Nokia 3310 and other similar models will forever be the undisputed kings of cellular phone technology.  They can perform all the basic functions you would expect from a mobile including - in some cases - the phenomenon of polyphonic ringtones.  On top of this, the Nokia brand is notorious for its durability and is often the only remaining piece of working technology recovered from the scenes of tsunamis and the epicentres of earthquakes, but above all of this there is one feature of the earlier Nokia phones – which in recent years has been inexplicably omitted – that sets it apart from all of its rivals.  This attribute saw the level of enjoyment on the average trip to the toilet increase dramatically during the late 90s, I am of course talking about that most addictive of games, Snake.  Gaming technology has advanced over the years in terms of graphics and the all-round aesthetics but games such as Temple Run and Angry Birds are flashes in the proverbial pan of mobile phone games, Snake will out-live them both.

Evolution of man is no longer determined by the development and advancement of mind and body but on our understanding of the gadgets that make the world we live in so fast paced and the dexterity of our thumbs.  Ever wondered if an iphone would survive being put in a blender? Here’s your answer http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLxq90xmYUs Enjoy!

Golden Boy Camp Clinches British Title

Whilst the Nation waits with baited breath for the Olympic Games to get underway, one local lad has been making a name for himself in a sport that won’t feature at London 2012.  Sam Camp of New Mills was recently the recipient of an impressive accolade as he was crowned World Association of Kickboxing Organisations (WAKO) Junior Boys British Kickboxing Champion at the under-63kg weight division last month.  The Championships took place in Birmingham and the 18 year old admits to being apprehensive about his chances beforehand, ‘I didn’t think I had a chance, I was going for the experience more than anything.  There were a lot of top fighters competing from across the UK so it was a shock to win.’

This is not Camp’s first taste of success however, in February of last year he won the World Kickboxing Council (WKC) English National Championship and also picked up the Silver Medal at the Martial Arts Illustrated Open Championships in the Men’s under-63kg weight division.  Sam’s desire to improve and progress since these tournaments has resulted, not only in his Gold in Birmingham but also valuable experience at the WKC World Championships in Cadiz, Spain, where he had the honour of representing his country. ‘Although I didn’t manage to win a medal I was extremely proud to represent my country.  I was in awe of some of the great fighters that competed and one day I hope to emulate their successes on the world stage,’ Camp revealed. ‘It was a learning curve for me and hopefully I’ll get the chance to compete at that level again and bring home a medal.’

Sam’s success has not come without sacrifice and the local lad is well known for his hard work and dedication that sees him train under the guidance of coaches Rick Allsop and Chris Boughey up to eight times a week.  ‘I started the sport as a way of getting fit as I was in the process of applying for the Royal Navy,’ explains Camp, ‘It was something a bit different so I gave it a try and I haven’t looked back since.’  Once a keen footballer and cricketer Camp has demonstrated his commitment to his progression as a Kickboxer by putting those hobbies on hold and focusing on his training at North West Chinese Kickboxing gyms in Buxton, Chorlton, Glossop and his hometown New Mills, under the watchful eyes of his coaches, for whom Camp has the utmost respect. ‘They’re both exceptional martial artists and I’ve learnt a lot form them.  I’m very grateful for what they have done for me so far and the best way to repay them is in medals!’

At the London Olympics we can expect to see Britain’s finest martial artists in Judo and Taekwondo take on the world and attempt to make their mark on the Olympic scene but why is there no room for Kickboxing at the pinnacle of world sport? ‘I think Kickboxing suffers from not having one set governing body, there are variations on the rules which would make it difficult to define as one event,’ says Camp.  The British Champ goes on to explain that it is a great spectator sport and he feels that Kickboxing getting overlooked for the Games is resulting in a lack of media exposure for the sport.  ‘If it ever was accepted as an Olympic Sport I’d love to compete, it would be the ultimate honour but I have a long way to go yet.’

In the coming months Camp aims to step up his training regime and fight at a higher level with more experienced campaigners of the sport in the men’s category and this ambitious young man is setting himself no boundaries as he maintains his overall aim is to one day win a World Title. Watch this space.

Young Guns Tackle Grass Roots Game

As members of a generation that is often labelled lazy and lamented for showing a lack of initiative, it would seem that Jarrad Ince and Danny Millen are doing all they can in order to avoid being tarred with the same brush.  The inseparable double act who have been friends since childhood have now taken the bold step into the world of business together and the Marple pair are bringing a fresh perspective and much-needed enthusiasm to Grass Roots sport.

