World of Spurt

Back from the dead? Not quite...

2011-07-26T12:12:00.001+01:00

Alas World of Spurt still lies unloved and neglected but just to let you know my first novel, Tom or the Peepers' and Voyeurs' Handbook has just been published on Kindle, iPhone, iPad and Kindle for PC and Android.

You can buy a copy direct here on the Amazon store, or why not head on over to the dedicated Facebook page here and show it some Like love? Thanks, JH!

No more Spurting any more ..?

2009-04-30T13:14:00.000+01:00

It’s with a touch of wistful melancholy that we put finger to keyboard today to dolefully announce this will be our last spurt for a while.

You may have noticed our updates have been even more infrequent than a Ferrari finish over the past month as we’ve found our time, energy and enthusiasm diverted into other more profitable, though markedly less fun projects.

We started the Spurt with a target of a year’s postings and we’ve managed to see it though, mainly, on the whole, sorta, encompassing a splendid Euro 08, a Brit triumph Olympics (and who’d a thought we’d ever be able to put those words in the same sentence), a British F1 champion, sundry cricketing humiliations and the season-long circus which is currently British football.

But it’s a fortunate man who which can pick the manner of his own departure and for the moment at least the Spurt seems to have run its natural course.

Who knows we may be back in some form in the future, Twitter offers some possibilities, though we’re usually a bit too verbose for that, but we’re sure they’ll be some web 3.0 phenomenon along any moment (if we all don’t die of Swine flu) and you can be sure we’ll be surfing that wave as it breaks.

But for now, all in all, it’s been an absolute spurt.

Thanks for reading.

Mixing it up

2009-03-18T13:35:00.003Z

Just like Canned Heat, we're back on the road again today and down in Sunny Bath, sampling both the ancient delights and the local pasties, which are often one and the same thing down in these parts.

We begin with F1 and with pre-season now in full swing, mad bad news from the world of Bernie with the revelation that this year's drivers' championship will be decided by the number of wins, rather than the number of points scored. Nice in theory, shit in practice and you can't help thinking it's designed specifically for the edification of Ferrari once more, because they didn't win last year. Aw diddums. Surely F1 driving is about consistency over a season and points are the best way to decide this? We could've accepted 12 points for a win, but this way it could be all over by the British GP....

Football now and Phlegm and the world of phlegm men, did that nice young Spanish lad Cesc really flop a lugey at Hull's assistant manager Brian Horton. Predictably Le Professor saw nothing, but who does Fabregas think he is: El-Hadj Diouf?

And finally... could everyone just leave West Ham alone please? Up to 20 Sheffield United players, plus ex-manager Neil Warnock are suing the Hammers over the Carlos Tevez affair.

We say: back off and get in line - we were there first. Our writs courtesy of Messrs. Sue, Nabbit and Fukov are already in. Not sure what we'll do them for yet, but by the time it gets to court we'll have thought of a damn good reason don't you worry.

Is it Wayne you’re looking for?

2009-03-17T13:28:00.003Z

Yeah we know, we know, we know, updates recently have been as irregular as Jade Goody’s heartbeat, it’s this new work shit, keeps us far too busy - we can’t recommend it you know.

Still, we couldn’t pass up a chance to update this particular lunchtime after a particularly compelling insight into life chez Rooney, with the spud faced nipper apparently currently spending most of his spare time serenading wife Coleen with a barrage of Lionel Richie songs.

We are occasionally forced to endure (through the comforting medium of an especially large G&T) Coleen’s Real Women by Mrs Spurt and we’ve always wondered about that title. Who are the ‘fake women’ that this show is meant to be the antidote to? Don’t they have the requisite real parts or something?

Ahem anyway here’s some suggestions for more Richie Karaoke classic’s for the Spudster as he guides Coleen's hands around a large King Edward lovingly peeled to resemble his noggin.

Hello (is it goals you’re looking for?)

All Night Long (OAPs only)

Dancing on Defender’s ankles bones

Say you, Say Me, (say ‘I hate Liverpool FC’)

Oh 200th post btw, get us!

Turning the other cheek

2009-03-12T13:48:00.004Z

He’s just the manager who keeps on giving, offering more value per pound that Sainsbury’s Basics range (cheques in the post please).

Still, no magic tunnels for Jose Felix Mourinho last night (other than the one he dug for himself) following a footballing lesson from Manchester United which sent the Serie A leaders tumbling headlong – like Satan from heaven to go all Miltonian for a second – out of the Champions League.

So how did Jose react to one of his rare defeats against Sir Alex? Was it a rueful acknowledgement over a vintage bottle of red? Did he stare moodily for hours into the middle distance until he saw something he liked (ie. himself).

Nope instead he (allegedly) lamped a United fan who had the effrontery to shout ‘Going home, going home, going home!’ (which curiously is precisely what he was doing).

What wit, what repartee, truly the reaction of a renaissance man.

Cricket Reborn

2009-03-09T13:42:00.002Z

A succession of slow, tedious pitches has been slowly throttling all the life and interest out of the current West Indies versus England Test series and as we were forced to remark over cigars, “Oh another century, how tedious, Do pass the bucket of rum punch.”

Nevertheless we’ve been vaguely following the massive run feast where batting averages have been as engorged as a Porn star’s work apparatus, but also reflecting in tranquillity on the wider implications of last week’s attack.

And it’s a still resolute but infinitely sadder cricketing world we now find ourselves in.

The atmosphere and relationship between players and supporters has probably changed forever. Just a decade ago we were able to mingle freely on the outfield and swap a post-game beer with the Windies in the 99 World Cup. Difficult to see that happening again.

While the security was a pint of shite, it’s Pakistani cricket lovers who are going to really suffer from the loony actions of a bunch of fanatical cowards who attacked an unarmed coach with rocket launchers – and couldn’t even hit it.

Way to go dickheads, that really proved a point.

Clearly cricket must go on and while it’s not often we get worked up or angry about the multitudinous iniquities of this sad world, this really pissed us off.

Reflect on this arseholes: If god exists, he’s most certainly a cricketer and we really hope he fucks you up for spoiling one of the few pure, simple, unadulterated pleasures left in life for the rest of us.

An eternity in purgatory facing a legion of departed through eternally angry fast bowlers armed only with stick of celery to defend yourselves should just about suffice.

Cricket attacked...

2009-03-03T13:13:00.001Z

No gags today, just a solemn, grateful thanks that no cricketer was killed in this morning’s attack on the Sri Lankan team bus in Lahore. Scant consolation we suspect for the families of the five policemen who were protecting them.

Naively perhaps, we’d always believed that cricket was somehow sacrosanct and that no terrorist organisation, however desperate or loony, would deliberately target the greatest game and its players.

It’s especially shocking that this has happened in Asia, where cricket is almost revered as a religion itself.

Seems there is no line that human depravity will not cross.

The Quintuple

2009-03-02T13:05:00.002Z

So the quintuple’s on and by that we don’t mean our usual Monday morning vodka, JD, Drambuie, crème de menthe and advocat chaser, but of course Man United’s potential five trophy clean sweep following yesterday’s League Cup win.

‘Nuff props to Ben Foster for the penalty saves, but Hornets fans have long known all about the excellent young gloveman for ages and we reckon Senor Fabio could do a lot worse than chuck him into the starting line-up right now.

Yet amid the Red Devils triumph emerges a story that is just plainly wrong on so many levels, namely They Call Him Rio and fiancée Rebecca Ellison’s plan to have a barn owl swoop down the aisle and deliver their rings when they get married next August.

Now having read that back we had to pinch ourselves, a) to make sure we’re not still drunk and b) just because seriously WTF?!

It raises so may questions: Where do you get such highly trained Strigiformes outside of a JK Rowling novel in the first place and surely, if such creatures do exist, wouldn’t they be better employed battling Al Quaida rather than adorning the ‘natural successor to Bobby Moore’s’ impending nuptials.

The mind truly, truly, truly boggles.

Tomorrow: John Terry, my best man the velociraptor.

Mourinho’s Magic door

2009-02-25T15:42:00.000Z

An intriguing European night full of technical excellence, outstanding endeavour and tactical nuance, but enough of our Shrove Tuesday pancake session, we speak of course of the classic Inter v Man Utd game at the San Siro.

A great opening half from United, Inter back into it second half, chances on both sides and despite the dearth of goals a very entertaining game.

But of course the revelation of the night was Mourinho’s magic door which apparently leads from the Inter dug out to who knows where...

As José Mário dos Santos Félix said, "My dugout is a special dugout because we have a door which gives me the chance to leave it directly,"

Debate has raged all erm lunchtime. Does it lead to Narnia? Is it a secret route to Jose’s secret 300 Euro wine stash? Or does it lead, as we’ve long suspected, up his own arsehole?

We report, you decide....

Two for one...

2009-02-23T13:16:00.001Z

We’re not feeling particularly inspired today, perhaps it was all that laudanum we had for breakfast, but the muse has deserted us as quickly as Liverpool’s fading title credentials.

Reasons to be cheerful? Well at least our beloved Hornets won a relegation six-pointer on the weekend, leaping salmon-like up the table towards the mediocrity which we truly deserve.

Elsewhere? Surrender Monkeys! Surely it’s a bit premature to be handing the title to Man United already with something like 13 games to go? Sure they’re odds-on favourites, but that’s being as defeatist as an Italian tank commander’s eve of battle speech.

We also note with sorrow the absence of The Fred from the Fourth Test, an omission England feel they need to cover by the call up of at two players in Amjad Khan and Ravi Bopara. Truly the Fred is at least four players in one... stock and shock bowler, big hitting biffer and assured elder batting statesmen, plus hands-like-buckets slip fielder. One question for the ECB are they sure they’ve brought enough?

Finally on to matters of taste and decency.

We haven’t got any. Hope that’s cleared that up.

No Result

2009-02-20T13:10:00.003Z

Ah Friday, slack prelude to a weekend of lethargy when the week’s toil is nearly over and we can look forward to unfettered alcoholic indulgence unencumbered by such sordid considerations as rising before midday.

And it’s vodka and cornflakes for breakfast on Saturday and Sunday!

Ahem, anyway, more from what’s shaping up to be a pulsating test series over in the Antigua as following the debacle of the Sir Viv stadium, England and West Indies decamped to the historic ARG for a truly pulsating encounter.

England were probably denied a deserved victory, but the Windies at bay were defiant and held on by their very fingertips for the narrowest of draws, the outcome decided by a solitary tail-end wicket.

Games like this prove why Test cricket is still the pinnacle of spurting achievement and its why the undeniably flashy, though ultimately shallow Twenty20 version will never truly replace it.

This was a game that had been slowly brewing all week, simmering gently until it was ready to spill over with five days of unremitting labour, sweat, courage, technique, style, nuance and not a little luck all contributing to a magnificently inconclusive conclusion.

It’s paradoxical no doubt, but this was one of the most exciting draws ever, an example of the greatest game at its very finest.

Long Spoons

2009-02-19T13:23:00.005Z

We’ve got a bit more time today so we can afford to first sharpen, then plunge our knives in freely.

Our plate de jour? Well once again it’s none other than ‘Big’ Sir Al Stanford, the Texan ‘saviour of cricket’ who’s done a flit with 8 billion stuffed down his trousers (and let’s face it, they must be quite roomy trews).

It’s only now we can fully appreciate our wise old Gran’s advice about ‘if you’re going to sup with the devil, be sure to use the longest of spoons’.

Fortunately English cricket hasn’t been stung too badly financially and shock horror, even the counties are talking about lobbing back their share of the Stanford pile (no biggy for 50k you might say).

Still, the whole episode reveals we should at least be grateful for small mercies and in this case, we can wave a hearty ta ta to the whole shabby, tacky, sordid Twenny Twenty for Twenny episode, which can finally be put to rest like an unloved, incontinent pet that regularly soils the furniture.

Still that’s not much consolation to the Antiguans who’re looking down the longest of barrels and it’s in their honour we’ve composed this Pimpernel style verse for Sir Al (with apologies to Baroness Orczy).

They seek him here
They seek him there
Those FBI agents seek him everywhere.
Is he in Panama?
Is he in Peru?
He’s made off with your wonga,
And they haven’t a clue.

For Sale

2009-02-18T13:46:00.001Z

We're in a bit of rush today, what with that cursed real work n all, so instead of our usual mix of awful puns, strained similies and a liberal sprinkling of knob gags, we're going to offer you a small selection from the World of Spurt Classified sections:

For Sale
Soul of English cricket, has been on loan to wealthy mustachioed Texan 'benefactor', but now returned as unwanted gift. Normal offices closed due to criminal investigation, so please dial 1-800-MASS-FRAUD and ask for big Al,

Pedal Power
Stand out from the crowd with this highly unique one-of-a-kind black and gold Trek road bike. A real speedster though pedals show signs of excessive wear. Comes with specially adjusted saddle and own Human Growth Hormone carrier attachment. Urgent sale, buyer to collect. Email: lancesride@backofalorry.com

Back from the dead

2009-02-17T13:16:00.004Z

We’re a misanthropic curmudgeonly bunch of bastards on the whole here at the Spurt - it’s not so much an outlook as a totally ingrained way of life.

Yet even our cold, flinty inhuman hearts were defrosted just the teeniest little bit last night by the triumphant rebirth of Eduardo, Arsenal’s Brazilian-born Croatian striker, who celebrated his return from a horrendous year-long career-threatening injury by banging a couple past Cardiff.

Okay easy meat perhaps but it was as heart-warming as watching a lickle orphan being reunited with their long-lost, rich (and hopefully not too paedo) uncle after years of neglect.

Altogether now aaaaw....

Anyway with Walcott due back any moment and even Cesc on the road to Wellville, the question is being asked: could the Arse mount a late spurt for the title?

Answer: erm nope, but it might at least ensure a top four finish and piss on Martin O’Neill’s chips. Should be an interesting run in for the also-rans.

Elsewhere: England from 51 all out to 566-9 declared in just seven days? Choose your mainstream media cliché from the list below:

1) Zeroes to Heroes
2) What a Difference a Week Makes!
3) Colly gives Windies the wobbles

Answer 3) Obv - we're wasted here you know...

Slackers

2009-02-16T13:12:00.000Z

Okay we admit we’ve been slacker than a smack addict’s jaw over the past week or so, but you can hardly blame us for going into hiding following that ignominious 51 all out last weekend, as England crumpled to a sorry, woeful defeat in what can only be described as a ‘Fox score’*.

Oh and we had some proper work and shit to do too.

A lot can happen in a week, it’s a long time in politics, a positive age in sport and an absolute eternity in Spurt, and wouldn’t you know it, in the time elapsed we’ve managed to clock our first anniversary tour of duty in Blogistan.

Yup it was precisely one year ago yesterday on the 15th Feb 2008 when we first spurted on an unsuspecting world’s face and along the way we’ve pushed the bounds of taste and decency, got a few decent chaps to scribble a line or two, managed to get away with the odd telling line or our own and no doubt fired as many blanks as a testicular cancer victim.

So a big thank you to you our loyal readers (both of you) for your continued and ongoing support. We’re going to wipe away a teary tear now and listen to the second day of the cricket, but rest assured we intend to come back, faster, quicker, stronger and possible more saucy (if that were possible) in our annus secondus.

So happy birthday to us and let the spurting recommence!

*This is an internationally recognised unit of cricketing ignominy, derived from the sorry performances of England’s worst ever team** The Fox and Hounds UCC.

**Wow we don’t get to do two stars very often, bonus. This epithet was bestowed by that bastion of investigative journalism The Daily Telegraph.

Crack of the Whip...

2009-02-10T13:51:00.003Z

Spare a thought to today for Big Phil Scolari and 'Little' Tony Adams, twin casualties of the managerial credit crunch, both released into the bleak midwinter and probably down to their last million.

Okay perhaps your sympathies aren't wholly engaged by the travails of wealthy men in the current financial clime, when you're forced to survive by throwing your last orphan on the fire. But, unlike Max Mosely it's difficult to believe either man has had a fair crack of the whip.

Adams certainly cuts a sympathetic figure: having to step into 'arry's shoes mid season was a tough act to follow at the best of times, but to have financial uncertainty your constant companion and two of your best players decamp to Spurs and Real Madrid can't have helped either.

Scolari on the other hand: well this was the big boss we looked to, to challenge Sir Alex's death grip on the silverware and yet now he's gone in just over half a season? Madness. His reign promised so much, but delivered very little. Dressing room dissent, a failure to capture key signings like Robinho to revive the Blues aging squad and Abramovich looking like he couldn't give less of a toss all means we've been denied a chance to see Big Phil make his mark.

If the Premiership can eat up and spit out a manager of the Scolari's calibre, what hope is there for anyone else?

