I have an Antipodean work colleague, let’s call him Jasper Ricketts, who I have recently allowed into the inner sanctum that is onstupidity.com. I don’t really want this site to have an inner sanctum, I’d like the whole world to read it but then it wouldn’t be so nice if people started pelting me with rotten cyber fruit; such a dilemma. Anyway, I’m very fond of Mr Ricketts – he works hard most of the time and he is most personable some of the time and I often begrudgingly find myself enjoying his company. He was kind enough to spit out a few half complements about my hobby and when I asked him for some constructive feedback he said something (I wasn’t really listening to be honest because I have a policy of not registering the advice of Australians) like “gee mate, woi donne cha scribble a little bid abadd sport, maybe yer 5 least fayyvritt sporrs peaopple of all tiiimmme, no worries mate” etc etc. Well he would, wouldn’t he, because Australians cling on to sport like Kate Winslet clung on to that crappy bit of wood in Titanic – it’s the only reason for existence in an otherwise empty wasteland. Only joking, when I rule the universe Australia can definitely stay.
Jesus, what twaddle. Here’s my 5 (I may stretch to 10 if I hit a seam) least favourite sporting creatures of all time; we all know that most sporty types have all the charisma of a half eaten Ryvita so lets not delude ourselves by calling them personalities. That’s just the BBC trying to put make up on a gargoyle.
- Lewis Hamilton. The best British F1 driver ever? I couldn’t give a fuck if he is or he isn’t. He looks like a cheap Action Man dressed as a pimp and is actually here as a representative for all F1 drivers. It says a lot that this sport has to thank two such exceptional creeps as Bernie Ecclestone and Max Mosely for its success. It is also a well known fact that before you become an F1 driver you have to have your personality surgically removed. There are a few mild exceptions such as Senna or Hunt, but generally you only have to listen to people like Nigel Mansell and see that a life dedicated to driving a car very fast in a loop offers fame and fortune at the cost of not being able to say anything interesting about pretty much any other subject. And when F1 is already boring enough that makes for a very boring individual indeed.
- Ricky Ponting. For a start I struggle to understand why anyone would ever willingly let themselves be called Ricky in public. Little Ricky may have been pretty handy with a bat and captained Australia through one of their greatest purple patches but he was also surrounded by a thick curtain of arrogance (not unusual in sport, not unusual in Australia) and, worse still, he was cursed with a spot of short man syndrome and a bit of a hissy fit temper. Overall verdict – he is a full tosser, but not strictly speaking in a cricketing sense.
- Pete Sampras. Responsible for making tennis so very gaspingly empty. Dubbed “Pistol Pete” by his low standard fans, he may have been able to moisten Sue Barker’s knickers from 100 yards out but in truth he was a cock holster and his persona and playing didn’t add up to much more than a drooping member at a coke orgy. His serve, whilst relentless, was very, perhaps irrationally, annoying and I blame him for destroying the glory years of Wimbledon: Edberg, Conners, McEnroe, Becker and of course Lendl. Speaking of whom I will also never forgive Pat ‘one hit wonder’ Cash for beating Lendl in that final. Cocky fucker.
- Conor McGregor. Because UFC and MMA are just willy waving crap and though there is no doubt that it would take him less than a second to pull my tongue out through my arsehole he is essentially a thug and a bully and a berk and I’m not sure that he offers very much at all to society.
- Stephen Hendry. A bit of the Sampras effect here. I like Hendry now, nice chap, but when I was growing up my face used to slide off my skull he was so tedious. I got fed up with him winning when he won the first time and I actually cried when he beat Jimmy White to the line; jammy little Scottish dullard.
- Ronaldo. Not the fat Brazilian one but the supremely gifted, unctuous little shit that, given the chance, would quite literally fuck himself and enjoy every minute of it. Here is a man who very nicely personifies every grubby, self interested, greedy corner of the game that football has become. That awful, laughable bronze statue of him – that’s how he should be remembered.
- Geoffrey Boycott. In some cricketing circles GB has been praised for his doggedness and ability to wither down his opponents. He did this by defending every ball and it is no exaggeration that you could wander off and do the weekly shop, mow the lawn and re-roof the shed, all with scant fear that he might put any more than about 3 runs on in the meantime. That’s right, he quite literally bored people into submission, which is fitting as he’s also the quintessential Yorkshireman and that makes him a bloated turd sitting on anyone’s cream cake.
- Jonny Wilkinson. Before Jonny Wilkinson nobody in sport rattled on about practising for 10,000 hours and ‘seeing’ the ball go over and rugby players used to just take the fucking kick without standing there with their hands clenched together, looking constipated. In 2003 we just about won the Rugby World Cup and suddenly it was everyone’s favourite sport. In a million years time people will be rubbing their eyes with disbelief and saying “what the fuck is rugby”. Seems like a nice bloke though.
- Mo Farah. Sod it, I’m sticking with this one. For the tedium and time vacuum that is 98% of watching long distance running. For the arm gesture Mobot or whatever it is. For looking behind him all the time – tip Mo, don’t worry if they’re behind you, worry if they’re in front. For being knighted for running fast. For those appalling Quorn adverts. For being duller than a Yorkshireman talking about coal mining.
- Dame Kelly Holmes. I may well be wrong but I still don’t buy her sudden transformation from also-ran to brief world dominance and tally it up with those bulging, chemical eyes when she surprised even herself by taking it all in one go. It’s cynical I know, but there’s just something not right about it. Like I say, I could be wrong.
There you go Jasper, please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think. Blah, blah, blah.
G B Hewitt. 31.07.2019