Progressive Thoughts - Day 11

There is one British band carrying the torch for Progressive Rock into the future and are bringing the genre to the masses. That band is Muse and today’s song is one of their classics. It is called Survival and was the official anthem for the London 2012 Olympics.

It’s a great song that illustrates the drive to achieve a sporting triumph and characterises the desire to keep on striving to reach your goals.

When I was a young lad, I used to watch sport and dream of achieving similar goals. I was hindered slightly because my eyesight is so poor that there are certain sports I could only dream of attempting.

Take football for example – or if you are American, I mean “soccer” ( I will try not to rant about the sport that you guys call “football” because, don’t forget, I am endeavouring to be positive in 2017 and not antagonise anybody – besides, you have enough on your plate with Donald Trump!).

To play football, you need good eyesight and I can barely see the other players on my own team let alone the bloody ball. I did try playing football in my spectacles a couple of times, but each time I ended up in pain. One time, the ball hit me full in the face and the frame of my glasses pierced the skin above my eye giving me a nasty cut more reminiscent of boxing.

I tried repeatedly to play without them but failed. One time, the goalkeeper cleared the ball in my direction and I ran forward to where I thought it would end up. My fellow team mates yelled at me – all I could hear was my name being called. Sadly, I thought they were expecting a pass the moment that I plucked the ball from the air, like a professional footballer would do; the truth is that they were yelling for another reason. I looked up into the sky and the ball hit me full in the face almost breaking my nose. I fell in a heap on the floor and the opposition players almost collapsed in laughter.

Another game I tried was rugby, which is more like American Football – but much more violent and with no added protection.

I regarded rugby as legalised bullying and in order to thrive you needed to have good eyesight (fail!), be big (fail!) and be strong (fail!).

I was fast, and could run when the ball somehow found its way into my hands but sadly my other flaws let me down and I ended up breathing mud having been flattened by angry meatheads twice my size and weight.

Cricket was another choice and I could play with my glasses on. The problem was that the ball is constructed in Hell and is a small hard missile hurled at you at ridiculous speeds and, if it makes contact, can cause huge pain.

Athletically, I was okay. I was quite fast and excelled in 100m, 200m, long jump and triple jump. My stamina was also high thanks to trying out cross country running so I was a very competent distance runner, doing well at 1500m and 5000m.

The field events were a challenge. I opted out of trying to throw a hammer, discus or javelin in case I impaled the sports teacher, although at the time I wouldn’t have been too sad because he was a sadistic rugby player (and a complete bastard) who hated me for some reason.

My sports teacher

I’ve tried a few sports over the years such as tennis, swimming, table tennis, badminton and hockey but my love was always football and I carried on playing five-a-side well into my late 30’s before finally giving up and joining a gym to keep fit.

Now, in my mid-50’s the only sport that I can excel in is walking – and I love to do that alone with my iPod as a soundtrack.

I would dearly have loved to have been a professional footballer but God had other ideas; you can’t play football if your eyesight is worse than Mr Magoo’s.

If all of the rumours about the afterlife are true and one day I end up facing judgement I plan to ask the following questions:

Why the bad eyesight? 

What did I do wrong?

And before you ask, yes I did try contact lenses and I almost threw up over the optician’s suit.

That would have been most unpleasant.

And Another Thing ...

I’m in the mood for a rant. Will you indulge me?

Too bad – I’m going to rant anyway. Let’s see where this goes. I’ll start with the Olympics.

You know how brilliantly Great Britain are doing at the Olympics? That’s something I am not going to target with my plastic wrath. Instead, I have BBC TV sports presenters in my sight.

Having endured about a week of listening to them on TV and radio, I am fed up of the constant gushing about the gold winning athletes. Please, please just offer congratulations instead of inventing superlatives and turning these athletes into deities.

I am happy that Bradley Wiggins won the road race; I am absolutely delighted that Jess Ennis beat the odds to triumph; I am over the moon that Andy Murray actually beat a legend; I couldn’t be happier for Ben Ainslie, Greg Rutherford, Victoria Pendleton or any of the other magnificent athletes.

But please stop going on about them as if they could fly to the moon and back.

And while we’re on, stop overusing the word journey.

X Factor started it.

"What a tough journey One Direction had to get here.”

These guys are BBC presenters and they prattle on about “journeys”. I know it’s difficult to talk about other things but please, for the sake of my sanity please try!

And why is X Factor still on TV? I am dreading the return of possibly the worst show ever to be conceived; a show that makes me want to destroy my television set. I could turn over but it is seriously difficult to find quality television sometimes.