Millen and Ince hope that soon, this will be a  thing of the past.

Fit 4 Kidz targets a niche in the market and offers the parents of children aged 2-5 the opportunity to introduce their kids to sport in a safe and fun environment.  I asked Millen about the aims of the company, ‘there is currently no structure in place to offer a stepping stone into sport from pre-school into primary education, by setting up Fit 4 Kidz we feel we’re doing our bit to help curb childhood obesity and get children interested in sport and healthy living at an early age.’  He went on to add that cuts to the funding of sports in the UK, made by the coalition government, haven’t helped the problem of childhood obesity and that it may take more companies like Fit 4 Kidz to help bridge the gap.  The general consensus in Britain is that Grass Roots sport is a struggling industry and Ince and Millen both agree that there is room for improvement but insist that companies like theirs, amongst others, are crucial when it comes to the development of youth sport in the UK. 

London's Olympic Stadium.

With the Olympics just around the corner the duo are hopeful that the games will leave a massive legacy and rejuvenate the country’s love of sport, ‘We’re a multisport company so obviously we’ll take a massive interest in the London Games.  A successful Olympic campaign would be a good thing for companies like ours.’

Ince and Millen, both 20, show a refreshingly positive attitude to their work and are thriving on the responsibility of running their own business and the rewards that brings.  The emphasis, they stress, is on providing an introduction to sport in a fun, caring and positive environment and there is no doubt that the local lads offer a valuable service to their local community; running sessions in schools, playgroups and nurseries around the Stockport area.  The company’s early success has seen them begin to branch out into Tameside and its surrounding areas. 

The company formed in early 2011 after Jarrad and Dan both decided to make fresh starts and use their coaching qualifications, love for sport and initiative to provide the youth in their local area with a stepping stone into Physical Education.  As well as running Fit 4 Kidz the pair also manages to find the time to coach the youth team at local Evo-Stick League club New Mills AFC, who have recently began to offer young aspiring footballers in the area the chance to become full time scholars, in a rare move for a club at this level.  Despite this the boy’s focus is unwavering and their determination to see the growth of their brain child continue is plain for all to see.  They coach with passion and an immovable smile that is mirrored on the faces of the children they coach. 

Maintaining the steady growth of Fit 4 Kidz is the main aim and they continue to receive interest from schools and nurseries in the local areas for their services. This ambitious pair is setting themselves no boundaries and they have not ruled themselves out of the running for the vacant England Managers post, ‘We’ve sent our CVs off but not heard back from the FA yet, our managerial records are untarnished so we’re hopeful’.

Blogging

A month into my fledgling blogging career I feel that now is an appropriate time to justify my ‘incessant ravings’, as one particular individual described them.  Along with this rather hurtful comment I have received a broad spectrum of reactions for my blog posts which have covered a great many varying topics.  Overall the feedback has been good and most of your comments have encouraged me to ignore any negative comments – mainly from close friends – and persevere.  The feedback I have received has been ego boosting and to some extent, life affirming and I thank you for that.  For those less enamoured with my satirical viewpoints on this great mystery we call life I can only apologise for subjecting you to them.  This does not mean to say, however that I will stop, rather that you - the disgruntled minority - will have to become more tolerant.

The blog started out of boredom, as many great things do; the game of football, and electricity to name just two examples.  In its early days it attracted rather more attention than I had anticipated yet as the novelty factor has worn off over the weeks my following has dwindled to a select few who find my ramblings witty and insightful.  Either that or they are just reading out of pity.  The blog has become somewhat of a creative outlet for me and without it I feel I would be a much less pleasant person to be around, it gives me the opportunity to vent my frustrations and share my often flawed rationale with you, the public.  The fact is that writing my blog provides a certain cathartic release and without it I surely would have suffered a heart attack by now, or at the very least developed some kind of ulcer. 

One thing that I was prepared for when I embarked on my blogging quest was the ridicule I would be subjected to from my close friends who have branded me, amongst other things, a ‘weirdo’ and  a ‘freak’, some have even gone as far to say that they are concerned about my mental state.  I agree that the unfortunate timing of my blog may lead people to believe that it is one component of a premature mid-life crisis; I find myself at a crossroads in my life after withdrawing from University and moving back in with my parents.  Contrary to the views of some of my oldest friends, my recent literary endeavours are neither a cry for help nor a symbol of a fragile mental state.  A much more telling sign of my sanity is the fact that I often like to spice up shopper-employee relations, whilst purchasing items or ordering food, by portraying myself as one of many characters I have developed over time.  Just this morning I was Hans Schneider, a high flying German business executive on a three day jaunt from Dresden to secure a lucrative construction contract, who had a hankering for some mint imperials.  I feel the whole experience livens up the day’s proceedings and leaves the unwitting victim culturally enriched.