51 All Out

2009-02-10T13:11:00.002Z

The lack of posts recently has not been down to just our perpetual laziness, oh no, although truth to tell there's enough of that to whitewash all the dark matter in the universe. Nope we've been hiding our head in shame and wondering just what we should say about England's abject surrender to the Windies on Saturday. Fortunately we don't have to as spurting regular Steve B has felt compelled to pen his own. Don't worry though, we'll be right back with something snide to say on Big Phil and Big Tony's sacking, but for the moment over to Stevie B and the England post-mortem.

Perhaps – while perusing CNN in their Caribbean hotel – the England cricket team saw the tragic news of the wildfires claiming hundreds of lives in Australia, and decided to think up a way of returning smiles to the faces of those poor, demoralised Aussies. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for Saturday’s comically inept batting performance. It’s just a pity that they also managed further to depress another already suicidal nation – their own one – in the process. Perhaps Bill Frindall saw it coming, although his solution was a bit drastic.

So, what is to be done with a bunch of players beginning to resemble the cast of Carry On Cricketing? I predict two changes for the Second Test against the Windies – Shah for Bell and Anderson for Harmison. Everyone pretty much agrees on that – Bell’s mental disintegration is so advanced it’s a wonder he can remember to tie his shoelaces (although, perhaps one of England’s 16 support staff does that for him?) and the likelihood of Harmison getting his old zip back is roughly on a par with that of Osama Bin Laden embracing Catholicism.

If only England had a coach, they could get him to think up some excuse for sending Bell and Harmy back home, thereby allowing them to draft in replacements. Face it: given where Bell’s head is currently at, he’d probably drop the drinks on the way out to the middle. And Harmy would, as ever, rather be in Geordieland with his kids. Ravi Bopara’s absence from the Caribbean is a scandal and, as has been pointed out ad infinitum, Michael Vaughan still has a central contract. Granted, the cupboard of up-and-coming quickies is bare. But at least the bowlers’ performance was merely insipid, as opposed to embarrassing. And there are two replacements for Panesar – Swann and Rashid – although the latter won’t play due to his inexperience. If England lose the nest Test, though, they might as well whack him into the side, on the premise that he couldn’t do any worse. It will be interesting to see whether Swann comes in for Panesar, Monty has talent, for sure, but is actually getting worse as a bowler. He hasn’t bowled well for England for years, and Sabina Park, as Benn demonstrated, was an absolute Bunsen burner. He has to go, too – even despite Swann’s mauling in the warm-up match.

In an ideal world, if you were an England selector, you’d want to drop Strauss – I’d fancy bowling at him at the moment, but he’ll survive because he’s the newly anointed skipper – and Collingwood, the 21st century Nasser Hussain, a man with no talent but a gingery scrapper’s mentality. At least he’s a decent fielder – but fielding is pretty much all he has brought to England for a while now. Sidebottom’s bowling was startlingly mediocre, but at least he’s a leftie. How could England have come to such a pass that, having dropped three players, you then have to cast around for flimsy excuses to keep three others in the side?

England have been consistently, frustratingly awful for years now – which kind of makes a mockery of the “selectorial consistency” argument. So radical action is called for. As Strauss’s form is so poor he doesn’t merit a place, I’d call up Rob Key to captain and open the batting with Michael Vaughan. Followed by KP at number three, then Shah, Bopara, Flintoff and Prior. The bowling line-up is more problematic, but I would have the following at numbers eight to 11. Broad – first name on the team-sheet, obviously. Rashid (he can bat a bit, and all the Windies pitches are low and slow these days), Swann, Sidebottom, Anderson. Just a mere seven changes from what will henceforth become known as the 51 All Out Team, then.

Shot Selection

2009-02-05T13:52:00.002Z

As Britain enters a second ice age and we shiver in our hovels and gently thrust another couple of copies of Shortlist onto the fire, it's been a boon to be transported the Carribean and the familiar rhythms of Test Match Special as it resonates across the airwaves redolent of sunshine and rum punch.

A strange first day for England in the opening Test, winning an important toss and then contriving to almost throw any advantage in all too unfamiliar fashion as they were subject to examination by twin spin and a new Windies star, the redoubtable Sulieman 'big' Ben.

Surreal stuff and naturally cricket, with no sense of irony whatsoever, brought KP and The Fred to England's rescue, the supposed dress room adversaries combining well to turn around a dire start.

Much of course has been made of KP 'throwing' away his wicket on 97, by attempting to bring up a ton with a huge six, when he'd have apparently been better advised to nudge it in singles.

Absolute rot of course. KP is a showman, a natural entertainer and earned the right to have a heave by the 97 runs he'd accumulated before getting out. Naturally if he does it all the time, teams will target this tendency, but right now he's England's premier batsman by a mile and we'd be deep in the brown stuff without his efforts.

Keep playing it your way KP.

Anti-Climax

2009-02-03T13:23:00.001Z

It’s Tuesday the day after transfer deadline day and while we should be absolutely bursting with gobsmacking signings to dissect, instead the window has closed with a clang every bit as inauspicious as a fortune cookie which reveals ‘You’re are about to die ...from eating a poisoned fortune cookie’.

When the biggest news is that Spurs have bought back three players they used to own six months ago, you know it’s not exactly been a thriller and as for the Arshavin deal, well could you just get on with it already?

(BREAKING EXCLUSIVE: Arshavin will take the number 23 shirt, courtesy of top spotter Mitch, who has a mate who was stalking Arshavin at the Elstree village hotel last night).

Yet even on that bombshell, we’re seriously starting to lose the will to live.

Robbie Keane has our sympathies though: whether he simply couldn’t play in the system/was second choice behind Gerrard/Torres (not an ideal place to mount a challenge for a regular starting slot) or was simply a victim of Benitez flexing his muscles, we’ll never know.

Probably all three and we wish him well back at the Lane.

Nope the most interesting story today has been the hundreds of shocked Americans who’re complaining because their cable station started broadcasting porn during Sunday’s Super Bowl.

There’s just no pleasing some people.

Bongs away

2009-02-02T14:49:00.003Z

Hats and indeed bongs off to human dolphin Michael Phelps Beijing Olympic darling and lest we forget, eight times gold medallist, who’s been News-of-the-World-ed (ie. resolutely, routinely and royally fucked) by the erm premier British scandal sheet.

While the Screws always a distinctly unpleasant aftertaste in the mouth, there’s no denying it has more scoops than Baskin Robins and always gets its man (and its story).

Phelps caught sucking on a bong the size of a large oboe has been caught green-handed and despite not admitting that it was stuffed to the brim with prime reefer (why else would you be toking on it?), most discerning viewers will realise that it had more skunk than Louisiana home cooking.

Phelps said: “I engaged in behaviour which was regrettable and demonstrated bad judgement. I’m 23 years old and despite the successes I’ve had in the pool, I acted in a youthful and inappropriate way, not in a manner people have come to expect from me. For this, I am sorry. I promise my fans and the public it will not happen again.”

Our advice? Keep on toking Michael, if you can win eight Golds doing that stuff in the off season, if you go completely drug free no one else will have a sniff.

Lame Excuses

2009-01-30T15:31:00.001Z

Merde! Zut alors et Sacre Blue... nous somme discoverez le lamest excuse pour a wantaway that we’ve heard in all our years.

Step forward talented but moody French Newcastle midfielder Charles N'Zogbia whose apparently spat his dummy and vowed never to play for the Toon again simply because poor old Joe Kinnear misspoke in an interview and called him ‘Charles Insomnia.’

Now advancing age makes fools of us all and St Bobby of Robson delivered more than the occasional ‘speaking malfunction’ and would no doubt have dubbed the Frenchman ‘Charles Petunia’, ‘Charles Amnesia or our tres favourite ‘Charles Pneumonia’.

But N'Zogbia’s huffiness over such an imagined sleight is as transparent as Madonna’s g-string and his excuses as lame as a three legged donkey.

Begone sir we say and never trouble our holy Premiership again!

Elsewhere: Our new favourite waste of time? Well has to be the Graun’s phenomenal new Chalkboard, where you can see just how fit/lazy/profligate your favourite Premiership stars in stunning new levels of minute detail.

Bon chance!

Rafa’s rants: Part deux

2009-01-29T13:14:00.002Z

Oh dear, we take a day off to do some cheeky freelance and look what happens, Senor Benitez is off on one again, after Wigan's Mido snatched a late equalizer in last night’s ‘crazy’ encounter to deny the Reds three points.

The source of Rafa’s ire this time? Well actually he prefers not to say. No seriously, he really doesn’t want to tell us.

“I prefer not to say too much but I am not happy with a lot of things... I am disappointed with a number of things but no, the Wigan approach I will not talk about them".

"It has happened in the last three games. They have something in common I don't like. I know why but I cannot say anything."

Mysterious, no? Something’s obviously bugging Rafa, but could it be? Suggestions in the comments below please.

But we say get it off your chest lad and damn the consequences. Joe Kinnear was only fined £500 notes for calling Martin Atkinson a Mickey Mouse ref.

Invest a good couple of grand Rafa and really let rip. It’ll do you the power of good!

Break in transmission

2009-01-27T13:30:00.004Z

Our apols for our recent break in transmission but we were struck down by a dose of the creeping lurgey and we’re only just indicated blindly and screamed headlong back into traffic as we set course on the road to Wellville.

Not that we’ve missed much as, while we were tucked up in bed strewing snot and coughing furballs, the weekend’s football was by all accounts the most boring FA Cup fourth round in living memory.

Elsewhere around the spurting multiverse: Becks apparently wants to stay at Milan and they might even cough up to the Galaxy to keep him. All to the good say we, though harsh on LA. Talking of the US, we must also give an honourable mensh to Sunday where our beloved Pittsburgh Steelers (the first team we saw play Yankee footy) are back in the Superbowl big time - going of a record fifth title and it’s live on BBC. Result! Go Steelers FTW! Erm... hm.

Finally important developments in the vexed question of the leadership of the ECB. Now any mate of Bozzer’s is usually guaranteed to be a oik of the first water, but Lord Marland has some intriguing ideas and most importantly, he’s come out in favour of a return to terrestrial Test screening.

With Culture Sec Andy Burnham also apparently keen to return them to Crown Jewel status, could we see an axis forming to return domestic Test cricket back to its rightful place on our TV screens?

We live in hope dear reader, we can but live in hope.

Westward ho!

2009-01-22T13:42:00.005Z

We’re taking a break from our throbbing non-stop coverage of Manchester City’s ever decreasing shopping list today, to contemplate the great love of our life today. Yes you too Mrs Spurt (we’ll pay for that later), but of course we speak primarily of cricket, as our brave boys cry ‘windward ho' and land in the Caribbean

Now during our formative years, this would usually be the cue to load up the body bags, watch the vultures begin to circle and wait for Mike Gatting to land at Heathrow resembling a recently violated panda, as the formidable West Indies quicks feasted on the softer parts of our batsmen with an array of bouncers, quick balls and erm even quicker balls.

Nowadays of course it’s a different coconut of rum punch. The great West Indies sides are a fondly fading memory, the game is less of a unifying force in the islands and talented young Windies athletes look to basketball or other more US-centric sports to make their fame and especially fortune.

West Indies still have genuine stars like Chris Gayle and Shivnarine Chanderpaul and are decent enough at the shorter forms of the game. Yet England – with their greater overall firepower - should prevail in the Tests and it’s going to be a thorough and intriguing examination of Andrew 'Posh' Strauss’s new captaincy.

We’ve a good feeling about Strauss and back him to get the best out of the team, heal any rifts and unite them for the home series warm up to the all-important Ashes.

Just keep The Fred away from the ~~sauce~~ pedaloes.

The dream has died

2009-01-21T13:39:00.004Z

We’re fresh back from a sojourn in the West Country today my lovely, so catching up on all the latest as Manchester City, the self-styled (and aren’t those words always written with malicious glee?) richest club in the world have gone from 100m wonders to Woolworth’s rejects in just under 24 hours.

So the dream has died and Kaka will not be gracing the Premiership. A shame really, but on the probability scale it ranks alongside Fergie admitting he was wrong, Andy Murray winning gracefully and Ferrari being penalised in an F1 championship, in the big bad list of things that are never likely to happen.

But what of the latest trouble at t’Middle Eastlands? Robinho’s alleged hissy fit and immediate retreat to spend more time with his family – what was that all about?

“Nothing to do with Kaka’ says Robinho, ‘Everything to do with Bellamy’ says the Spurt as we exclusive tipped on Monday (well sort of).

Seems the Milanese playmaker isn’t the only Brazilian fearing a midnight visit from the nine-iron wielding Welshman.

They call him the wanderer...

2009-01-19T13:36:00.002Z

It’s Monday again – and you can tell it’s not exactly been a glittering galaxy of spurting entertainment over the weekend when the top story is Darren Bent’s last minute sitter in the Spurs v Pompey love in.

With such a lack of meaty spurting goodness to tuck into, we’re so short of material we could be a Hollywood starlet’s red carpet dress.

Fortunately swinging a five iron to the rescue comes news of Craig Bellamy’s impending transfer to middle Eastlands with Man City’s sultans of bling apparently offering 14million notes for the perpetually angry Welsh hitman’s services.

Bellamy’s a decent enough player on the pitch and scores a plenty, but off it, comes with so much baggage they’ll need a camel train to transport it up there.

A huge ‘I won’t play again’ sulk on Friday is the latest in a long line of career highlights which has encompassed a caution for common assault, abusive texts to Alan Shearer: “Your legs are gone. You're too old. You're too slow." (similar criticisms could made of his current MOTD performance) and ultimately trying to sink a putt into John Arne Risse’s cakehole.

Still, in a career which has previously spanned Norwich, Coventry, Newcastle, Celtic, Blackburn Liverpool, it’s never likely to be boring. Bellamy will probably do well under Sparky them being united by Taffdom, but future regimes? Who knows.

Anyway, one thing seldom mentioned in today’s coverage is how potential team mate Kaka will view the signing?

He won’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with a post-Stella Bellamy on the rampage and lining up to tee off his forehead.

Investigative Journalism

2009-01-16T13:54:00.005Z

With the transfer window wide open, everyone’s looking for a bargain, a hitherto undiscovered footy genius to rescue the second half of their season and turn a fierce relegation battle into a surge for a European place.

Now not everyone’s got 130m Euro to spunk like Man City, but with agents’ phones glowing red hot, extensive scouting networks scouring the globe, YouTube signings and the eyes of the footy world on even 12 year old park players, it’s not so easy to track down a real bargain.

Certainly not for the Times hack who managed to name Masal Bugduv of Moldavia in his list of undiscovered footy superstars. Bugduv was down at number 30 but had been ‘linked to a move with Arsenal and plenty of other clubs’, so might have been worth a punt?

Just one problem? Bugduv really is undiscovered, as he doesn’t actually exist. Shit, we used to work on that site. Standards really must be slipping.

Anyway it got us thinking, if it’s good enough for The Times, it’s good enough for us, so here’s the Spurt’s guide to the top five hottest (and entirely fictional) undiscovered prospects on the footy scene today.

Enrinque Madeup
Paunchy Eritrean shot stopping keeper, who’s vast consumption of porridge beer has swollen him to such a size that he virtually fills the entire goal. Not so much the Cat, as the fat. Bargain at 6m.

Julio Explodio
Temperamental fleet footed Catalan winger who’s mazy dribbles and ability to hug the touchline are offset by his liability to self-combust at half time. Offers in the region of 2 million - comes with a free fire extinguisher.

Klaus Von Nephilim
Gloomy uncompromising German centre half, currently for turning out for Shalker 45. Highly unskilled clogger but real strength lies in man marking strikers and putting them off their game by convincing them of the essential existential bleakness of modern life. Will sign for biscuits.

Ricardo Forstrup
Diminutive Danish striker who’s so small he’s barely detectable to the naked eye. When defenders claim to have him in their pocket, quite often he literally is, springing out to score a surprise winner.

Hank Yank
Big hearted and buttocked midfield dynamo from the good ol’ US of A. Yank appears to have everything: silky ball skills, box to box coverage and the appropriate sized engine. Yet Yank hampered by a complete lack of understanding of the rules of the sport he calls, ‘soccer footyball’. Test Harvard Yarvard’s resolve with bids in excess of 150k.

In the Kaka...

2009-01-14T13:23:00.002Z

It’s Wednesday, a quiet day in the spurting galaxy and with no shocks in last night’s FA cup, precious few in prospect tonight and even Gazza behaving himself for once, we raise our eyes to the heavens and implore the spurting gods ‘FFS give us something to work with here’.

Fortunately salvation comes in the form of the transfer merry-go-round and the quite-simply-staggering prospect of Brazilian genius Kaka moving to Man City for the bargain price of 100m Euro or Quid, with wages of around 500k a week.