I have Sky TV and I love watching sport and movies but, as Bruce Springsteen said, there are “57 Channels and nothin’ on.”

In fact it’s more like 357 channels. And that is particularly true in summer.

You may be wondering why I would want to watch TV in the summer when the weather is supposed to be  beautiful and we should all be outside basking in the heat and sunshine.

I can here you cry:

“Stop moaning at the TV, you plastic imbecile and get out there in the sunshine.”

Well, dear reader, I would – if it wasn’t pissing down outside.

July and August have been more like November and December this year.  We have had the wettest July on record and that is added to earlier months this year when it was also the wettest on record. The Jet Stream has been hovering south of the UK and bringing with it so much dreadful bloody weather that I want to put the whole thing into Room 101 together with Piers Morgan.

Constant, relentless rain has dampened my spirits to the point where I feel like running out to the middle of our street and kneeling down in the deluge with my arms skywards, pleading to whatever God is willing to listen to me:

"WHY WON’T YOU STOP RAINING?"

We had plans to take a week off work and travel to Scotland next week – but we daren’t. So instead we are spending more money – to fly south to Spain and spend a lot more money than I would have done.

Don’t get me wrong; a holiday to Spain will be most welcome, particularly Marbella, a place I haven’t been to before. The problem is that we have picked a particularly expensive part of Spain and Mrs PM has already tried to put me on a No Carbs till Marbs diet.

Don’t laugh – this is a genuine diet, inspired by yet another dumb TV show called The Only Way is Essex, full of a bunch of weirdos from (you've guessed it) Essex.

No way. The people of Marbella are going to have to put up with me waddling around with any excess body fat on show.

Not that I am fat. I might be a little bit overweight but my BMI is not bad for a guy of nearly 50. Nevertheless, if you happen to be in Marbella next week – don’t worry. I won’t be waddling around in clothes that make me look fat or ridiculous – unlike some holidaymakers I have seen.

There ought to be a law against wearing clothes that you shouldn’t.

I’m nearly 50 and I know where I’m flabby. I would never wear clothing that made me look like a total arse, under the illusion that I was the reincarnation of a muscular Greek Adonis. I would look like an absolute buffoon and probably make the Spanish throw up over their paella.

If you ever see me wandering around wearing clothes that make people ill, you have my permission to slap me.

I just wish I could do the same to some of the people who consider themselves to be athletic and absolutely attractive to the opposite sex, wearing clothes that accentuate everything that is disgusting about them.

I don’t do it (and believe me I look disgusting); why should THEY be allowed to get away with it?

If only I had the courage of my convictions. If only I had the courage to say to the 60 year old business man with a beer gut that is so huge that people scream when he turns around:

“Put a T shirt on – or should I say a tent! I don’t want to see your flabby, hairy beer belly and neither do all of these good people. And for God’s sake do NOT wear speedos.”

You see, dear reader, I am a silent ranter – one who rants to the cats, work colleagues who are entertained and my poor beleaguered and beloved Mrs PM – and nobody else.

Oh – apart from you, dear reader.

You see, I am a coward and I have to hide behind an alias here on the internet. Don’t get me wrong; I am not a troll. I would never openly insult a person, alias or no alias. I would never post a nasty comment on a blog post – even if I violently disagreed with the contents of that post.

I like to debate and allow discussions to germinate into an enjoyable experience for both parties – even if I think the other party is a clueless imbecile.

Debate is good; discussion is good. It opens up a whole new world of possibilities and, if done properly, can be an enjoyable learning experience.

So why, Mr Troll (and you know you’re out there reading this), do you insist on hurling abuse at poor innocent bloggers? Keyboard warriors wind me up so much that I have been tempted to track the buggers down.

Still, there’s no point getting upset with people who don’t know how to have a discussion about disagreements, people who just want to post vindictive nastiness under a pseudonym, in the hope that nobody will be able to track them down.

I think I’d better stop now before I get carried away.

Thanks for listening, dear reader – or should I say, thanks for reading.

Getting rid of stress by having a good rant is very therapeutic and, although I don’t genuinely get that upset over things, it eases any pressure that life has to throw at me. It is a necessary part of my existence.

I’ll finish off on a positive note.

Well done Team GB. I hate the name but 18 gold medals and counting is a majestic achievement.

Well done to each and every one of you. And well done to all athletes who have won medals for every other nation too.

I will not gush!

I WILL NOT GUSH!

And I definitely WILL NOT WEAR SPEEDOS!