One of the labels that has not been associated with me in the midst of my blogging is that of ‘Literary Maverick’; if I had business cards printed that would be my title, I feel it is edgy and unique with just the right level of self-importance.  As a Literary Maverick I still have a great deal to learn about writing, I would be lost without the tools that Microsoft Word equips me with; I am over reliant on spell check - without it, some of the more elaborate words I use would merely be jumbles of letters - and my grasp on punctuation is similar to that of an eight year old.  It has got to the stage where a sentence looks naked without a semi-colon; this is something that needs to be remedied.

For those of you who dismiss this foray into the world of writing as a hobby I say to you, what is wrong with having a hobby?  I was in dire need of a new one, there is only so long a man can cope with the pain of blisters brought about by continual masturbation.  But that’s another story entirely.  I have utilised the social forum of Facebook as my main virtual advertising hording, something I have been criticised for after I questioned peoples’ reliance on the social networking site in one of my earliest blogs. 

I suppose that my ultimate hope for this collection of ramblings about my everyday irks is that somehow, amongst all of the blogging hopefuls out there, a wealthy magazine editor will stumble across my blog and offer me a great deal of money to write for him.  That is the dream and hopefully one day it will become a reality, but for now I will soldier on with my blogging antics and continue to strike fear into friends and acquaintances that one day they will be the subject of one of my blogs, because, when all is said and done, haters gonna hate.

Here’s a video of a dog talking http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGeKSiCQkPw

Alcohol

There are many ways a person can have fun, theme parks provide a valuable service to those who seek the thrill of adrenaline coursing through their veins, whilst for those who would prefer something rather less organic to be coursing through their veins, there is always class A drugs.  For those who don’t have the courage to board rollercoasters nor the funds to maintain a drug addiction, alcohol is a suitable alternative, providing a short term high and loss of inhibitions, followed - a few drinks later - by a state of complete amnesia.  Alcohol, if enjoyed in relative moderation (relative to George Best) is not only a thirst quenching beverage but a remarkably effective social tool providing links between beautiful people and those less physically blessed for centuries. 

A common sight most Saturday nights

Another point to be added to the list of pros when it comes to alcohol is the variety of forms in which it can be consumed.  For men there is beer, which in itself has a plethora of variations to please every pallet.  Bitter; for the older generations and those who like to gain weight while they drink, comes in many elaborately and ominously named forms, Old Peculiar and Tangle Foot to name two such poisons.  Lager is Bitter’s less robust and fizzier cousin and can leave you bloated and looking pregnant after around four pints.  It is the drink of choice amongst young to middle aged men and is the reason why a lot of stag nights take a sour turn at one stage or another.  Wine is consumed by those who wish to get legless with a sense of class, whilst ciders such as White Ace and Frosty Jacks are the drink of choice for those on a budget or devoid of taste buds.  Curiously as the night comes to end the need to drink escalates and young revellers can often be seen scrambling around in the vicinity of the bar, fighting with their wallets in order to purchase one final round of unimaginably strong and unpleasant shots.  This can often make or break the night and can be the difference between taking a member of the opposite sex home for a night of clumsy, uncoordinated debauchery and throwing up on them. 

Tequila, I feel, deserves a paragraph to itself. A highly debilitating brand of alcohol deriving from South America, its consumption is a sure fire way to ensure a hangover of biblical proportions the following day.  On three separate occasions I have made the mistake of introducing Tequila to my system and on each occasion the outcome has been the same, as I am left unable to see or speak in a pool of my own vomit.  Graphic this may be but hopefully it serves as an effective deterrent for anyone who was considering consuming it later on this evening.

There are many occasions on which alcohol is a suitable accompaniment to the festivities and 18^th birthday parties are possibly the Holy Grail.  Often this is the first occasion that a person is introduced to the joys of alcohol and it is the first time that they have not had to disguise their Vodka Lemonade in an empty Sprite bottle and polish it off in a dark alley by the side of KFC, for fear of having it confiscated by the long arm of the law.  Once 18 the shackles of sobriety are off and you are free to sample such delights as Jaegerbombs, Sambuca shots and Vodka Redbull as you please.