We’re as divided as a pair of post-op co-joined twins. As well as having a vaguely amusing name (if you’re American and like scatological references) Kaka’s a bone fide genius and we’d absolutely love to see him play over here.

Yet that’s over double Zidane’s record breaking price and surely some kind of sanity must prevail? If City managed to pull this off we’ll have to invent a new term for nouveau riche. Mucho riche anyone?

Kind of puts the whole Roque Santa Cruz saga into perspective too.

Perhaps sanity will prevail though as Kaka’s agent Diogo Kotscho as well as slipping in a sly dig in at fellow Brazilian, told Corriere dello Sport "He [Kaka] would never do something like Robinho, who, just to earn more, contented himself with a solution that was not a winning one."

We’re also starting our shameless ‘come and get me plea’ award of the day which has to go to Newcastle’s moody Frenchy Charles N’Zogbia who told a French sports daily. “The club want to sell some players, so why not me? Lyon, make a move!"

Classy Charles, very classy.

Hayden hangs up his bat (and not just outside off-stump)

2009-01-13T13:22:00.001Z

It’s Day 174 in the World of Spurt house and John is in the diary room knocking one out – another blog entry that is.

Now we occasionally take a modicum of stick for our barely suppressed Aussie bashing/baiting, but we guarantee you we’re as fair-minded, racially-sensitive and well balanced as any member of the British Royal family...

Erm ...anyway moving swiftly on, slightly sad news today with the announcement of the retirement of Matt ‘Matty’ Hayden, the Aussie opener who’s finally hung up his bat.

It’s sad news indeed mainly because it’ll make the Aussie team that little bit stronger for the Ashes this summer.

Still, even we have to admit albeit reluctantly that Hayden was a great player in his time, averaging over 50 in Tests, World Record holder until Lara retook it and the only time we’ve seen him tamed was the 2005 Ashes series, when The Fred had him firmly in his pocket.

But averaging just over 16 in the last two series, it was definitely time for Hayden to fall on his sword, probably before he was pushed.

A difficult bloke to like though and it seems doubtful he’ll be remembered with any true affection outside of Oz.

Put it this way we’d much rather go out on the lash with Warney of an evening, but Hayden’s also the last in the line of that unbreakable series of Aussie titans: Langer, Gilchrist, Warne, McGrath.

There’s only little Ricky left now... and for that the rest of the cricket world will be truly thankful.

Rafa’s Rants part 1

2009-01-12T13:39:00.004Z

In what’s sure to just the first instalment of an ongoing series, today we pay tribute to Liverpool boss Rafa ‘Town Crier’ Benitez, who’s launched a pre-emptive strike against Fergie and his Red Devil minions in the very first chapter of The Gospel According To Rafa.

The substance we won’t get into, although it has to be said Fergie does appear to enjoy a certain protected heritage status when it comes to pronouncements of his own - and you wouldn't be human if you didn't have a sly giggle at the notion of man-marking the United staff in the tunnel.

Would you favour man to man or zonal Rafa?

Yet it’s the style which concerns us most. Rafa’s undoubtedly been niggled by a few of Fergie’s canny ‘casual’ asides, but why choose last week to retaliate when the Scousers were sitting pretty at the top of the table?

Just like the US, we’re all for launching a pre-emptive strike, ie. get your retaliation in before the other guy even knows he’s at war, but on this occasion has Rafa gone way too early?

In other tales of dark doings we have to pose the question is Maradona a secret Fergie agent?

Apparently the pint-sized Argentinean supremo ~~interrupted his orgy of cocaine and hookers as he~~ lit a cigar at the Radisson Edwardian in Manc-town, causing the entire hotel including the Chelsea squad to be rousted out and evacuated in the early-ish hours of Sunday morning.

Hardly the best preparation for their 3-0 shooing by United yesterday.

Perhaps there’s something in Rafa’s rants after all?

Reflections

2009-01-09T15:07:00.001Z

When the highway code advises ‘check your mirrors’, it doesn’t mean just gaze at your reflection…

The Bright Side

2009-01-08T13:55:00.000Z

So it all turned out to be true then - with both captain and coach gone on the same day leaving English cricket looking about as organised as a surrealist's free form art installation .

You can choose your own label from the following catalogue of disaster: debacle, farce, cock-up, or perhaps all three simultaneously, but no-one's emerged looking good from the process*: Pietersen for his wilfull petulance, Moores for his inability to handle the game at the highest level and the ECB for putting the ferrets down English cricket's trousers and then acting surprised when they end up fighting tooth and nail near some vitally important regions.

Still our naturally sunny and not at all in any way misanthropic life-hating outlook forces us to consider the bright side.

What do you mean, what bright side? Read on grasshopper to discover,

One: If it were done, 'tis well it were done quickly. Better that this happens now, than a month before the ashes . At least it will give Strauss two short series to stamp his authority on the team. It'll also mean we might get decent coach, rather than someone who's simply got the relevant ECB badges.

Two: It proves that cricket matters. It was the lead item on pretty much every form of media yesterday and shows just how integral cricket remains to the English psyche. On a day when myriad other stories from the sorry world vied for our attention, Cricket grabbed all the headlines, set the national news agenda and remains as important as ever.

For that small comfort at least, we should be truly thankful.

* Apart from Andrew Strauss who should have been made England skipper after the domestic Pakistan series.

England Woeful England

2009-01-07T13:31:00.004Z

Widely previewed over the past 24 hours, the axe has finally fallen and if reports across the mainstream sites are to be believed, both England captain Kevin ‘KP’ Pietersen and coach Peter Moores have fallen on their collective swords this lunchtime.

It’s still unclear whether Pietersen has gone or has threatened to go if Moores stays – the only quote comes from Sky news who managed to ambush KP on his mobile but all he’d say was: "I am not in a fit state to talk."

Uneasy is the head that wears the crown and all that... Moores we were expecting, but KP as well? From the reports, it looks like he gambled on a ‘back me, sack him’ power play with the board that has spectacularly failed, but it would be pretty damn shocking to see a self-inflicted ousting only five months after he’d assumed the captaincy.

If it’s all true and that’s yet to be determined, with various sites currently getting splinters in their arse through all their fence sitting, the whole sorry spectacle has been thoroughly unedifying as watching Mike Gatting going on a rampage in your local cake shop. To misquote dear old Oscar, to lose either captain or coach may be regarded as misfortunate but to lose both at the same time? That looks like sheer carelessness.

Whatever way things pan out, KP has come out of it smelling of ordure. This is not so much washing your dirty laundry in public, as soiling it, flaunting it and then offering to rub the remains into the noses of random passers-by.

Even the news that Australia has had its worst ever sporting year is scant consolation on this darkest of days.

The Window

2009-01-06T13:30:00.003Z

It’s Day Two in the tortuous return to working life and despite a bit of competition from the Aussie v SAF series, it’s the transfer window – which has not so much opened as been kicked asunder – which is occupying our thoughts.

Clubs and bosses may openly say they dread it, but players and agents love it, especially the current winter one where allegedly ‘no significant business is done’.

Bollocks.

For fans, the winter window is a boon during the dark days of January when thoughts turn to the loaded revolver in the drawer and the rest of the year stretches out before you like a prison sentence.

This is a time when you positively need those outrageous rumours, public hissy fits and the perennial ‘who’s going to gamble on Michael Owen’ sweepstake.

Okay so far it’s been pretty predictable stuff: with Lassan Diarra off to Real and Jermain freshly confirmed back at Spurs this lunchtime, but the rest of the month promises lots of interest and a fair amount of intrigue.

Carlos Tevez has openly rebelled at Man Utd (inadvisable), Andrei Arshavin threatening to buy out his contract to join Arsenal (huh?) and Man City have been linked to every single existing footballer on Earth (even our agent has been approached, but we’ve turned it down).

So here’s to the window: relish it, celebrate it, savour every column inch and outrageous rumour no matter how improbable. It is the stuff of which dreams (and nightmares) are made.

Happy new year, Heureux Nouvelle Année, feliz año Nuevo ...and all that innit?

2009-01-05T13:48:00.003Z

And boooom! Just like a Stevie G head butt we’re back! It’s the cold hard shell shock of the first day back at the coalface and we’re still reeling after eleven days of late rising, slack living, alcoholic indulgence and Christmas pudding overload.

Ah the true spirit of Christmas... How was it for you?

Still, during these long bleak dog days as the New Year slowly starts to form and come into focus, there’s been no lack of spurting action to get our teeth into.

The award for most surprising event goes to Stevie G for the ‘incident’ in the night club and kidding aside, we hope the Scouse and England midfield dynamo gets away Scot-free. Some players undoubtedly deserve to be on the wrong end of a nightclub shooing, but not Stevie G, who, is so virtuous we are told, he drops farts of the purest perfume.

Elsewhere, a splendid FA Cup third round threw up the usual shock and some little awe with self-styled ‘richest club in the world’ Man City falling on their arses to lowly Notts Forest. That played most mightily on our chuckle bone - hilarious.

Murky Ides of March doings in the world of cricket too with KP on the point of ousting Peter Moores from his position as England coach. It’s always dangerous to change horses mid-race, especially with the Ashes looming but better now we suppose than then.

Moores was a political appointment (the first fruit of the ECB’s Elite coaching program) but has never struck us as having the cojones. The tale of the tape does not lie and England have become measurably worse since Moore’s arrival.

Time to put him out to grass we say and our pick and first prediction of the NY is to draft in Dav Whatmore. He's big, he's not fashionable and he used to sport a hilarious moustache, but he always got the best out of any team he coached and we'll need that kind of grit for the Aussie showdown this summer.

Toodle pip!

Ho fucking ho.... The year in review

2008-12-22T13:24:00.003Z

Apologies for the dearth of updates recently we’ve had less successful posts than a Royal Mail delivery depot, but the Christmas round of works party (drunken JD-fuelled frenzy), the resulting day-long hangover (harsh skull throb) and the sheer gritted-teeth tedium of wading through all that Christmas pre-prep bollox has left little time for more serious, trivial or indeed rewarding work.

Anyway when we started doing this old shit, way back in February (although that seems like several lifetimes ago too), part of the reason was we knew we were in for a veritable bumper year-long festival of sport: the Euros, the Olympics, Formula One, pre-Ashes fever, it promised so much ...and we’ve managed to deliver so little

The fact that we haven’t managed to scratch our proverbial arse enough to actually knock out some stuff on half of it is neither here nor there... It has indeed been an epic old year and our personal highlights - in no particular order - include:

Hoy’s triple gold triumph

Stress free Euros, a pleasure to watch with England not appearing

Lewis Hamilton storming to erm fifth to win the Drivers’ championship;

The arrival of Senor Fabio, England winning 4-1 in Croatia and quite possibly

Cricket: shit results but the return of the Fred and Stuart Broad’s emergence.

Murray's run, then the epic evening-long Nadal v Federer final

Rebecca Adlington’s storming swim(s)

Jimmy Page playing ‘Whole Lotta Love’ at the Olympics handover... a small but hopefully significant portent for 2012....

We’ll probably be doing toss all over Christmas probably except eating like a Trojan, watching crap telly, playing video games and drinking and farting a lot.

Still you never know there might be a few updates if our spleen is sufficiently riled or our alcohol level drops dangerously low.

So, in case there’s not, ho fucking ho from all at the Spurt, ‘tis the season to be pissed after all.

We hope you will be too, see you back in Jan.

Signs and portents

2008-12-16T13:34:00.003Z

We thought we might struggle today, it being the Tuesday before Christmas week and intriguing spurting stories rarer than a tax collector’s smile.

Instead, we’re sounding the official world of spurt death knell and (slightly) lamenting the passing of Paul Ince, the unfortunate now ex-manager of Blackburn, who’s been sacked this morning following a recent run of poor results. Three wins in seventeen with Mark Hughes’ squad is hardly impressive, but it seems a touch premature to change horses half way through a race in such an arbitrary fashion.

Blackburn got all the plaudits for appointing a young English manager full of promise at the beginning of the season, so they deserve some stick for sacking Ince when it’s barely half way through. And Graeme Souness hot favourite to replace him? That is not so much rubbing salt into a wound as tipping in an extra bucket load. One word: lamentable.

Elsewhere a strange plague of kidney stones seems to be affecting Premier League managers from Phil Scolari to Rafael Benitez who are both currently feeling like they’re pissing razors. What does it mean? We’re not entirely sure, but we’re sure there’s a juicy conspiracy theory to be manufactured there somewhere.

Finally, we have further proof of the genius of Senor Fabio, who is currently in dispute with Wembley groundsman Steve Welch over the length of the sod. Capello wants a grassial bladeage measurement of 17mm while Welch insists 19mm is the correct measure.

A word of advice Steve, let Senor Fab have his way or a man in a dark coat will be paying you a visit fairly shortly.

Yet it’s just one more example of Senor Fab’s obsessive attention to detail which has seen the national side reborn under his tutelage this year. To paraphrase Harold Macmillan, “It’s the details dear boy, the details.”

Riposte

2008-12-15T13:36:00.004Z

Well lift up our skirts, tickle our biff and call us Mystic Susan. Yesterday - in a rare outbreak of Sunday posting - we actually picked in reverse order ie. Adlington, Hamilton and Hoy, the exact finishing order of BBC Spurts Personality of the Year.

Naturally we didn’t have the foresight to put any money on it, oh no, that would be far too rewarding an outcome for the way this Christmas is shaping up.

However solace has come in the form of the return of Test cricket to our DAB radio and after all the drama, trauma and debate surrounding whether England should go back (something we again predicted – have we got a direct line to the spurting future or what?), it has been simply marvellous to wake up in this bleak English midwinter and be greeted by Test cricket's gentle cadences, immense subtleties and moments of tension and excitement.

And for a game which nearly never happened, it has been quite scintillating cricket and has almost had everything ... Straussy’s two centuries, Collingwood’s one, Swann’s double strike and a daunting total for India to chase on the final day. Sehwag’s blitz, Yuvraj’s defiance and then a match-winning century with the return of the Little Master.

The script has been perfect and we don’t even feel too disappointed by England’s loss, hell, we’re even a little exhilarated by India’s epic chase.

A return to proper Test match cricket has produced not only a magnificent game but the perfect cricketing riposte to the horrors of Mumbai.

SPOTY

2008-12-14T12:41:00.000Z

Sunday* sees us in reflective mood and enjoying a second consecutive win by our beloved Hornets which has propelled them alarmingly up the table, inducing a vertigo-like but pleasant sense of smugness as peer down on the unfortunates below. Perhaps it’s not too late to rescue something from this season after all?

But today’s main event is undoubtedly the Beeb’s Spurts Personality of the Year which has decamped to the grim north of Liverpool and in which punters (ie. you and I) are supposed to participate by voting for the erm best spurting personality of the year.

Bit of a shit name it has to be said, ‘personality’ what does that mean exactly? You can’t help feeling Britain’s Favourite Sportsman would be more accurate.

Still there’s a bumper crop to choose from this year and for our money it’s down to Lewis, Chris Hoy or Rebecca Adlington. Each is a worthy contender: a quite super double ‘Medal’ from Adlington in the pool, especially since we’d won bugger all for ages and of course our admiration for Lewis is well known. Has there ever been a more exciting climax to an Formula One season?

But it’s Hoy who has to edge it: three Golds is a stunning achievement and cheering him on in the keirin was a highlight of our spurting year. Wonder if the greater British spurting public will agree?

*No funny pictures today, it’s the day of rest and we can’t be arsed….

Shane Warne: The Musical

2008-12-11T13:25:00.002Z

A slight break in our December post-a-thon yesterday as we suffered a distinct bout of the creeping lurgy but we return today undeterred by the vile germs still infecting our corporeal self to scribble once more.

Talking of corporeal selves and heading straight to our inbox via specialty trained carrier-wombat to be immediately filed under ‘we shit you not’ comes news of Shane Warne: The Musical, a re-imagining of the Aussie spinner’s brilliant on-field and occasionally torrid off-field antics, featuring singing, dancing and well all the rest of that musical stuff.

Now while Mrs Spurt loves the musical theatre, we are normally more ambivalent and usually view such happenings through tightly clenched teeth, but even we are tempted by the fat boy’s theatrical debut.

Believed to feature such well loved musical numbers as the Sex Pest’s Texting Song, Diuretics Are A Boy’s Best Friend and Just Don’t Tell The Sheila Indoors, SW: The musical will chart the rise, fall and rise again of Australia’s favourite filler of column inches.

From obscure beer-swilling, pizza-noshing, fag smoking blond Aussie beach bum to erm very rich and rather famous beer-swilling, pizza noshing, fag smoking blond Aussie beach bum - oh and quite possibly the greatest spinner who ever lived.

Kidding aside, the Warner has long been one of our top ever players and as the Oval chorused in 2005 ‘ We only wish he were English’.