Let The Games Begin

Unless you have been on another planet, you will know that the Olympic Games start in London tomorrow night.

However, the Games have actually already started and London does not have exclusive rights to them.

The Olympics actually started yesterday in Cardiff with the first game in the women’s football event. Tonight, at 19:45 Great Britain’s men play their first game at Old Trafford in Manchester against Senegal.

What’s odd about this is that Great Britain only play as a football team in selected Olympic Games. In all other competitions, Great Britain do not compete, opting for the individual countries instead. Watching Great Britain tonight will be weird as I usually scream blue murder when England are playing.

People of other nations may find this strange; the fact that the United Kingdom is made up of different countries, some of which hate each other.

I am not one of these people. I am a proud Englishman and am equally proud to be British. Yet there are people in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland who despise the English.  There are many Scots for example who, frustrated by their own inability to qualify for the football World Cup, will support A.B.E. instead (Anyone But England).

I find this deeply irritating, particularly as I actually support Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland – and yes even the Republic of Ireland – in all of their individual sporting endeavours (unless their opponents are England of course).

Rugby Union (not an Olympic sport sadly) brings this together in a much better way than football; I have friends who support Ireland, Scotland and Wales and during the Six Nations we all go to the pub to watch the game and enjoy the banter that ensues.

Football seems to be taboo though; a Scottish friend of mine is particularly vociferous against England and I find myself becoming an A.B.S. fan because of this (Anyone But Scotland).

Anyway, back to the Olympics, I am looking forward to enjoying the Games but I do have a couple of  negative thoughts that I have to keep under wraps. They won’t spoil my enjoyment of the Games or my pride in the fact that they are in Britain, but I will share them with you, if you are interested.

London

I love London and have had many enjoyable times in The Old Smoke. Nevertheless there is a North/South divide and some Londoners do not recognise anything North of Watford. This blinkered viewpoint is evident in business and, yes, the Olympic Games too. Money is poured into the capital, sometimes at the expense of other places.

I was furious when Sebastian Coe said “The Olympics can only be held in London” after a failed bid from Manchester. Manchester held the Commonwealth Games in 2002 and they were a triumph. While Seb Coe might not have really meant what he said, there is a feeling that London is the ONLY place to visit in England.

It isn’t. Let me tell you that right now if you are not from the UK. London is great and I love it – but it is just one of many wonderful and fabulous places in the United Kingdom.

The Logo

When the 2012 logo was unveiled, most people in Britain (and I reckon the world) said:

 “WHAT??? ARE YOU SERIOUS???”

It is awful and makes me sick every time I see it – and of course I see it a lot.

Who chose it? Who PAID MONEY for it?

Words fail me – it is dreadful, utterly dreadful and looks like the by-product of a massive binge when aliens from the planet Quakzyx mistook fluorescent paint for alcohol.

Boris Johnson

He’s Mayor of London AGAIN so the buffoon will forever be remembered if the Games are a triumph. He is a walking embarrassment and I will undoubtedly have to listen to the blithering idiot as he takes credit for the Games.

Mrs PM and the cats can expect a lot of ranting if his face appears on my telly box.

And the good things?

There are so many good things about the Olympics in London and they outweigh the bad.

Sport

I love sport and I will try to watch a lot of the Olympics. I wasn’t interested in the Beijing Olympics until it started. And then I started watching it and became addicted.

I expect the same to happen here, but I will be watching from tonight (don’t forget – the Games started yesterday really).

Team GB

I don’t like the moniker “Team GB” to represent the British athletes and sportsmen who will be competing. However, I will feel pride if our athletes win medals.

It gives you something to cheer about no matter which country you live in, when your own athletes do well. And it is great to watch and marvel at legendary performances by athletes from other countries too.

National Pride

The fact that the Games are in the United Kingdom is a massive bonus (despite what I said about London earlier). A lot of people cast aside the location and say “They’re in Britain!” and I am trying to do that myself.

The Anthem

The best thing about the Games is the Official Theme – performed by Muse, one of my favourite bands. I couldn’t believe it when I heard that Muse had been selected and this more than makes up for the awful logo.

And then I heard the song. It is absolutely brilliant – a progressive masterpiece!

I hope the Games are a rousing success (and that we do not make too many mistakes like showing the South Korean flag for the North Korean women’s football team – how embarrassing; let’s hope that there are no nukes heading our way).

Here we go – Let the Games begin – and I present for your enjoyment Survival by Muse. If the Games are anywhere near as good as this song then they will be a triumph!