‘Pre-drinking’ is a phenomenon that has grown in popularity in recent years; the idea – as the name would suggest - is to commence drinking before you hit the town, in order to make a saving.  The concept is a savvy one and is helping many of us stumble through the sobering financial climate, bleary eyed and, as Homer Simpson once said, ‘Beer, the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems’.

Tonight being Saturday there will be a large number of you reading this who are preparing for a night on the tiles, some of you may have already started drinking and I salute you.  Your endeavour to brave the elements and laugh in the face of recession is admirable.  Please remember however that alcohol does funny things to the mind, it impairs your judgement and leaves you bereft of your faculties which can result in some questionable decision making.  A prime example of this is the massive increase in the number of Kebabs sold in the early hours; anyone in their right mind would leave this particular delicacy well alone and the taste that remains in the morning, which adds to the misery of the hangover, is testament to this.  I will leave you now, as I often do with a little video for your collective amusement.  We’ve all been drunk before, but I think it’s safe to say that on the morning that this video was shot, this man was the most-drunken specimen on the planet. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7a7l7IHXZwk&feature=fvwrel The choice of backing music, I think you’ll agree, is a nice touch.  Enjoy and drink responsibly. 

The Cinema

A trip to the cinema is one particular outing that has been enjoyed by people of all walks of life for decades, young or old, male or female, the cinema is a highly inclusive pastime and offers something for everyone. 

The cinematic experience begins before you even leave the car with the eternal hunt for a vacant space in the painfully undersized car parking facilities boasted by the complex, which invariably houses – not only a cinema – but a gym, bowling alley and a variety of restaurants to tempt even the most strong-willed of weight watchers.  The quest for a parking space will more often than not result in the abandonment of the vehicle in a dubious looking cul-de-sac or a supermarket an hours walk away from your destination.

One of the most common uses of the cinema experience is as a venue for the ‘first date’, the desired effect being that a new couple will be able to make it through the awkwardness of the whole scenario by sitting in a dark room, not talking.  The extent of the effectiveness of a trip to the pictures on a first date will depend largely on the film choice.  I speak from experience, apparently ‘treating’ a girl to a gun-slinging, knife-wielding, neck breaking, bloodbath such as The Expendables is not a wise move.  It turns out that Sly Stallone et al didn’t ‘do it’ for this particular girl and I never heard from her again.

Popcorn is a stalwart of cinema culture and - like petrol and diamonds – its price has spiked dramatically over the years, as has the number of bank loans acquired for trips to the cinema.  The popping kernels are seldom consumed outside of a cinema situation and one often wonders who first thought it would be an appropriate morsel to chow down on whilst watching a film.  Also available as in-film snacks are hot-dogs, nachos and other such messy and loud foods guaranteed to make the theatre a thoroughly unpleasant place to be.  As the film gets underway you get pelted with guacamole - amongst other condiments and relishes - and your feet begin to stick to the floor as years of spilt Coca Cola develop a highly effective adhesive.

After purchasing your chosen snacks, a balancing act - in a bid to avoid a post food fight scene - begins as you attempt to show your tickets to the cheery and accommodating staff who enthusiastically direct you to your screen and wish you, with the utmost conviction, an enjoyable visit.

Gone are the days when you could take your own snacks and sweets into the theatre, this is now strictly forbidden and has forced many a small nearby sweet shop into bankruptcy.  This ruling has also gone some way to undermining the once feared and revered role of security staff; bag searches and the art of frisking are not what they used to be: “What is it you’re looking for? Guns, Knives?” “No…Malteasers”.  Surely making alcohol available to patrons inside the cinema is more of a risk than allowing someone to bring a Snickers bar from home.

After a short walk down an extravagantly carpeted hallway, strewn with cardboard cut-outs of Disney , the ultimate destination is arrived at and the search for a seat in the pitch black of the theatre will commence.  The skills required to do this without night vision, whilst laden with a plethora of refreshments and squeezing your way past already seated cinema-goers of varying shape, are akin to those listed as prerequisites for the Royal Marines.  Eventually you will find the perfect seat behind an afro bearing individual and the trailers will begin.

Trailers are cited by many as their favourite component of the cinema experience, however I have never really cared for them.  In my view trailers do either one of two things; show so much of the film they are advertising that it makes it pointless to go and watch it in its entirety or serve to ruin the film you have actually paid to see by forcing upon you a realisation that you should have forked out for the one being advertised. 