A two, three, four... “Diuretics Are A Boy’s Best Friend...”

White Lines

2008-12-09T13:37:00.006Z

A day trip down to the mystical west country gave us little time to post yesterday, but we've sprinted back into a raft of sports-related goodness today.

First playing a little catch up, we feel compelled to comment on Honda’s withdrawal from Formula One late last week: now if there’s one thing that’s finally convinced us that the credit crunch is real and not a figment of some merchant banker’s imagination, this has got to be it.

Ironically, for a sport in which conspicuous consumption, excess and luxury have become not so much bywords as essential planning components, Honda have left because the sport’s simply become too expensive after having spunked some $200m on the team last year.

What about the rest? Are teams that don’t have a disgusting energy drink backing them up really vulnerable? Is this the first sign Bernie’s circus is finally coming apart at the seams?

Could we see McLaren v Ferrari in a real two horse race next year ie. with no one else taking part?

More importantly what’s poor Jenson going to do for a drive? We hear there’s a possible vacancy on our local milk float....

In breaking news: former England all-rounder (although we use that term loosely) Chris Lewis has been nabbed apparently taking an absolute shedload of Charlie through customs. As our fellow spurter Matt remarked, he always had trouble with his lines, but £200k’s worth? It’s the closest Lewis has ever got to a ton...

Mad Dog goes walkies

2008-12-05T13:57:00.002Z

Alas, don your shrouds of mourning black and shed a remorseful tear today for Roy ‘mad dog’ Keane has departed this managerial coil.

Yup, while we were off piste with some work related nonsense yesterday, the now ex-Sunderland boss handed in his cards by text message and is off to walk Triggs in pastures un-footy related.

It’s not like we haven’t known it’s coming: The Jim Morrison-esque beard was certainly a sign things were going awry and never one to hold back, Keane had given some pretty strong hints over the weekend that he was living on borrowed time.

Still, in a career that’s been full of walk-outs (Ireland), bust-ups (Man Utd) and hefty challenges (the pitch), you have to admire Keane as an uncompromising, forthright individual who was determined to do everything, including his departure, on his own terms and feck the consequences.

His weekly pronouncements on the game and the people and business surrounding it were riveting if controversial reads and the footballing world is definitely a greyer, sadder and certainly less interesting place for his departure.

Few of us get to choose the manner of our leaving, but Keane has always managed to do it in his own inimitable way, and we leave you with just one of his memorable gifts to the English language “stick it up your bollox".

Whale Stopped Play

2008-12-03T13:45:00.004Z

Like putting a mercy bullet through the skull of a long-treasured though now doubly incontinent family pet, it almost breaks our heart to do it, but even we have to admit (through gritted teeth) that Cristiano Ronaldo fully deserves the Ballon D’Or as he was named European footballer of the year yesterday.

Ronnie chose to celebrate with an unaccustomed slice of humble pie, saying it was the greatest day of his life (what even more than that threesome with those disco sluts?), and the Ronster concluded ‘Those who know me, who live with me, know that this is finally a dream come true for me. ...Winning this trophy .... I dreamed about it as a kid.'

Fair enough, the Ronster deserves his plaudits for last season, less so though Jorge Mendes his agent, who’s apparently seized the day to inform Inter that Ronnie might be up for playing for them under the Special One, Jose Mourninho. Undoubtedly it’s a none-to-subtle ploy, to raise the Ronster’s weekly wage from the paucity of a credit crunching 120k a week to a more recession-busting 150k.

We actually went to Milan once, for an F1 track day and we have to say the city, never mind the changing room didn’t seem big enough to accommodate both of those ginormous, surging egos.

Elsewhere to the hitherto unexplored world of sailing a bit of a departure for your spurt but what the fuck we'll go anywhere in search of a good gag (not that we often find one).

Now to the business and we’ve heard some sporting excuses in our time but few to possibly rival ‘whale stopped play.’

Okay we exaggerate a little for effect but Britain’s Jonny Malbon has just such an excuse in the Vendee Globe after his 60ft Artemis smacked one such unfortunate cetacean as it gambolled innocently through the ocean spume.
“I could clearly see the animal astern in a lot of trouble,’ admitted Malbon.

Not half as much trouble as if Greenpeace get to hear about it Jonny. They've got angry little boats and everything.

Still, probably worth it for 'Whale stopped play'. That is to one to put down for a fireside chat with the granddkids.

The mask slips...

2008-12-02T13:32:00.003Z

We’ve been waiting for this one all season: nope not Cristiano Ronaldo winning the Ballon d’or (more on that tomorrow), but for the mask to finally slip and for Big Phil Scolari to reveal his true colours.

Big Phil, like Vesuvius has been strangely dormant all season, winning friends and influencing people with his halting ‘please love my Chelsea’ English and an unprecedented charm offensive which has seen him fail to rise to Sir Alex’s bait, and perhaps most surprisingly of all, make Chelsea a watchable enough side.

Could this really be the same Big Phil who once punched a Serbian sub and is said to have a temper as volatile as wearing Nitro Glycerene underpants while watching Penelope Cruz strip?

Has it all just been a cunning ploy to lull us into a false sense of security while Big Phil secretly smirks and covertly plots behind his bound human skin copy of The Art of War?

The answer is yes! For just like those poor Pompeians suspecting that distant rumbling signalled something ominous, the kraken has finally awoken and Big Phil has asked, nay demanded, an apology from ref Mike Dean after Chelsea succumbed 2-1 to Arsenal over the weekend.

Splendid, now the gloves off, Big Phil should go for the jugular. Despite the Scousers currently sitting top of the table, this season like the OK Corral, is going to boil down to just two teams of elite gun slingers, Man Utd and Chelsea.

Time for the real Big Phil Scolari to please stand up!

Family Fortunes

2008-12-01T13:42:00.004Z

Watching events unfold in Mumbai through the fish eye of the news reels last week filled us with sufficient horror to momentarily forget our usual sense of spurting joy.

We hesitate to use the drab old saw about giving a real sense of perspective, but those pictures from India delivered it like a Curtly Ambrose bouncer to the temple.

Naturally enough England’s last two one-dayers were cancelled and the side scampered home, to contemplate revised itineraries and debate safety reports and when - indeed, if - they should go back.

Well they should.

Yup easy for us to say, with no WAGs or kids tugging at the heartstrings. But here’s why we think England must return to play the Test series.

The players’ safety is almost guaranteed now; these attacks succeeded mainly because of their surprise nature, that won’t happen again. England’s players will be safe.

There’s certainly an argument too about not letting the terrorists win and making sure their tactics don’t disrupt the normal rhythms of life.

Yet the most compelling reason of all why England should go back is to simply show solidarity and sympathy with the Indian team and its amazing supporters, even if means we end up being beaten hollow (which seems likely).

England and India have had their differences as the power struggle in modern cricket plays out, but events like this remind us that ultimately we’re all part of the same cricketing family. In times like these, the family should look after its own.

HORSE TRAILER enigma

2008-11-27T13:25:00.002Z

Not three words we ever guessed we’d see cojoined in the same headline.

Yup, we’ve a monstrous size puss on today, have had all week, still at least it’s Thursday, which means there’s only one more afternoon of tedium to endure, until the blessed weekend knits up our ravelled sleeve of care and rescues us from our unyielding toils for the Man.

That and post-party Golden Delicious lethargy are probably why we haven’t posted all week, but we guess things could be worse... we could be Marcus Bent. Well we presume it’s the Brum City striker who emailed us at work, no less, to deliver the following:

HELLO DEAR MR/MISS,
AM MARCUS BENT , I WILL LIKE TO KNOW IF YOU CARRY HORSE TRAILER FOR SELL ,IF SO I WILL LIKE TO EMAIL ME BACK WITH THE TYPES YOU HAVE AND THE PRICES I WILL BE GLAD TO DO BUSINESS WITH YOU .. I END HERE HOPE TO HEAR FROM YOU VERY SOON, BEST REGARDS,
MARCUS BENT.

Damn and we sold our last one over the weekend. And why is he so specifically interested in HORSE TRAILERS? Is it anything to do with brother Darren’s recent England call up? Frankly, it’s way beyond us and we leave it to you and the sanctity of the comments section to provide the answer.

Second string

2008-11-20T13:34:00.005Z

Ah the restorative power of spurt. There we were yesterday, with a black cloud hanging around us which seemed sent from the dark lord himself (Sepp Blatter) when the biggest shock of the day suddenly left us with a smile a mile wide.

Nope we’re not talking about John Sergeant’s surprise withdrawal from Strictly, but England’s magnificent 2-1 victory over the Bosch, as we bearded them in their own back yard and which left us with a warmer glow than the sheep around Selafield.

We’ve always had more hunches than Quasimodo, but we called it exactly right (see Round-up, wind-down below) when we said we fancied our second stringers’ chances.

It wasn’t just winning it was the manner of the victory, where we thoroughly outplayed the Germans in every area, showing resilience, flair and endeavour, three words rarely seen in the same sentence as 'England'.

Good to see it was treated properly too without the usual rash of pointless substitutions which alter the shape and coherence of any team. Downing finally looked vaguely convincing as a genuine left winger, Carrick was immense, SWP had a stormer and hell, even Glen Johnson had a good game.

Of course it wouldn’t be Enger-land if the comedy button hadn’t been pressed at some stage, and while John ‘JT’ Terry manfully took the blame on his broad shoulders, the hapless Scott Carson must take at least part of the blame. A nice clear ‘get rid’ would have simplified matters.

Still, ‘mustn’t grumble’ as the old saw goes. This performance proved we have strength in depth and that Senor Fabio can even marshal a mix of disgruntleds and bench warmers into delivering a coherent performance.

Senor Fabio li salutiamo il tuo genio!

Round-up, wind down

2008-11-19T13:43:00.004Z

It’s a portfolio edition today with tales carefully sliced from around the spurting firmament as we do another one of our lazy round-ups, finding no single issue worthy of our undivided attention.

First to cricket, where following one shellacking and one marginally less embarrassing spanking from India, the colossal intellects in charge of the England one-day side have decided to call up Graeme Swann and are considering issuing a hectic ‘get here sharpish’ to Monty Panesar following the shock revelation that spinners might come in a bit handy on the subcontinent wickets.

Really? You think? By Jove I think they may finally have cracked it.

And now to football and with England due to take on the Hun in a ‘friendly’ tonight, we’re actually fancying the second XI’s chances after the relatively shock revelation that our national side haven’t lost anything in Berlin (four wins, three draws) since 1945 when Bomber Command’s counted them all out, but didn’t quite count them all back in again.

BTW in a ‘let’s mock those wacky continentals moment’ watch out tonight if Bayern Leverkusen’s Patrick Helmes scores, apparently he’ll be casting teary eyes to the skies to dedicate any goals scored to his recently deceased Labrador, Emmy. Bless. (Thanks to The Spoiler for the spot).

Finally ~~homo-erotic glamour pin up~~ ~~sulky Galactico wannabe~~ Cristiano Ronaldo has apparently humbly opined he’s not only the greatest player in the world, but the ‘first, second and third greatest player’.

Another triumph for tact and diplomacy from the boy blunder; rumours that his ego is now grown so swollen and huge it’s negotiating its own separate endorsements and transfer deals are believed to be pretty much right on the mark.

We do not forgive or forget...

2008-11-18T13:31:00.006Z

Of all our distasteful, disgraceful and possibly downright illegal habits, a long standing though now regretfully lapsed addiction to Star Trek is probably just about amongst the most publishable.

We only mention this in passing by way of a sprawling intro because a splendid Klingon phrase sprang unbidden into our minds this morning when we read of Terry Butcher’s long standing grudge against former Argentinean 'great' Diego Maradona.

‘We do not forgive ...or forget’ (This should be uttered in a sinister sibilant hiss as if you intend to visit unspecified but extremely unpleasant future violence upon your subject).

To set the scene: Butcher’s now assistant manager for the Sweaties and Maradona is of course the new coach of Argentina, but Blood ‘n Thunder Butcher will apparently refuse to shake Diego’s hand following tomorrow night’s friendly at Hampden.

Quite right too. Butcher’s is a rare voice of reason amongst all the sycophantic ex-pros currently queuing up to hail the ‘world’s greatest playerTM’, who is in fact the 'world’s greatest fucking cheatTM'

As you can guess we still haven’t forgiven or forgotten ‘Dirty’ Diego either for his Hand of God cuntishness which cheated Argentina through the quarter-finals all those years ago.

He may have been a brilliant player, but no one deserves the label ‘All Time Great’ if they’re such a cheating twat. Besides who’s such a tight arse that they give a kid their hat and gloves as a reward when he finds one of their player’s missing gold pendants?

Rubbish.

It is or at least it should be every spurter’s acknowledged right to hold a life long and unreasoning grudge against whomsoever they choose and we’re coming out firmly in support of Butcher as we continue to tenderly nurse our own long standing grievance against the world’s greatest footballing cheat even - after all these years.

Club versus Country

2008-11-17T13:54:00.004Z

It’s back to work on Monday where we return suffering from the last vestiges of a lingering hangover from our adventures in the land of Po and a proper Polish wedding where we drank for England into the wee small hours

But while we’ve been holding up our end, what of our great national hopes? Well it’s business as usual we’re afraid, England spanked in both forms of Rugby, thrashed twice in the cricket and Andy Murray’s semi-final defeat meaning it hasn’t been a good few days for the Great Britishers.

And we also walk straight back into the eternal club v country debate as the Scouser’s Stevie G is forced to report for England duty despite apparently crocking his hooves during the weekend’s fixtures.

Now the past has seen clubs and the wilier managers declare all sorts of spurious injuries to let their key men duck out: bloaty head, freaky stomach and hurty knees being among the more credible of the past sick notes.

But this time Senor Fabio has decided to flex his muscles and make the Liverpool skipper turn up for assessment by the England sawbones to make sure he (or more accurately Rafa) is not pulling a sicky.

You’ve got to feel a little sorry for the clubs with the congested fixture schedule, but if we’re going to challenge for an international trophy again. Senor Fab must have his way even if it’s in a meaningless* friendly.

(*no friendly against Germany is ever meaningless);

Feathered friends

2008-11-11T13:33:00.004Z

They say never work with children or animals – a sentiment we’d heartily endorse after that incident with the toddler, the chainsaw and that spare bag of ferrets.

Still, it’s news from the stranger side of spurt today, with a number of incidents provoked or inspired by our furry or feathered friends.

First up Man United’s relatively poor start to the season has finally been explained and nope it’s not the global hair gel shortage which has affected Ronaldo, nor indeed the loss of Rooney’s locks which have resulted in a Samson-like reduction of the spud faced nipper’s pace and power.

Nope according to the super soaraway Sun (fascist rag) it’s all down to Man Utd’s training ground sessions being disrupted by dive bombing geese flying in from a nearby nature reserve.

Perhaps they were after that mouse Anderson concealed in Garry Neville’s shirt? Surely the most tenuous (for which read piss poor) story of the week from the Mirror.

Elsewhere Roy Keane’s dog has made the news as the Sunderland boss admitted "There are ex-players and ex-referees being given air-time who I wouldn't listen to in a pub... I wouldn't trust them to walk my dog."

From ‘mad dog’ Keano that’s quite a thing to say, but rumours that the mutt is being lined up to dunk his paws into the Newcastle poison chalice are believed to be wide of the mark.

Ashes to Ashes: The Countdown begins

2008-11-10T13:32:00.001Z

That’s it, we can’t put it off any longer, consider our stopwatch officially checked, wound and the button on top depressed as the official World of Spurt countdown to next year’s Ashes finally and totally begins.

This is it people, there’s no turning back now, prepare yourself for a winter of Aussie-baiting and a summer of Aussie-thrashing as next summer’s Cric-pocalypse, the mother of all series hoves into view.

We promise to license that poodle rock theme tune by Europe, produce our own merchandise and well pretty much everything you’d expect, to give our coverage the edge over the likes of Sky etc.

Hm, too much? Yet we needed something to cheer us up on this bleak Monday afternoon with the rain coming down outside like so many gallons of piss, and there it was... the Aussie’s losing 2-0 to India.

While It’s way too early to call for the moment, we remain as optimistic as a polygamist who thinks ‘third time lucky’, urged on by the biggest and most important factor of all: no Warne and McGrath.

Our spurting second hand can’t tick around quick enough.

Fond farewells...

2008-11-04T13:46:00.002Z

It’s Tuesday hooray! And Lewis’s victory still washes over us with a warm gentle glow of satisfaction despite the numerous Ferrari conspiracy theories currently spreading around the net like a dirty water swirling around the plughole.

Massa drove brilliantly and deserves credit for his dignity and magnanimity in defeat but Ferrari have had more than their fair crack o' the whip this season.

There’s just one thing left to say and that’s a resounding and wholehearted ‘thank fock for Glock... ‘

Elsewhere we’re saving our bile for a full and extended rant on Stanford’s sordid fest but well done the Windies boys (masquerading as the Superstars) and poor form from England to patronisingly say ‘they need it more than us’.

But Tuesday is reserved for a sad farewell to Aidy Boothroyd now ex-Watford manager, who parted company with the mighty Hornets yesterday. Watford are in a downward trot, 15 points from 15 games, parachute payments running out and any decent player sold the moment he looks like he’s worth a bob.

Even bent Elt has skipped down from the yellow brick road to say he’s concerned, but it’s difficult to know what our hometown club are thinking. Yup, we’re in a parlous state, but not even ‘arry Houdini could work his magic on the current Horns and Boothroyd is one of the best young managers in the country. Not long ago he was guiding us to the Premiership and the FA cup semis but at this stage can anyone seriously do any better?

Let’s hope this is one decision they don’t have cause to regret.

At the death

2008-11-03T11:39:00.005Z

Holy shit that was close, closer than a close shave from Charles I’s headsman, but finally, triumphantly, Lewis Hamilton nipped his rain spattered McLaren past Timo Glock on the very last corner at Interlagos to pickpocket fifth place and become the youngest ever Formula One world champion.

This was not a day for faint hearts and it began with a heavy shower on the grid which had virtually the entire field (sans Kubica) scrabbling for intermediates and had the watching audience (ie us) muttering darkly about strange portents and bad omens.

A nerve jangling start eventually saw Hamilton settle comfortably into fourth and throughout the race he kept it there or thereabouts while Massa sped off at the front like a man possessed. All seemed to be running to script, but a Grand Prix is an unpredictable as a woman’s mood and the twist in the tail this time was the rain – normally Hamilton’s natural ally – which started to come down as the race reached its denouement.

The fat lady was just about warming up her pipes, when it was all back into the pits for a last set of intermediates as the few laps ticked down like the second hand at an execution. Pushed to within an inch by the impressive Vettel, Hamilton was forced to concede and dropped to sixth place and it looked it had all slipped away from him again.

Yet if there’s one thing sport in general and racing in particular teaches you, it’s to keep going to the end and as we sat there despairing, McLaren were more sanguine having spotted Glock’s dry-shod Toyota sliding around like a newborn lamb on a skating rink. They cut it fine, finer than a treble zero grade sandpaper, but on the last corner Lewis nipped past Glock and through to deserved Championship glory.

Ferrari’s garage erupted in premature triumph and then desolation as realisation dawned; Massa was a mass of tears underneath the helmet, but Lewis and Britain’s joy was unconfined at this narrowest of victories. Over the course of a long and rollercoaster-like season he deserved it.

It should be the first of many.

Pre-race tension

2008-10-30T13:36:00.003Z

Okay last chance to post this workaday week since we’re off at an industry awards show. Don’t worry we’re not nominated (but organising bizarrely) and any interruptions to the all day drinking even for a quick spurt would be about as welcome as an answer machine message from Russell Brand and Jonathon Ross.

Just a quick one then to preview this weekend’s big event – nope not the latest episode of the Standford wives – but Sunday’s big race which we’re looking forward to more than we can say.

Anyway we speak of course of Lewis’s triumphant ascension to the F1 title. He can’t screw it up two years in a row can he? Course not. There’s been a lot of talk of tactical races, keeping his foot off the gas and playing it safe and driving a 'safe' race.

Pure tosh of course Lewis is a pure born racer and any attempt to do things even slightly differently will take the edge off his natural advantage.

So here’s our piece of shit advice for the tuppence fuck all it’s worth. Put your foot down, qualify first and win it from the front.

Oh and don’t blow it! We'll be watching...

Indecent Proposal

2008-10-28T13:30:00.003Z

And so to Tuesday and our contemplation of Cricket’s latest attempt to prostitute itself like a five quid hooker with Saturday’s forthcoming Stanford Twenty20 match between England and West Indies XIs.

In danger of making the over-the-top gaudiness of the IPL look classy and refined, Stanford’s winner takes all greed fest tag line ‘One night, one shot, $20 million’ also borrows a Highlander-style ‘There can be only one’ to add to its patent ridiculousness.

So what’s next? A live Kurgen-style beheading for the bowler who concedes the million dollar boundary? Why not? That’s bound to get the crowds in and seems tailor made for the attention span of a modern audience.

The Stanford series was supposed to be the ECB’s sweetener to distract the England players from the lure of the IPL in February. But now the whole cricket world’s in hock to India anyway (including both the Aussies and Sri Lanka), it’s become just another cash cow appetiser, before Freddie and KP etc. inevitably depart for Lalit land anyway.

Could it get any more ridiculous? Of course it could! How about Sir Allen allegedly ‘getting close to’ as the BBC put it (or ‘copping a feel of’ as we’d say) of some of the England players WAGs while the players themselves were busy out in the field on Sunday?

It’s cricket’s very own Indecent Proposal and just the kind of story to underline the game’s credibility as it goes galloping over the horizon in a welter of black bats and ridiculous pyjamas.

Famine to Feast

2008-10-27T13:30:00.004Z

From famine to feast today as a weekend’s spurting action leaves us quite literally breathless (well it’s either that or all that crystal meth we’ve been smoking).

Everywhere you turned this weekend there was spurting goodness to appreciate, from Andy Murray retaining his tennis title, to Yank football at Wembley (a much underrated game in our humble...) or even the Scousers finally storming fortress Stamford Bridge to leave the title race wide open.

Yet amidst all this spurting headlines, easily the biggest story was Uncle Harry Redknapp who went to bed Portsmouth manager on Saturday and woke up as Spurs boss on Sunday morning.

Always one of the game’s more ahem colourful characters, Redknapp is nevertheless an intriguing appointment and certainly knows his managerial onions - the effect on the previously hapless Spurs was immediate as they conjured a 2-0 win over Bolton.

Only Southampton have survived such a poor start to the Premiership without going down but with Redknapp at the helm, you have to figure Spurs’ chances of pulling a Houdini have suddenly and dramatically increased.

Becks to Milano

2008-10-22T13:24:00.003+01:00

Well there we desperate for a story like a crack whore scrabbling for pennies when up pops the boy David to rescue us from our pre-postural tension.

Beckham is the footballer (or ‘th’uh soccer bomb’ as our US brethren would have it) who just keeps on giving, providing more interest, sensation and sheer column inches than an Osama Bin Laden-Madonna love child.

So now Becks has packed his designer luggage and is off the old folks home at AC Milan where he’s signed a loan deal from January to April while the MLS shuts down for its winter slumber.

It’ll be a rare old time for the former England skipper, sitting around in a bath chair with the likes of Ronaldhino and the ever-green Paulo Maldini and swapping tales of the heady old days when they played for sheer enjoyment, weekly wage weren't a major contributor to the credit crunch and ordinary fans could still afford to go to a game.

Still Becks and Milan seem a perfect fit, both are more about style than substance nowadays, they’ll be plenty of shopping for Posh and it’ll certainly keep the old warhorse fit if Senor Fabio’s England continue to call for the last five minutes.

So hoorah for Becks, not only will it be good to catch the occasional glimpse of the world’s greatest deliverer of a ball, writing about his continuing adventures certainly makes work for our idle hands, which when you look at it in the cold harsh light of day, can only be a good thing.

The old order changeth?

2008-10-21T13:27:00.003+01:00

A rare blast of cricket today in the bleak mid erm autumn, where a right of old shoeing for the Aussies results in them being on the wrong end of a 320-run spanking from India in the second test at Mohali.

Now normally we’d bow to no-one in our enjoyment of watching the Aussies squirm on the rack, but strangely we didn’t get as much pleasure out of the result as we thought we might.

Now India’s a tough place to tour and it’s a fool who bets the farm on any single result, even one as statistically massive as this, but we’re suddenly wondering if this signals the start of a shift in the game’s playing as well as its financial power base?

The sheep worriers are still a great side, but no team can survive simultaneously losing the best spin bowler in history as well as one of its finest pacemen and it looks as this might finally be starting to filter through into where it counts - out on the field.

There's still great players there: Ponting, Lee and Hussey, but there's plenty of new and emerging talents too and its not stuffed to the gills with the of champions of old.

The Aussies' dominance has been unchallenged for so long, it seems almost inconceivable that anyone else could take the number one slot, but this result indicates they might just be mortal after all and the first rays of the dawn of a new world order may just be peeping over the horizon.

Now if there’s one thing that cricketing history has taught us it’s that you write off the Aussies at your peril, but it makes the prospect of the Ashes next year seriously interesting.

Chinese Grand Prix: So boring it was exciting

2008-10-20T13:25:00.005+01:00

And so to Sunday where we were up at the previously un-discovered hour of eight bells to catch the Chinese Grand Prix. Not ever really a natural environment for a sports hack (except to nab a couple of headache pills before going back to sleep), it’s a cold grey murky world at that time of the day, only enlivened by a warming cup of char with a decently sized snifter nestling in it.

Still, following last weekend’s dismal showing from Lewis in Japan, we felt we had to be there live to see the drama unfold and we weren’t disappointed.

We say drama, what we actually mean is procession and as a race, this was deeply deeply tedious stuff, with Master Hamilton making a perfect start, disappearing into the middle distance and giving the trailing Ferraris a huge metaphorical finger.

The victory was as tedious as it was inevitable, so boring it was perversely exciting, as Lewis simply ate up the laps and took the chequered flag by a distance.

Hamilton’s been (wrongly) criticised in the past (and even the past two weeks) for being too aggressive, too arrogant, too much of a risk taker, but they’re exactly the qualities which make him such a great racing driver.

However on this occasion he was just glad to be grey and we’re extremely happy he was made it that way.

Enger-land versus Belarus: post-match analysis

2008-10-16T13:39:00.001+01:00

It’s our best ever start we’ve had to a competition and we don’t mean that tenner we’ve just spunked on lucky dips for tomorrow night’s Euro Millions.

Last night Minsk was the arena for another splendid showing from Senor Fabio’s new look ie. actually pretty good Enger-land as they negotiated a tough away fixture against technically tidy opposition, eventually putting Belarus to the sword 3-1.

The old England would have been lucky to scrape a draw in a game like this not even six months ago.

A decent start capped by Gerrard's virtuoso strike was marred by a deserved equaliser for Belarus, who played us off the park for perhaps 20 minutes to pull the scores level at half-time.

Senor Fabio continued to show he’s worth every one of the millions he’s paid and possibly even a few more by turning the game completely around in the second half. Don’t know what he puts in their half-time tea, or whether he gives them the hairdryer, but whatever it’s working.

Upping the work to deny Belarus time to weave their magic worked a treat, Heskey pounded the centre backs, Rooney’s on fire and hell even Wayne Bridge looked like he knew one end of a touchline from the other. Heartening stuff.

We’ve had more false starts than Ussain Bolt’s rivals, but finally, for long suffering Enger-land fans ottimismo is no longer an untranslatable word .

WAG-ging the finger

2008-10-15T13:25:00.002+01:00

We were raking through the ashes today in a desperate attempt to find something interesting in the spurting firmament but fortunately - and not in the usual way - the ever dependable Rio came up with the goods.

Newly born statesman, stand in captain and first minister of Enger-land Rio has opined that the England camp was a ‘circus’ pre-Senor Fabio and that our last futile World Cup bid was sabotaged by the ‘whole WAG situation’.

Well no shit Sherlock, the WAGs or ‘slags with bags’ as some of the more uncharitable elements (like us) would have them, proved a big Baden Baden distraction for the tabs, but we’re not so sure they had such a big effect on anything other than the paper’s soaring circulations.

Rio differs of course saying ‘"People were worrying more about what other people were wearing and where they were going, rather than the team."

Well it’s an interesting point, but we see the WAGs more as a symptom, rather than a cause – and of course they’re well fit too innit.

We hope Senor Fabio has taken note and will rapidly introduce the traditional cold showers and a pre-game nookie bans to keep the lads ever hungry for our next glorious World Cup fail ...er attempt.

Japanese Grand Prix – post-race analysis....

2008-10-14T13:19:00.006+01:00

And so to Tuesday and our post-race analysis of Sunday’s Japanese Grand Prix and once again the headlines tell their own story...

“Impatience ....Lewis is chucking it away ...just like last season ...needs a calmer head ...wilts under pressure...”

What utter crap. There’s little doubt Lewis could do with a dose of Schumacher’s icy calm running through his veins but he could also do with an even handed approach from the sport itself.

Is F1 simply massively biased towards Ferrari? Well to our admittedly jaundiced eye it seems immensely so. So let’s have a look at those race incidents in order.

Hamilton made an awful start and panicking tried to undertake Raikkonen into the first corner losing a load of places. Not great, but par for the course on turn one of any Grand Prix and simply not worthy of a penalty. Lewis gets a Drive Through.

So onto lap two and Massa deliberately rams the McLaren and couldn’t have hit it more amidships if he’d been driving a U-boat. Massa effectively takes his championship rival out of the race and deserves a points deduction for such blatant gamesmanship. What does he get? A simple Drive Through.

Finally and most conclusively later in the race Massa comes haring down the start finish straight and rams into the hapless Bourdais who’s blamelessly holding the inside line as he exits the pits. A clear cut case or apparently so, but instead it’s Bourdais who’s punished and Massa who picks up a bonus point on top of the one he’s already purloined.

What further tricks can F1 conjure up to help tilt Ferrari over the line to another undeserved championship? We’ll see 08.00am Sunday we guess.

Enger-land - the eternal dilemma

2008-10-13T13:33:00.002+01:00

It’s probably only an England fan that could look at a 5-1 pasting of Borat’s brethren and see the down side, but alas even with Saturday’s spectacular scoreline still reverberating around our foreheads, all is not well in the state of Denmark this Monday lunchtime.

Sven, Steve Mclaren they both tried it to make it work, so we suppose Senor Fabio deserved his chance too, but surely Saturday’s game proved once and for all that Stephen Gerrard and Frank Lampard can’t be accommodated in the same midfield.

We have two world class players who play in exactly the same role, sure it’s an embarrassment of riches, but call it what you will, two does not go into one in this case and the blend of the team is suffering when they both play.

It’s an old cliché but the best players do not necessarily make the best team.

We’d probably give Stevie G the slight nod as the better all around player, but ‘Fat’ Frank played very well against Croatia and whoever he picks now, Senor Fabio has to choose one and leave the other warming the bench.

As for Ashley Cole’s mistake: good player but very difficult man to like.

We’d probably have booed him anyway.

The battle for Cricket's soul - part the umpteenth

2008-10-08T13:22:00.002+01:00

The battle for cricket’s soul continues today with heartening news that the England versus West Indies Stanford sponsored ~~pointless, tasteless, greed fest~~ record breaking Twenty20 has run into trouble after a sponsorship dispute went the wrong way in the high court.

Listen carefully and you can almost hear the steady drip drip of our heart’s slowly bleeding.

FYI Sir Allen Stanford’s the US millionaire who out of the absolute goodness of his heart and love of a game (which he’d scarcely heard of beforehand) has stumped up a million dollars a man for a Twenty20 slog fest in the Caribbean in November.

In case you missed it the spectacle of Sir Al (as we like to think of him) flying in to Lord’s with a million bucks in a box was surely the least savoury thing since a sugar-coated kilo of sugar in a sugar wrapping.

Of course it’ll eventually be worked out, money doesn’t so much talk as scream at the top of its voice, but it’s sad to see the summer game bowing down before almighty mammon in such a and pointless way.

And you thought we hated the IPL? We’ve got a special bottle of vitriol mixed with bile in store for this one.

The UEFA Cup: A cut out n’ keep Guide

2008-10-07T13:44:00.003+01:00

Ah the romance of the ...erm UEFA Cup. The ~~losers~~ ~~consolation~~ runners-up cup, used to be a rare old source of fun, a kind of ‘let’s see what you would’ve won’ solace for those big boys knocked out of the Champions League proper.

Nowadays it’s a bit more serious than that, with the second tier Premiership sides mixing it with Europe’s best and erm, well, lesser well known.

If fact half of the attraction nowadays is spotting the European sides who are so obscure they hardly dare speak their name, as one mainstream sports hack recently found out.

So by way of an intro here’s the Spurt’s cut out and keep guide to some of the more fanciful sides Portsmouth and Man City could be knocked out by this season.

Mentalist Karkiv
Much fancied Ukranian XI who are known to field a starting line up of in-patients and the occasional lycanthrope in goal. They’ll fancy a run to the semis if the medication holds out.

FC Cluggor
Second division Romanian outfit known for their robust, hefty and occasional life-threatening tackling. The FO advises bringing along plenty of substitutes, spare blood supplies and even pre-packed donor material.