The film itself will be punctuated by a chorus of coughs, mutterings of those who have quite literally ‘lost the plot’ and loud and piercing ‘shushes’, of those engrossed in the film who take exception to the lady in the 11^th row whose laughter is so raucous and belated to the punch lines that it is becoming offensive.  Upon leaving the theatre the gentle hum of amateur film critics reviewing what they have just seen plays to the beat of crunching popcorn beneath the feet of the exiting crowd as they shield their eyes upon being reintroduced to the phenomenon of light.

The cinema has and always will be an enjoyable break in the monotony of everyday life.  Here is a heart-warming video of one man who loved the cinema so much he used it to propose to his girlfriend. Enjoy! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnVAE91E7kM

The England Job

After Capello fled in a blaze of fury who will be the man to step into his extravagantly priced Italian loafers?  The 65 year old was a popular choice back in 2008 in the wake of Steve McClaren’s reign of terror which saw the National team fail to qualify for a major tournament for the first time since 1994.  The Italian then set about proving his credentials as a tactician in his debut game, a 2-1 victory over Switzerland at Wembley.  In 2008, as is the case each time the vacancy opens up, the same names were banded about and the same questions arose.  Thankfully the days when the likes of Alan Curbishley and John Gregory were touted for the post are long gone, yet some names have remained stalwarts in the selection process; Harry Redknapp and Martin O’Neill to name just two. 

‘He has to be English’, is a pre-requisite that has fallen on deaf ears in the past, in light of the appointments of Sven Goran-Eriksson and more recently Fabio Capello.  Sandwiched in between them was the ‘Wally with the brolly’ who was offered the job - post Sven – only to squander, painfully, the opportunity to move out of his mentor, Sir Alex Ferguson’s, shadow.  There was little anger after that night at Wembley, on which Croatia out-battled and out-played us in the pouring rain, as there was in South Africa after Capello and co capitulated against the Germans.  Instead there was a great sense of pity as we watched McClaren looking on helplessly at the demise of his side.  Will the catastrophe of his appointment sway the FA to look overseas once again this time around?

The overwhelming favourite is of course Harry Redknapp, he is a national treasure, fresh from acquittal for tax evasion and if any Englishman has earned the right to manage his country then ‘Arry is that man.  His Tottenham side play an exciting brand of football that has seen him win many admirers in his White Hart Lane tenure; utilising old fashioned style wing play, his strategy is both a blast from the past and a view to the future as more recent, tried and tested styles from the likes of Arsenal and Chelsea appear be losing their cutting edge.  Would a man as proud as Redknapp want to risk tarnishing his reputation in the hot seat which has seen countless predecessors melt under the pressure?

If Harry were to take the job he would be leaving a side, who next year will not only be aiming to qualify for the Champions League but also for the title, for a mediocre national team whose 5^th place in the FIFA ranking belies their ability and recent results.  The nation as a whole is disillusioned with their national team, once a source of great pride, the majority now take to the field not because they want to, but because they feel that they have to.  The Three Lions is no longer worn with valour but displayed as a symbol of failure and disappointment.  Despite ringing endorsements from fellow Premier League Managers, Sir Alex Ferguson and Martin O’Neill highlighting the Tottenham boss as the ideal candidate for the job, I feel that it would be foolish to leave what he has built in North London for International Management.  However, Redknapp himself has admitted that he views the England Managers job as the pinnacle of the game.  Who knows, Harry could well be the man to reinvent and enthuse the current crop of beleaguered players but in my eyes there is really only one man for the job…

Jose Mourinho is the only man who could fulfil the over-inflated expectations of England fans who for years have bemoaned the failures of the national representatives of the game they so love.  He would bring what he has brought to every side that he has managed; arrogance, ruthlessness and a togetherness that breeds success.  Whilst he has no international experience he has an advantage over Redknapp - if the FA choose to view his CV - in that he has managed in four different countries, succeeding in each whereas Harry’s managerial career has been limited to England.   Who can honestly say they wouldn’t want the self-proclaimed ‘Special One’ in charge of their nation?

In reality whoever choses to take up the mantle and pick up where Mr Capello left off is a brave man, who in their right mind would board the Titanic with full knowledge of the outcome?  What is required is not necessarily patriotism, as Stuart Pearce will undoubtedly bring as Caretaker boss, but a sense of pride and simply, a will to win at all costs.  The poison chalice was supped dry by Fabio Capello, it has now been refilled and lies in wait for the next candidate.