Upstart Vladivostok
Noveau riche Russian side formed from the ashes of the USSR’s Spetnatz brigade. Supporters paint their arses blue and bare them for the famous Upstart Roar at kick off. Carefully positioned rooftop snipers makes timing your run on goal just that little bit extra tricky.

Club FC Naughty
Highly sexed Swedish side best known for their casual approach on the pitch and swinging approach off it. The post game ritual of communal hot bath and ‘Swedish smelling salts’ is apparently best avoided, especially by the unwary.

AC Onanism
Horny handed Morovian masterbationists XI who are much fancied to knock out some decent results ...That’s enough club sides – Ed.

Normal service...

2008-10-06T13:23:00.004+01:00

“You fucking ...fricking ...fracking ...frocking ...freckers."

“You bunch of ...cunts ...cnuts ...scunts ...tuncts."

"Why should I believe you wankers ...wonkers ...winkers?"

You bunch of bastards ...bistards ...bustards."

“I’m not coming here to have the piss ...pass ....puss taken out of me...

And now putting it all together...

“You can Fruck off your fricking fruckers. You’re all a bunch of cnuts. Write what you like you bustards, you’re all a team of winkers anyways. I’ve not come here to have the puss taken out of me you frockers. Now frack off!’”

Splendid, it’s finally finished!

Thanks for your patience and sorry for the prolonged absence, we’ve been hard at work on a real-life swear filter for Joe Kinnear.

Normal spurting service or what passes for it will hopefully resumed tomorrow.

Newcastle Find New Owner

2008-09-24T15:13:00.003+01:00

After the reports in The Sun today concerning the rumoured bid for Newcastle Football Club, we at the Spurt have intercepted the initial communication from Nigeria. Here it is, below:

"Thanks for your mail, I am really interested in your Football Club.I will pay £250 million pounds for it as I have been a lifelong fan of the mighty barcodes. Please i will want to indicate my mode of payment to you since i am not in the United Kingdom at the moment and there is a Company in the United Kingdom that is indebted to me in the amount of £347 million. So i will want to really seek your Assistance at this point,That i will want you to forward to me the the following informations below that i will need to forward to the Company indebted to me so that they can make out the payment directly to you and after you have cashed it in your bank,You will have the excess amount on the payment sent to my International Shipping agent via WESTERN UNION MONEY TRANSFER ,All charges you are to pay at the western union office when sending the excess amount of £97 million should be deducted from my balance, So you don't have to bother yourself about that, if you find yourself short of funds for this perhaps you could sell a player or two? The reason for this is that,The Company indebted to me say they cannot make out the payment in two installment except once, And since i am purchasing your Football Club from you at this time,I will want to really be sure that my funds will be safe in your hands as i will want to entrust my money unto your care,So inorder for us to complete the purchase of the Football Club now,I will want you to get back to me with your full contact information inorder for me to forward it to the Company indebted to me inorder for them to make out the payment in your name and send it to you ithout any furtherdelay.

Do confirm this mail and get back to me as soon as possible. I'm really looking forward to owning Newcastle United and I'm sure I'll be a step up from the previous owners."

Now this email looks a bit fishy to us, but we're assured that it is the genuine article. And the last bit has a ring of truth about it ..

Legal Eagles

2008-09-24T13:51:00.003+01:00

More legal news today (call us Rumpo of the Bailey’s coffee) as Sheffield United look to be quids in following an independent tribunal’s verdict that Carlos Tevez was worth three points to West Ham during the 2006-2007 season.

Surely the assassin-faced Argentinean hitman was worth a deal more than that? Well possibly, but Tevez also scored the goal that secured the vital three points that kept the Hammers up and condemned the Blades to walk the relegation plank.

His registration was highly suspect and it was harsh on Sheffield at the time, but surely claiming back £30 million in compensation now is equally harsh on the current West Ham?

Predictably Lewis Hamilton won’t be picking up any additional points after an appeal against his controversial penalty in the Belgian Grand Prix was not even heard.

Hamilton’s case is a lot better than Sheffield’s but it’s never an edifying spectacle when anyone attempts to settle sporting matters at the bar rather than on the pitch.

The goal that never was...

2008-09-23T13:35:00.001+01:00

We’re just like The Beatles today, here, there and everywhere and after a weekend spent up in the grim north, we’re still struggling to find our Southern mojo.

Further geographical dislocation comes in today’s Football League decision not to replay the Reading v Watford game after Saturday’s goal that never was.

For those who missed it, Reading were awarded a goal after the ball dribbled over the goal line on the wrong side of the post and the linesman, who’s eyesight would frankly make a bat look sharp and eagle-eyed, maintained it was all down to - and-we-shit-you-not-this-is-an-actual-quote an ‘optical illusion’.

Now we’re divided, we now live in the ‘Ding (it’s like the Nam, only with slightly fewer snipers) and have always had a soft spot for Steve Coppell’s men. But we’re lifelong Hornets fans and it seems grossly unfair to not only rob us of a victory, but maintain all the yellow cards and cautions we got from complaining against .

Still, we’re reluctantly forced to agree, you can’t exactly replay a game just because the ref gets something wrong, otherwise we’d never finish a weekend, let alone a season.

It’s just one further bit of shit luck, in what promises to be a decidedly shit season.

Forgiveness

2008-09-18T13:35:00.001+01:00

Not much doing on the sporting front today, apparently there’s some golf going on or something and Nick Faldo’s revealed his Open pairings. Sounds painful but two competing motives vie for our affections on the receipt of this news: firstly couldn’t give less of a shit about golf if were a constipated water buffalo which is only slightly offset by our natural urge to beat the Yanks at anything at all costs.

So go Europe for the win, yay! Dominate those links! Sink those putts. Or something.

Ahem anyway the only other item of interest was the return of Cristiano Ronaldo who was apparently met by a rousing standing ovation at Old Trafford when came off the bench in last night’s European tie.

Were we surprised by the lack of outrage from the Man Utd fans? Not much. Despite
Ronny practically lying on his back with legs akimbo for Real all summer, nothing was ever properly consummated and United fans know they need faithless young Ronny on board if they’re going to have any hope of remaining English and European champions this season.

Still it’s not exactly going to be an easy marriage when despite the apparent and very public rapprochement, Ronny’s still willing to commit footy adultery first opportunity he gets.

Conspiracy Theories

2008-09-17T13:17:00.004+01:00

Spare a thought for shy retiring wallflower Sir Alex Ferguson today, as it looks like he’ll be up before the beak again.

Fergy’s in the steaming stuff after claiming that referees’ boss Keith Hackett was apparently involved in letting John Terry off with a slapped wrist after the England skipper’s straight red against Man City on Saturday.

Now Sir Alex isn’t exactly the most unbiased individual, understandably sees the world through Red Devil tinted shades and probably sees more conspiracy theories than an Alabama Survivalist’s message board... but on this occasion we have to agree with him.

Terry got a deserved red for ‘serious foul play’ which FIFA defines as "excessive force ...against an opponent" and Terry’s rugby-style tackle on Jo certainly falls under that heading. To rescind that card so quickly and to send the ref involved to the lower league doghouse sure looks a bit suss, particularly given Chelsea ‘welcome’ Man Utd this weekend.

Not that Fergy hasn’t been his usual calm balanced self with his reaction being slightly more over-the-top than a Dennis Wise patella breaker.

But we’re pretty sure he’s right when he says the same wouldn’t have happened if it had been a United player.

Chelsea the new Ferrari?

A tale of two Ronaldos

2008-09-16T13:18:00.003+01:00

When Man City’s new owners said they were going to sign Ronaldo, we’re pretty sure they had Cristiano rather than Luis Nazário de Lima in mind...

Still it’s with a sad upside downy smile and a heavy heart we have to report breaking news this lunchtime that gap-toothed wunderkind, ex-Brazilian goal machine and World Cup final dodger Ronaldo will not be signing for Man City this season.

Sadly another footballing dream must die, crushed by the cold harsh weight of reality, but still it’s an opportunity wasted in our book, an opportunity to send a clear message to the rest of the businessmen, billionaires and would-be owners currently circling the premier League like a pack of bloated vultures.

Yes Ronaldo is not the player he was: his weight’s up, his skills are down and he might struggle to pass a fitness test for the Telly Tubbies (although he did bang in 9 goals in 20 games for Milan last year), but City could have made an impact by snapping him up.

As a statement of intent Ronaldo’s signing could not have been clearer and that statement would have read, “We’re now so loaded we can afford to have big boy loafing about in the stands on a £100,000 a week and not even blink. So what are the rest of you gonna do?”

For Sale

2008-09-15T13:29:00.003+01:00

A weekend’s sojourn into the pastoral idyll of the New Forest does wonders for our fearfully depleted mental reserves, but leaves little time for sporting endeavours.

However on our return late Sunday evening, we did notice this little ad squirreled away in one of the darkest corners of the net.

"For Sale: Wor Club"

Frightfully used football club. Long mileage, low record of success, few modern redeeming features. No previous careful owners and now being offloaded as no longer wanted. Requires large rudder but comes free replica shirt with King Kev no.1 on the back (XXL).

Optional Extras include: Totally unrealistic fan expectations, belief that TV pundit can become Geordie messiah and free poison chalice.

Would suit: Anyone able to pour bottomless pits of cash straight into the Tyne.

Contact M. Ashley Sports Tat Direct c/o USA”

Sounds attractive non? Any takers?

Miracles Do Happen

2008-09-12T13:41:00.003+01:00

WTF is the world coming to? Not to an end evidently following Wednesday’s CERN black hole experiment (well not yet anyway, we’re still here in all our misery), but something’s up.

England thrash Croatia 4-1 away and Setanta relent on their previously tight arse position to deny the long suffering sports fan highlights of future England games.

It’s evident something in the fabric of reality has subtlety altered. Was it the Spurt wot done it or the large Hadron accelerator? We’re making no claims, but it’s funny how the stars sometimes align.

But of course the story of the week is Senor Fabio’s New England. We say ‘new’ because this was like watching a team of strangers, ones that could actually play football.

Theo gets the plaudits naturally and rightly so after scoring a superb hat-trick, but this was a team performance of exceptional quality. Not flawless of course, there was time for Calamity to have the odd flap and the Coles to look distressed, but Heskey, Rooney and the rest finally looked like a properly balanced team and played like one too.

England’s overall possession was 61%. They passed well and retained possession and stroked it around like a bunch of Brazilians in the second half - even spectacularly failing to get a dose of the jitters when Croatia pulled a spawny one back with ten minutes to go (and instead preferring to keep playing and put another one pass the exasperated Croats).

There’s still plenty of time for it all to go to shit naturally and seasoned England watchers have seen too many false dawns to start rejoicing prematurely.

But it seems Senor Fabio certainly has the magic touch. His middle name isn’t Gandalf by any chance? Maybe its something to do with those glasses?

A quick one - Watford till I die

2008-09-10T13:33:00.002+01:00

‘Only time for a quick one today’, as we often say to Mrs Spurt, as that cursed sapper of our leisurely spurting discourses ‘work’ intervenes to keep our spurting contribution to a minimum.

Still we couldn’t let this one lie , with the ~~batshit insane~~ quite normal and not-sanity-defying-in-any-way news that the Bundisliga's Hamburg are going to be the first football team to offer a stadium-side cemetery where fans or rather ex-fans will be able to get a grandstand view of the pitch-side action post-mortem.

"Many people think it's crazy and a strange idea," Hamburg board member Christian Reichert told German newspaper Suddeutsche Zeitung. "But our plan is to capture worldwide attention with a serious venture."

No shit Christian. We only hope our beloved Watford, the mighty Hornets, are working on a plan to offer us similar facilities for the afterlife.

We always knew they’d drive us to the grave one day.

Setanta Ranter part 3

2008-09-10T13:22:00.002+01:00

Once again Steve B joins the Spurt to ~~well and truly put the boot in on the troubled Irish rights holder~~ provide depth and insight into the Setanta situation.

There have been new developments regarding Setanta – leading me to believe that we may hear more of those delicious “We hate Setanta” chants in Croatia tonight. I’m an avid Five Live devotee, and this morning, Victoria Derbyshire hosted a discussion on the England-Croatia game. All of a sudden it mutated into – guess what – a vehement discussion about how impossible it is to extricate yourself from a Setanta subscription.

Sound like a familiar subject? It took Victoria by surprise. Which just goes to show that she needs to start reading World of Spurt. Indeed, I emailed her, detailing my Setanta woes, and adding a helpful click-through to Setanta ranter. Alas, no response. But here’s a telling comment on her blog:

Seems I'm not alone in feeling the pain...

Give us back our sport

2008-09-09T13:34:00.002+01:00

Fresh developments today on the whole Setanta highlights debacle which Steve B’s so eloquently dissected below, with Labour MP John Grogan demanding that World Cup Qualifier highlights should join the list of protected sporting events.

A rare sunbeam of sanity in a black void of sporting despair, Grogan’s call is of course welcome, but shows just how far we’ve fallen from the ethos of being able to catch a glimpse of any of our national teams, without having to cough up a small fortune or heading pubwards in return.

England v Andorra marked another watershed moment in the long slow rape of free-to-air sport with no highlights on any terrestrial channel whatsoever. You might consider that a blessing having being spared the full horror, but with the Beeb and ITV refusing to pay through the nose – and Setanta counterclaiming they were too tight, the only people to lose out were the fans.

To put it in context: Even Uncle Rupe’s Sky could be relied on to do the decent thing after they’d shown the game live and it’s not exactly known as being the most generous and altruistic of broadcasting operations.

So we’ve got A-List events like Wimbledon and the FA cup which must be shown live on terrestrial TV and even Second Tier events which are guaranteed highlights, but they’re being eroded as surely as the East Anglia coastline. Remember when cricket use to be A-List? How long before another bunch of chancers get to build their fortune by exerting a strangehold on our passion for sport?

Ultimately all it will do is damage the off-the-air sports themselves, who lest they forget are in direct competition with free-to-air and accessible sports for people’s time and affections. If you can’t see it, you simply won’t support it, something the FA might care to remember next time they discover Wembley tickets and replica shirt sales have gone through the floor.

Setanta Ranter Part 2

2008-09-09T10:13:00.003+01:00

Once again we’re proud to welcome guest scribe Steve B who joins the Spurt for another Setanta rant and to weigh up England’s prospects in Croatia

Missed the England-Andorra game: I was tied up. In a Chelsea dungeon. OK, that’s not strictly true and, indeed, had I been in one of those infamous establishments favoured by Max Mosley, in search of the most esoteric dose of masochism available, then I probably would have seen England’s motley assemblage of multimillionaire chavs, dubious mobile phone-practitioners and lapdancer-shaggers strutting their by all accounts passionless and inept stuff. For what could be more masochistic than watching the England football team on Setanta?

A solid half an hour’s trawling around on Sky Plus confirmed what has since become a minor story: that if you object to subscribing to Setanta, as I do (having discovered last year that cancelling a Setanta subscription is harder than escaping from a set of shackles suspended from a dripping ceiling), you won’t even be able to see the highlights of England’s World Cup qualifiers. Or perhaps “highlights”, given that it’s England is the wrong word. With the Setanta deal, the FA have really outdone themselves (they’ve been putting out some choice “Nothing to do with us” quotes which, translated from FA-speak, mean: “We just took the money and ran. That’s what we do.”) Maybe they took the Irish folding stuff after realising they’d managed to unearth an outfit which was even less popular than themselves.

One good thing did emerge from England’s reputedly dire 2-0 victory, and I’m not talking about the amusing Andorran quotes about losing by a mere two goals being a “Moral victory”. Trying to gauge just how bad England were, I trawled the Sunday papers, many of which (especially the ones owned by Murdoch) reported that at one stage of the match, the England fans in Barcelona had chanted: “We hate Setanta”. Let’s hope this becomes a regular chant. Perhaps Capello could help by doing things like banishing the embarrassment known as Stuart Downing from the squad, selecting the man who has been England’s best player for ages – Joe Cole – from the start and generally decreasing the time it takes for England fans to get bored with booing their own players and to think of more imaginative (but no less valid) targets for their entirely understandable frustration and bile.

I will, however, go to a pub and watch Wednesday’s match against Croatia – not to sup hungrily upon whatever pearls of erudition might drop from Steve McManaman’s lips, but just to get a sense of Capello’s approach. Given that he has excluded Peter Crouch – the one available target-man who has a decent goals per game aggregate for England since Alan Shearer – from his squad (I have no problems with the absence of Michael Owen, the new Daren Anderton), I’m expecting England to do an Andorra and park their bus in front of goal. If England escape with a draw, then Fabio will deserve praise. Although even such a mediocre result is about as likely as the FA suddenly announcing that it has finally learned how to find its arse with both hands.

By Steve B

Post race recall

2008-09-08T13:38:00.004+01:00

Out-rage-ous! You can colour us mightily pissed off today. We were originally going to go off on one with an extended rant on the iniquities of Setanta, who have unsportingly refused to share England highlights with a terrestrial audience.

But alas no that particular line of invective must wait for another time as our seething levels of bile have been sent surging by the Stewards Enquiry into yesterday’s Belgian Grand Prix.

Civilisation and possibly the entire world/omniverse as we know it may all be about to disappear into a black hole in Cern (and by the way did we miss a memo, which twat greenlighted that?) but some things are more important than the impending end of the world and civilisation as we know it.

At the end of one of the most exciting Grand Prixs in recent memory, which had us literally hopping and hollering on the sofa, the F1 stewards rescinded Lewis Hamilton’s win with a highly dubious penalty for cutting the chicane.

The story of the race? Capitalising on Hamilton’s early spin, Raikkonen dominated for nearly the entire race, but with just a few laps remaining, the rain began to fall and Lewis, back in the hunt, slowly began to reel in Kimi until he was right on his tail.

In the midst of a gripping old fashioned wheel-to-wheel duel in supremely sketchy conditions, Hamilton and Raikkonen go into the Bus Stop together and with Kimi holding his line. Rather than crash, Lewis is forced to run wide gaining a slight advantage, but crucially letting Kimi retake the lead as they cross the start-finish line.

Then it’s game on again and as Kimi tries to defend, Lewis makes a breathless pass on the inside before being rammed from behind at the next corner. Down the road Kimi overtakes again, before crashing out as both cars try to avoid a spinning backmarker and Hamilton using his supreme rainmaster skills, nursemaids the McLaren home, 14 seconds ahead of Massa for a superb win.

Or it should have been. The perfect rejoinder to a sport often accused of lacking excitement, this was nerve-shredding head-to-head racing at its finest and to sully the result with such a dubious recall does F1 absolutely no favours at all.

It also does nothing to dispel suspicions of an inherent Ferrari bias at its highest levels.

If the positions had been reversed and it was a Ferrari driver standing on the podium, say Michael Schumacher a few years ago, the suspicion lingers that the manoeuvre would have been applauded and the result would have been allowed to stand.

Such highly questionable decisions immensely damage F1’s credibility as the pinnacle of world motorsport.

Making it up...

2008-09-04T13:53:00.003+01:00

Carefully considered thought-provoking insight and analysis into the hidden workings of the spurting world, or just making it up as we go along?

Hey we just write it, you decide!

So we welcome to One Liner Thursdays, the first and possibly only in an occasional series
where we take random ~~shit~~ words and events from the muddled pronouncements of top sporting figures and provide a scurrilous and/or sarcastic retort IN ONE LINE. Haha.

Imagine us as a sort of spurting digestive tract, ingesting quotes, facts and happennings, passing them through our acidic filter and them excreting them out as any old shit.

Ahem anyway, first up South Africa coach Micky Arthur and his excuse for the 4-0 drubbing by former One-Day also-rans England. Over to you Micky, “We are trying to identify a brand of cricket to play in one-day cricket and then identify players to pick to play that kind of brand."

Yup, Micky the brand you’re trying to identify? That would be the winning one. Next!

Aha, new Everton signing Louis Saha has offered to work for free until he reaches full fitness,

It’s sure going to be a long lean winter in the Saha household.

And finally, Brazil legend Pele thinks new Manchester City signing Robinho needs 'counselling' for turning down Chelsea and moving to Middle Eastlands.

Fair enough but we’re sure that 160,000 smackers a week means at least he won’t have to slum it in Group.

Badum-tish.

More One Liners coming soon, well as soon as we run out of other ideas anyway.

The Downfall of King Kev?

2008-09-03T13:50:00.002+01:00

Amidst all the hype and furore surrounding Man City’s acquisition and the various fallout, bitterness, recriminations and hilarity as the transfer window was slammed shut, a rather poignant tale is emerging from the distant northern land of the Toon.

King Kev (Kevin Keegan) is apparently in ‘ongoing talks about his future at the club’, where he’s trapped in the managerial limbo between resigning and being sacked.

Was it really just eight short months ago that the man hailed as the Geordie Messiah took over from doomed Sam Allardyce? Is it really just eight short months for the ‘impossible job’ to have broken him?

Whether it’s a fallout with billionaire owner Mike Ashley, conflict with footballing director Dennis Wise (a man who would apparently start an argument with himself if no-one else was available) or the bitter disappointment of signing no-one major in the transfer window and nearly losing Michael Owen, it looks as if King Kev’s days may be numbered.

Having once shared a shower with the man formerly known as Mighty Mouse (long story but it was communal, post game we might add, nothing kinky), we have to say it will be folly for the Toon to rid themselves of turbulent Kev.

He may have a reputation for tactical naivety on the pitch and even for walking away from difficult situations, but he’s a proponent of attacking football in the dreary modern percentage game, he really does get getting the most out of players and on the training ground there’s simply no finer coach (we’re witnesses to that).

And if King Kev goes now, surely there would be no way back for him after this? In an era where big business dominates the game, Keegan is the direct product of a less cynical and more passionate era and his loss would only ultimately harm the English game.

Big four becomes big five?

2008-09-02T13:22:00.004+01:00

Sensayshanul!!!! Sorry to go all down market and tabloid on you, but we’re never afraid to mix it with the red tops and really there’s no other word to sum up what can only be described as the most exciting transfer deadline day in recent history.

We thought it might be all about Berbatov and Robinho and it was, but quite not in the way that we'd imagined. Manchester City stepping out of the shadows to nab Robinho from under Big Phil’s nose and put in an audacious last minute bid to try and spoil Sir Alex’s party. Whoddathoughit?

As statements of intent go it doesn’t get more convincing than that and with the blue half of Manchester now apparently owned by The Abu Dhabi United Group, who have bottomless pockets and an intention to dominate, a new seismic shift in the delicate footballing cosmos has begun.

With money no object, could we see the big four become a big five? Or will either Arsenal or more likely Liverpool have to make way? Frankly, we scoffed when Ronaldhino to Man City was mooted earlier in the season, but now frankly, anything seems possible.

We’ll stir the mischief pot with the unthinkable. Ronaldo to cross the dividing line? You heard it here first.

Let’s hope they keep Mark Hughes on board though. One of the most talented young British managers around, ‘Sparky’ is one element of the MCFC mix the ADUG would be wise to retain.

Unsung heroes: Fuelling the fire

2008-09-01T13:33:00.005+01:00

A normally sedate Monday is instead anything but today, with the football transfer window being left ajar for another 24 hours, it’s a full on feeding frenzy as the midnight hour approaches.

Despite Man City being sold to the Abu Dhabi United Group after Thaksin Shinawatra looked set to fail the ‘fit and proper dictator’s test’ it’s all about transfers today with Robinho to Chelsea and Dimitar Berbatov to Man Utd. being the pick of the bunch.

Although there’s been little to no major surprises as we post this lunchtime, the last minute wheeling and dealing has an undeniably compelling car crash quality and we’re sure there’s plenty more to come.

As we scribble, clubs, chairmen, managers agents and players are all jockeying for position in a cross between Russian roulette and playground picks in a desperate attempt to placate, mollify, cajole or titillate their fans into believing their latest last minute signing is the next messiah who’ll not only rescue the club from ignominy but spearhead their ascent to the next level of football’s hierarchy.

All tosh of course, but we ask you to spare a thought for the unsung heroes of transfer deadline day, the massed ranks of taxi drivers, travel agents, hairdressers, swimming pool attendants and ex-colleague’s brother’s cousins who add fuel to the transfer fire by concocting some of the most improbable sightings since the Bigfoot photos and The Sport’s classic 'B17 Found On the Moon'.

Transfer deadline day wouldn’t be half as interesting without these stalwarts who go above and beyond the call of duty and indeed veracity to spread the most improbable and unlikely of tales which are eagerly lapped up by baying fans.

It simply wouldn’t be the same without them.

It’s all a matter of opinion....and your’s stinks...

2008-08-29T12:57:00.002+01:00

Want an opinion on the state of the nation? Screw all that market research, voter sampling or high street polling, this week’s new approved method is simply ask a Premiership footballer...

Not content with dominating our TV schedules these fine upstanding athletes are now appointing themselves as opinion formers too on issues as diverse as the weather, Brits enjoying themselves and even taxation.

Earlier in the week there was Nemanja Vidić’s shock revelation that there was ‘erm too much rain in Manchester’ and that we Brits didn’t know how to enjoy ourselves. Seriously has he never been out on the piss in Manchester of a Friday night?

Ahem anyway next comes Arsenal’s Emmanuel Adebayor stunning state of the nation address on the tax issue, saying if he were prime minister, "I would try to keep down the tax. In London I would like to change the congestion charge. And there’d be extra tax breaks for any strikers issuing come-and-get-me pleas to Barcelona or Milan.’

Okay maybe we made that last one up but whatever next? Dean Windass fronting a week in politics? John Terry heading a domestic policy forum or Rio Ferdinand becoming Foreign Office spokesman on the Russian-Georgian issue?

We await, as they say, developments.

Better to be lucky than good...

2008-08-27T13:32:00.003+01:00

Well there’s plenty of transfer shenanigans on the board today as the window slowly creaks closed, but we’re ignoring the footy and dialling up our gloat gauge to max following England’s absolute thumping of South Africa last night, where we bowled them out for 83 or as it’s known colloquially in Croxley circles ‘a Fox score’*.

A great performance particularly from Stuart Broad who opened the door with a five wicket burst which was then barged wide open by The Fred and The Harminator. Even given the SAFs are looking a bit punch drunk and in danger of going off piste at the end of a long tour, it was still a great performance and a superb result.

England now look a pretty decent one day side, but it helps if you pick a balanced team and play the best man in each position. Selectors you appear to have listened.

Now we have to admit we had our misgivings about KP being named captain, but with three wins on the trot, he certainly seems to have the right stuff.

Nope not inspiring leadership, nor great tactical nouse and nuanced bowling and fielding changes, nor indeed the touchy touchy-feely approach he’s apparently taken to man management.

Nope, what KP has got in spades is luck and as the old saw goes and it’s always better to be lucky than good.

Let’s hope it holds out until around this time next year.

*Named after the lowly totals regularly achieved by the dear old Fox and Hounds, ‘The Worst Team in England’ as the Daily Torygraph once had it.

Value for Money

2008-08-26T13:52:00.003+01:00

After the excitement of the Olympics, there’s not much cooking on the spurting front today* and we cast a desultory eye over the weekend’s footy with scarcely a backward glance.

We’re sure that’s a phrase that’ll resonate with Andriy ‘Sheva’ Shevchenko, England’s most expensive player and the Chelsea striker who never was.

Today Sheva’s ~~slunk back to Italy with his tail between his legs~~ completed a move back to his spiritual home at AC Milan for an 'undisclosed sum' after failing to make much of an impression apart from on Chelsea’s treatment couch (which now has it’s own permanent memorial Sheva arse-print).

Why this formerly most lethal of strikers couldn’t translate his finishing skills to the PremierShip remains a mystery. Injuries played a part no doubt, but he cast a forlorn figure under Jose Mourinho and big Phil wouldn’t even grant him an audience with the bench this season.

At £30m quid and just nine goals from 47 Premier League games that works out at around 333k recurring per goal which is not exactly a good return on Roman’s investment.

Still we remember the glory days or Sergei Rebrov (another failure in England) and Shevchenko banging them in for the Ukraine and Dynamo Kiev and we wish him well at the Milan home for retired warhorses.

*We did have a strange anecdote concerning ex-Indian skipper and ‘Prince of Calcutta’ Sourav Ganguly and the Sound of Music to fall back on, but we’ll save that for a rainy day.

Olympics Aftermath: The baton passes….

2008-08-25T12:01:00.003+01:00

And so to Monday where we wake with a sense of sadness to find an Olympic size hole in our heart at the conclusion of Beijing 2008.

It’s been a fantastic games like they all are or at least they are all remembered, but for a change we’ll carry away fond memories of ‘spectacular British sporting success’ – and how often do we get to arrange words in that particular order in a sentence?

Nicole Cooke, Chris Hoy, Rebecca Addlington, those three Blondes in a boat and James De Gale, we salute you and lest we forget we must also pay tribute to all those other plucky Brit also-rans who restored a sense of proportion into our Gold-addled sporting brains.

Michael Phelps, Ussain Bolt, the 51 Chinese gold medallists too numerous to mention and weird, unusual and newly discovered gems like the Keirin and Taekwondo, we’re going to miss you all as we return to the now seemingly mundane delights of footy, cricket and F1.

As to the Olympics themselves, well they have been very Chinese in character. It’d probably be totally tasteless to make comparisons with Berlin 1936, but you know us, we go where other blogs fear to tread and while not quite in the same realm as the Games of the XI Olympiad, they've been a bit too adjascent at times for comfort it’s been difficult to escape the sense of state sponsored happiness and understated Chinese triumphalism.

It’d probably be going over the top to call it fully fledged sporting propaganda, but there’s no doubt China wanted to use these games to confirm itself as a major power reborn in the modern world – and possibly it’s churlish to blame them for using the opportunity to do just that. Besides engaging this closely with the wider world may just loosen them up a little and for that, we may all eventually have cause to be thankful.

So with the spectacular closing ceremony now fading into a rash of multi-coloured pixels the BBC’s i-player we have to ask, what will London 2012 do differently?

Well a different emphasis no doubt. There’s no way churlish Brits will lash out 20 billion quid on the games for a start, nor would you coral any right-thinking members of our populace into training up for four years as a bouncing pixel, no matter how spectacular it might look in the opening ceremony.

Nope, we’re aiming for the same impact but naturally on the cheap and we’ll probably do best to concentrate on our traditional strengths, areas where Team GB and GB itself does actually does rule the waves.

Erm, music’s about all we could come up with, so expect a reformed Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and the winner of the X-Factor 2011 all to have a big part to play.

Yet already our team of elite binge drinkers are training extra hard on the double vodkas this bank holiday Monday, the gaffe that will sink the games is just a mere twinkle in Boris’ eye (he’ll probably let the torch go out or something – cripes!) and the queen has put an enormous kettle on as she waits to welcome the world for a nice cup of tea.

London 2012, you can’t come soon enough.

Home advantage

2008-08-22T14:00:00.002+01:00

OMG it's double post Friday!

Sneaking a spot of Olympics-watch into our lunchtime, we witness for the first time the delights of Taekwondo or ‘freelance kicking people in ze head’ as it should more properly be known.

A good showing by 17-year-old Brit Aaron Cook is tragically cut short by what can only be described as some highly dubious judging in the bronze medal boot off where the judges should’ve reported for duty at Specsavers rather than for an Olympic play off final.

While we would concede we’re no experts, even we could tell he’d stuck one on the Chinese guy’s bonce in the first round and that should have earned him two points rather than a charge of assault and battery.

Later rounds were no better and the judges were more homer than The Illiad. Young Aaron agreed opining: “I have never seen scoring like it in my life. In any other match I would have won by about five points but the judges were not putting anything up. I knew the crowd would be behind him but I didn't think the scoring would be that bad.”

Gutting for young Aaron no doubt, but don’t worry lad, home advantage should count for something next time. Problem is we’ll probably be too honest to take advantage. It’s a heavy burden to bear.

Home front

2008-08-22T13:28:00.005+01:00

With all this Olympic golden glory going on it’s easy to (temporarily) forget just how shite we can be at conventional sport, but as Burt Bacharach observed 'there is always something there to remind me', in the case the English footy team.

A decent call naming John Terry England skipper earlier in the week and to all those surprised Rio didn’t get the nod, well JT’s (whoops that’s banned now under senor Fabio) erm rather Terry’s brand of chest-thumping-lead-from-the-front-never-say-die-bulldog-spirit-three-Lions-tattooed-on-me-soul captaincy is probably just what we need.

However a limpid, some might opine piss-poor display against the Czech's, following some very questionable selections: (Gerrard and Lampard in midfield together again? I thought we’d put that one to bed), make us start to doubt Senor Capello as the true Messiah.

We’ll reserve judgement until Croatia and a proper competitive game when the boys should have at least a modicum of fitness.

Surely it’s too early for the wheels to be falling off already?

Retreat Australia fair...

2008-08-20T13:40:00.004+01:00

So it’s a historic games for Team GB and the biggest medal tally since that ancient Olympic games when the Greeks mistakenly allowed competitive drinking, high street fighting and chariot rage into the games and perfidious Albion swept the board.

Still there’s been some talk doing the rounds about how it’s all slightly devalued because GB has dominated in the cycling, sailing and swimming and not the ‘prestige’ athletic events.