Dream Team

The Concept

The concept of the ‘Dream Team’ is to find the perfect blend of attack and defence, an intriguing mix of skill and simplicity and a destructive combination of flair and power.  As fans we have seen thousands of players both in the flesh and on our television screens and therefore the process of selecting an elite eleven is an agonising one to say the least.  I will be attempting to build my own starting line-up from the players and teams that I have witnessed in my life time, a hybrid that - I think - would be capable of beating any other mixture of talent on any given day.

The Selection Process

I have opted to select only players that I myself have seen play live, either in the flesh or on the television (the truth is, as a Plymouth Argyle fan, I have not seen any of the players I have selected in the flesh!).  This then, rules out such greats as Pele, Maradona and Cruyff from the selection process, whilst I have great respect and appreciation for their reputations as professionals, it would be unreasonable for me to include them in my line-up based purely on what I have been told about them: this is my Dream Team.  I have resisted bias and in turn resisted temptation to delve into the Argyle archives and select a Home Park hero such as Paul Wotton or David Friio.  When selecting a Dream Team it is common-place for supporters to use their biases as a way of whittling down the list of players available for selection; seldom would Paul Scholes, despite his un-doubtable talent, appear in the Dream Team of a Manchester City fan.  My blend of cultures and styles of play is made up of players whom at one time or another have amazed me on a football pitch.

The Formation

Gone are days when teams would cancel each other out with corresponding 4-4-2 set-ups.  The influx of foreign talent in Europe’s top leagues has resulted in a hybrid blend of play utilising a variety of formations.  Jose Mourinho has been a pioneer for this in recent times, upon his arrival at Stamford Bridge he began to utilise a defensive midfielder behind two more advanced middle men thus creating what has come to be known as the ‘Makelele role’.  The variety of different formations and styles of play across Europe make tournaments such as the Champions League a feast for the eyes, as not only players but managers can demonstrate the skills of their trade to millions worldwide.  After much deliberation I decided upon an adaptation of the 4-3-3 set-up.  The ‘keeper and back four are as you would expect, of the three midfielders, one lies deeper protecting the back four and breaking up play in the middle of the park.  Either side of this man are two playmakers whose job it is to receive the ball from the deep lying midfielder and the back four and advance play.  Ahead of the two playmakers are two wider advanced players who have free roles to attack and link the play between the midfield and the target man who completes the eleven. 

The Manager

The Special One - An obvious choice

The choice of the Manager for my Dream Team was a simple one. Jose Mourinho has proved time and time again over the past eight years or so, that he is the best manager in world football; winning league titles in three (soon to be four?) different countries and a two time Champions League winner, on top of his charisma, tactical know-how and pure entertainment value make Jose the only choice as Head Coach of my Dream Team.

The Essentials

In my view, there are three things that every team needs, if they have these things then a great team can form:

Taibi perfected this pose during his time in  Manchester

1.            A Goalkeeper that the back four can trust; there is nothing worse as a defender than being made to feel on edge by your ‘keeper, you could have the best back four in the world but if you have a Massimo Taibi or a David James between the sticks then your defence is going to be compromised. 

2.            A tough-tackling midfielder is essential, to opposing fans players like Karl Henry and Lee Cattermole may seem like nothing more than thugs but to the fans of their respective clubs they are priceless commodities.  Week in week out they take to the field and do the dirty work, whilst more aesthetically pleasing players take the plaudits, however, take a player like Henry or Cattermole out of the side then you’ll find that your flair players will struggle to flourish.

3.            A Target Man.  Perhaps the most important aspect of any team, the Target Man will provide an outlet for 90 minutes and is the key to linking up midfield and attack.  There is nothing more frustrating to football fans than their team lumping up long-ball after long-ball to two diminutive forwards.  This does not mean to say that small players cannot make effective target men, Carlos Tevez proved adept at the role on many occasion at Manchester City.  The Target Man requires strength, areal ability, a glue –like first touch and above all, an astute footballing brain.

My Dream Team

#1 Edwin Van Der Sar

#2 Cafu  #4 Traianos Dellas  #5 Alessandro Nesta  #3 Ashley Cole

#6 Patrick Vieira

#7 Zinedine Zidane    #8 Andres Iniesta

#10 Lionel Messi                                                   #11 Ronaldinho

#9 Ruud Van Nistelrooy

Manager: Jose Mourinho

Summery

I would not expect for one minute for any football fan to come up with exactly the same line-up as me if they were challenged to build their own Dream Team, every fan has his own view and that, at the end of the day is what makes football the game we love so much and better than any other sport in the world.  It’s a cliché, but football truly is a game of opinions and this is what keeps us coming back for more, week in week out.