Frankly, what a pile of crap. Gold is gold. You look at your talent, target what you’re good at, develop your potental and put your resources where you'll win. Simple as.

Most hilarious has been some classic sniping and snidery from the Aussies, who, five golds off the pace on Wonderful Wednesday, have claimed Britain is only good at ‘sitting down sports’

And the call us the ‘Whingeing Poms?’

Even funnier was Aussie Olympics committee’s John Coates who said GB hadn’t done bad in the swimming ‘for a nation with no pools and not much soap.’

There’s nothing bitter and twisted as an Aussie in second or third place or what is it now? Oh actually fifth place with eight of their eleven golds being won by the Sheilas.

Tell you what Bruce, how’s about we introduce sheep shearing, bestiality and freestyle sister chasing for 2012?

Few guaranteed golds for the Aussies in that trio.

“C’mon Paula – Free Tibet”

2008-08-19T13:58:00.001+01:00

Despite our rather incongruous run of unprecedented success it wouldn’t be a British Olympics without some glorious failure and the ever dependable Paula Radcliffe not only delivered on Saturday night, but delivered in spades.

Nothing against ‘plucky’ Paula herself who was clearly struggling to put on her race face after a horrific injury and a vastly reduced training programme, but there was still enough in the performance which made you proud to be British.

Not Paula herself, despite the impressive Union Jack running shoes, but rather the fact that our assembled crew of Olympic watchers were willing to stay up until half three in the morning to watch her trail in a distant 22nd,

Sustained only by shots of ice cold vodka and hits on an apple tobacco bong (a vast lungful accompanied by cry of “Free Tibet!”), there were tears of course, (some of them even on screen), cries of ‘c’mon Paula and it was a true marathon in every sense.

Never mind the athletes, that’s true dedication for you.

Sour grapes

2008-08-19T13:41:00.002+01:00

Another awesome morning for Team GB as Chris Hoy and Victoria Pendleton nab another couple of Golds in the Sprint finals for the all-conquering Cyclists.

Imagine when Normo Tebbs told Britain to get on its bike back in our last recession he didn’t exactly have this in mind. Wiggins, Pendleton and especially triple gold medallist and flying Scot Chris Hoy, the Spurt salutes you...

All this Gold medal success has come as a bit of surprise to us normally unassuming Brits but also to insouciant professional Frenchman and occasional Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger, who professes himself surprised at Team GB’s swimming success.

"I didn't know the English were good at swimming, I have been in this country for 12 years and I haven't seen a swimming pool," says Arsene.

Blimey no wonder they’re known colloquially as the smelly French, wonder how long it’ll be before he tracks down a bath or shower? Or checks the medal table? France a lowly 11th as we type.

Anyway those sour grapes shouldn’t disguise Team GB’s real goal of the games.

Forget that 41 medals target, our real goal is to finish ahead of those friggin’ Aussies.

Not only would it get one in before the Ashes, but earning four years worth of bragging rights, now that would be sweet.

They’ll be serving us a lot of drinks between now and then.

Fastest man on Earth

2008-08-19T13:39:00.002+01:00

While Team GB filled their Golden boots all over the w/e we're forced to play catchup after a bout of the heebie jeebies catches us unawares.

Away from cheering on the plucky Brits on Saturday, we come onto first major prestige Athletics event, the 100 metre final which traditionally also confers the title of fastest man on earth. That's quite a billing but this is one of the blue ribbon Olympic events that not only manage to live up to the hype but easily out sprint it.

Cast as a thrilling three way between the USA's Tyson Gay, and Jamaicans Asafa Powell and Usain Bolt, the script's rapidly rewritten in the semi when Gay is tragically knocked out, He's not quite fit and in a sport where success is measured in hundredths of a second, 'not quite' is an eternity away.

And then to the final which is a heady ten seconds worth of concentrated adrenaline pure machismo and raw unadulterated speed. There's something powerful and eminently sexy about this race, but like great sex it's all about a sustained lingering build up of tension and then a raw uncontained explosion of passion.

You can see it in the sheer physical presence of the runners as they take their marks, you can hear it in the reverential hush from the crowd before the off and you can feel it in your own heart beat as it speeds that faster in a sympathetic echo of the runners'.

The gun fires and Jamaica's Ussain Bolt destroys the competition, simply annihilates them, leaving the field not so much trailing as floundering in his slipstream. Bolt keeps on going, almost defying comprehension by easing up 15 metres before the end, but still cruising home in a new world record of 9.69 seconds.

Bolt paraded his golden boots for the cameras (and his sponsors) but Hermes winged sandals would have been even more appropriate.

The Olympics: Undiscovered Gems - Keirin

2008-08-16T14:04:00.004+01:00

It's World of Spurt live at the Olympics, well live in front of the telly at the Olympics anyway.

That curse of the wasted classes, work, has kept us from fully enjoying the Olympics from the correct perspective this week ie. loafing on a sofa for 12 hours at a time with only a crate of beer for company.

But with Mrs Spurt off on her travels again, we're free to laze around on Saturday and enjoy a bumper quota of Olympic sport.

It's been dubbed Golden Saturday in the UK, ie, the first weekend when we might cop a few, but amid some early rowing and swimming glory, we discover a splendid new offering in the velodrom in the form of Keirin

Now there's been a bit of muttering and snidery about the inclusion of Keiron, which was apparently mysteriously slotted in at the last minute to appease the lucrative betting markets, but seriously, what's not to like?

For those of you yet to experience its delights, Keirin involves a pack of cyclists racing to the line on an indoor track. Nothing new there then, but the twist? Well for the first few laps they follow around a bloke on a moped who gradually increases the pace until he zips off a couple of laps towards the end. From then on in its a straight sprint to the line,

Doesn't sound outstanding but its enthralling to watch, Keirin means 'fight' for starters even though they've apparently toned it down for the Olympics by removing the headbutting. A heady mix of strategy for the first few laps and then brute power and aggression for the last, with the occasional chance of crunching multi-bike stack it's our new favourite undiscovered sport.

In our view if they could just move it a shade closer to Rollerball, it would be absolutely perfect. But let's reinstate the headbutting for a start.

Doesn't hurt when Chris Hoy takes Gold and Ross Edgar Silver for Team GB either. Wonder if it's available on a satellite channel anywhere?

A new field of spurting endeavour that really gets your heart pumping and shouting yourself hoarse as you cheer your country over the line, now that is one of the true joys of the Olympics.

The genius of the Olympics Part 1: Womens' Beach Volleyball

2008-08-14T14:34:00.004+01:00

Okay so not much time for an update today but if we had any lingering doubts before about the glorious games, now you can colour us convinced.

Three short words: Womens'. Beach. Volleyball.

This is a ‘sport’ in no doubt about its greatest assets, as a random sample of the commentary reveals.

“A great pair.” We were forced to agree.

“They’re in great shape” Again no dissenting voices from this corner.

Any sport which has maximum costume sizes and fit lasses writhing about in the sand for your viewing pleasure has to be applauded.

What’s that you say? A ball? There’s a ball? What ball?

*

And now one in what might possibly be a very short series:

Olympic word of the day: 'Winningest'

As in “Michael Phelps is the Winningest Athlete in Olympic history.”

Jesus you give these people a language and see what they do with it. Dictionary for American Network NBC someone….

Setanta Ranter

2008-08-14T10:21:00.005+01:00

Today your super soaraway World of Spurt is proud to welcome guest columnist and Spurs fan (though we’ll try not to hold that against him) the redoubtable Stevie B for an impassioned plea on where your sporting subscription should or possibly shouldn't go this year

The football season hasn’t even started yet, but already a great black cloud of doom and despondency hangs over it. Which first appeared when the “official curtain-raiser” allegedly took place last weekend: the gloriously meaningless Community Shield (or whatever it’s called this year). Ordinarily, I’d watch that game eagerly, but there was no chance of that this year – it was televised by Setanta Sports, the TV equivalent of a house of cards. And having endured the misfortune of being a Setanta Sports victim, er customer, last year, there was no way I was going to make the same mistake twice. You, too, might be interested to hear of my aggravation at the hands of the most inept Irishmen since the last time the wrong drive got tarmacked.

As a Tottenham fan, I spotted one month, early last season, when Setanta was televising two Spurs games. Thinking I was being clever, I negotiated the Setanta automated phone system, checked the option for billing by post, and saw most of the two games (missing the first 15 minutes of the first one while I waited for my subscription to register on my Sky Plus setup). Then I sat back and waited for a bill, which I would pay before terminating my subscription.

Hopeless optimism. Naturally, no bill ever materialised. Equally naturally, £9.99 was removed from my credit card’s account each month. The next three months were spent mostly on the phone trying to get anyone – anyone – to answer my calls to what is carefully guarded as the only of contact with Setanta Sports: its automated phone line. Despite leaving my phone to ring for on occasions, two hours, it was never answered. The message was clear: once you subscribe to Setanta Sports it is impossible to unsubscribe. Physically impossible, that is.
I went on the website and found an email address for an alleged PR person. Copious emails, of course, went unanswered. I considered contacting Watchdog: clearly this was the sort of scam normally perpetrated by Nigerians claiming to have relatives in their country’s Government. Every few days, I’d try the hotline, to no avail (it goes without saying that the automated system has no option to cancel your subscription).

During this period, there may well have been Premiership games on Setanta Sports, but the astonishing ineptness of their punters and presenters (Steve McManaman: I ask you!) rendered the joys of Derby trying to scrape a nil-nil draw even less attractive than usual. And what else do you get on Setanta Sports? Well, just think of the least interesting sports in the world, enacted by the most bumbling practitioners, and you get a pretty accurate picture.

Eventually, my credit card went over its limit, so a payment failed to go through. Guess what? I received a call from a deliciously obnoxious woman. At last, I could cancel my ill-starred subscription. Or so I thought. Clearly conversant with the works of Joseph Heller, the joyless harpy came up with a stunning Catch-22, which sealed my rapidly growing conviction that Setanta Sports was indeed some sort of giant scam. I was told that I couldn’t cancel my subscription without paying the extra £9.99. I retorted that I had been trying to cancel my subscription for three months, but had been unable due to what seemed like wilful evasion on Setanta Sports’ part, and as far as I was concerned, I was two lots of £9.99 back. Computer says no.

I demanded to speak to computer says no’s boss. Another shrieking harpy, spouting that dread phrase “Terms and Conditions” at me – grounds enough, in itself, for having nothing to do with a company when that happens. The only way I could cancel that subscription, she reiterated, was for me to pay the £9.99. I ranted, somewhat cathartically (although it did scare the dog) and slammed the phone down.

By now, the injustice of the situation was affecting my mental state – have consumers’ rights been superseded by automated phone systems and Terms and Conditions? In so many ways, the digital age has returned us to the Dark Ages, but I’d never come across any organisation so keen to revel in that fact and, indeed, rub my nose in it. At least, not since the days when BT had its infamous monopoly after being privatised, and promptly posted a £2.8 billion profit.

Eventually calming down, I relented, and this time, it only took three or four twenty-minute efforts before I managed to get a human voice over the hotline. Now things took a turn for the surreal. I couldn’t pay the £9.99 because my credit card was no longer operational (thanks to those Setanta Sports payments that I never wanted to make, but couldn’t stop because Setanta Sports refused to answer my phone-calls). Could I pay via my debit card? Of course not. Why not? We don’t take debit card payments. My subsequent outburst sent the dog beneath the sofa.

Eventually, I had to send a cheque for £9.99 to Setanta Sports – registered post, of course, as they would surely have denied receiving it otherwise. The moment I handed it to the woman at the Post Office counter, I felt happier than I had done for three months. Indeed, I felt positively carefree until I heard that they had ramped up their football coverage this year, even taking in FA Cup matches at the BBC’s expense. This is the worst thing to happen to football since Sepp Blatter’s appointment.

Do yourselves a favour: don’t be taken in by Setanta Sports. Currently, a theory is doing the rounds which suggests they spent all that money on those rights in the hope that someone – generally held to be ESPN – will buy them up. A plan generally acknowledged to have been scuppered by the credit crunch. Further illustration of what muppets Setanta Sports are. Actually, that last statement may well have been libellous had Jim Henson still been alive.

If we refuse to subscribe, then even those money-grabbers at the Premier League and FA might realise what a crock the Setanta Sports deal is. Apparently they need 1.5 million subscribers to break even – I beg you not to let that happen. I know that pubs are no longer enticing places in which to hang out following the smoking ban, which is why so many of them are going bust. But we could make the best of two intolerable situations by making a point of going to the pub to watch football games televised Setanta Sports. Even if the sort of pubs that have Setanta Sports are inevitably populated by toothless, paralytic Irishmen. Isn’t the 21st century great?

By Stevie B

T’Olympics

2008-08-13T13:46:00.001+01:00

So now all our cricketing bile has been expended we can turn our attention to Beijing and the quadrennial festival of Sports You Never Gave a Toss About Before and are Unlikely To Do So Again before 2012.

Now we’ve always been more of Winter Olympics enthusiasts ourselves, loving the snowboarding, gritting our teeth through the skiing and even extending our bi-curiousity to the curling on occasion, but we have to admit Beijing’s been a bit of a belter.

Now we’re quite traditional in our views and don’t normally experiment with spurt outside of the approved holy trinity of cricket, footy and F1, but perhaps we’re mellowing with age (or perhaps getting more feeble minded) because we find ourselves engaged by the many and varied delights of swimming (wtf?), weightlifting canoeing - Jesus we even sat through some showjumping the other night.

Nor has Beijing been without the requisite controversies: state run athletic programmes breeding success (as if that was anything new); accusations of Chinese judges being ‘homers’ (again quelle surprise) and a palpable lack of drugs cheats (though there’s still plenty of cycling to come, so all is not lost).

Perhaps worst of all to western eye is that poor Chinese diving lass who’s not been allowed any dinner for years.

Great stuff: Further, higher faster?

We could definitely help with the ‘higher’ part.

More Olympics coverage soon.

England v SAF series round up...

2008-08-12T13:39:00.005+01:00

So it ended with a reasonably convincing England win at the Oval yesterday, but South Africa took the 2-1 series victory.

It’s been a difficult series to assess overall, particularly given we missed the decisive third test but we suspect it’s probably just about the right result and now the SAFs take over the mantle of the ‘side most likely to stuff the Aussies’.

It’s going to be a corker this winter, but where did it all go wrong for England? Well one word, ‘selection’. You’ve got to get the right team on the field for a start and virtually from the off, we simply didn’t do so.

From the confused selection of Pattinson, to the stubborn refusal to ice Ambrose, to just realising that you need a balanced side, to myriad other clangers, their were more howlers than a convocation of werewolves.

They say a series can hang on the smallest of details – but if you get the big ones wrong you simply don’t have a chance.

Perhaps most damage has been done with the resignation of Michael Vaughan, who though going through a bad trot, was still the best captain of recent years. Vaughan was a highly skilled all-rounder being both captain and batsman and the obvious solution to just drop down to the middle order simply didn’t happen.

But it’s done now and there’s no going back. As for KP? Well he’s certainly got the cojones, no doubt, already bullishly saying “Bring on the Aussies” but can he develop the all-round captaincy skills we’ll need to make a decent fist of it? We’ll see I guess.

In the meantime we’ve consoled ourselves with watching YouTube footage of amazing new Sri Lankan ‘mystery’ spinner Ajantha Mendis who’s an off-leg spinner with a mean doosra all in one...

As if Murali wasn’t enough, where on earth do Sri Lanka find them? And more importantly are you watching Monty?

We fear there’s trouble ahead...

Ooh we’ve just noticed there’s btw 100th post – a century all of our own! At last!

Dear ol’ Blighty

2008-08-11T13:41:00.004+01:00

And 3-2-1 we’re back! Just like that. Did you miss us? Well didja? Yup if a week’s is a long time in politics it’s an eternity in the spurting world and our two week sojourn in France, while much needed, left us positively salivating for some decent spurt to get our teeth into.

En France the only competitive spurting action we managed was watching the searing white heat of the local Boule competition, the savage nobility of Chèvre racing and of course, the dangerous delights of competitive fromage consumption.

But in our absence? So much to cover our head’s almost swimming. Lewis’s puncture, the continuing mad giddy whirl of the transfer merry go around and the advent of the annual quadrennial festival of sports you didn’t know you cared about – or the Olympics as it’s more popularly known.

But it’s the resignation of England skipper Michael Vaughan which has been the big story as far as we’re concerned. It’s a shame, a shock, to see him go when he’s undoubtedly been the best and most successful captain England have had in recent years. Okay he wasn’t scoring runs right now, but he was still the man to lead us against the Aussies next summer, wasn’t he?

And KP as the new skipper? Now that’s a big call. This one will need some careful consideration.

Still we're just warming up, so we'll be back with some more considered thoughts tomorrow.