POETS day

Welcome gentle readers (both of you). You know ever since we put Google Analytics on the blog, we’ve been amazed to discover that we’re not just pissing idly out into the void as we long suspected. Hurrah!

So it’s Friday or POETS day (Piss Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday) as it's fondly known in the slave mines where we hand over pieces of our soul on a daily basis and as you’ll no doubt gather from the brevity of today’s post, we’re already looking forward to sleeping through this afternoon’s tedious meeting, then getting outside of a swift pint and inside of a Mrs Spurt.

But one thing that occurred during this long lazy lunchtime is: what is it about Fridays? Why does no worthwhile sporting contest ever take place on a Friday? Is it because everyone is saving it up for a spurting weekend or did we miss that particular memo? Anyway. Discuss.

Or rather email, as in a frenzy of interactivity you can now email us at this handy address World of Spurt . Email us tips, topics, things to write about or perhaps even some goat p0rn. Just like Britain’s spurtingest tabloid, we love it (especially the goat pr0n).

Holy crap, Holyfield…

Boxing today and in what could well be the competitive eating rematch of the century, news from the Grauniad that boxing legend Evander Holyfield is considering a rematch with Mad ‘Mike’ Tyson.

Cast your mind back over a decade for it was as long ago as that, when Holyfield and Tyson clashed in an epic World Title rematch, which saw Mad Mike bite Holyfield not once, but twice, the second time removing a large chunk of Holyfield’s ear which he spat out onto the canvas.

The Real Deal becoming the Real Meal as referee Mills Lane famously observed.

The most notorious night from the world’s most notorious sport and it was a real low point for the Noble Art and the beginning of the end for Mad Mike as a credible pugilist.

It’s not often we’re the voice of reason here on World of Spurt, but c’mon guys. Tyson’s 41 and needs the money, Holyfield’s 45 and most certainly doesn’t (he was paid £17m for that ‘97 rematch, purportedly the single biggest sporting fee in history).

Holyfield may still yearn after a record fifth world title, but the truth is he’s past it and when he says of Tyson ‘I feel compassion for him’ it’s certainly easy to sympathise, given the vertiginous plummet of one of the greatest fighters the world’s ever seen.

Holyfield could do himself and indeed Tyson a favour by saying ‘no deal from the Real Deal’ rather than ‘I would if the money was right.’

Pot, kettle, Harbhajan, Hayden

More cricket hilarity today so adopt your campest tone and shout ‘bring me my handbag, for I must smite the foe'.

Yup Aussie bully boy Matthew Hayden is back in action again, issueing a piss poor dissing to India’s Harbhajan Singh following Sunday’s ongoing India Vs Aus spat part 457, where he called the off-spinner an ‘obnoxious weed’ in this Aussie radio interview.

Hardly the most stunning example of mental disintegration is it? Steve Waugh will no doubt be revolving in his coffin – (not that he’s dead, just a crap little pun for you cricket fans out there).

Besides, hello? Hayden labelling anyone obnoxious?

'Apparatus for producing steam to Boiling device, your looking a touch noirsh today!'

Looks like Hayden’ll be feeling a bit crook too (as we believe the Aussie parlance goes) as he’s been given an official reprimand by Cricket Aus.

"I maintain my innocence ... but I'm guilty as charged but I respect and accept the decision," said the Aussie opener, who’s clearly as adept at Doublethink as he is at swatting harmless medium-pacers into the stands.

Stupid Injuries of our Time part 1

In what's sure to be just the first of an ongoing and infinitely repeating series, World of Spurt takes a look at some of the dumbest injuries from around the spurting firmament.

And handily first is New Zealand all-rounder Jesse Ryder, who having recently helped the Black Caps to a One-Day win over England, decided to celebrate by what’s currently being reported as a ‘late-night bar incident’.

That’s ranks right up there alongside Janet Jackson’s Superbowl wardrobe malfunction as a masterpiece of understated reporting, Jesse Ryder apparently punched his fist through a glass toilet door, requiring minor surgery and ruling himself out of selection for the Test side.

Compounding his crime, the Kiwi opener then decided to also have a go at to the hospital staff who were binding up his injured paw. We’ve heard of biting the hand that feeds you, but this takes the veritable Garibaldi. S

Fondly remembered really dumb sporting injuries are yours to share in the comments below...

Great injuries of our time...

A cornucopia of spurt this weekend what with England holding off France at the Rugby and Spurs securing a minor triumph for new boss Juande Ramos in the Carling Cup.

But as always it’s a return to work on Monday morn to toil in the sport-less mines of our evil overlord paymasters. Strangely, there was little or no time this w/e for this particular spurter to actually catch much sport, but we never let such trifles - even for a moment - pause our non-stop flow of ill-informed analysis, comment and bile.

First up that Eduardo leg breaker. Ouch. Looks bloody painful and let’s hope he makes a full recovery soon. Naturally, of course this brought to mind the worst sports injuries of yore and discussions raged long and hard amongst us spurters.

However for my money the worst I’ve ever seen on TV or in the flesh was acclaimed Washington Redskins quarter back Joe Theismann. Sacked by the NY Giants linebackers Lawrence Taylor and Harry Carson, if you can watch this classic YouTuber without wincing and feeling nauseous then Jesus, you’re a better man (or lady) than us.

Oh and here's the interactive bit... It's good to share - spurt your own worst sporting injuries via that handy comment section below.

Zero tolerance for sledging? F*ck that you f*ckers...

To that most historic of all cricketing locations erm Dubai, where following a proposal by the Indian Board, the International Cricket Council has announced it’s going to take a ‘zero tolerance approach’ to sledging, Australian cricketers favourite winter sport.

Hm, well fuck that.

“Sledging is not required in cricket. It's not good for the game." said BCCI’s secretary Niranjan Shah when originally making the proposal.

Pardon us if we beg to differ.

Now no-one’s condoning racism or hate speech or anything of the kind allegedly exchanged between Harbajan Singh and Andrew Symonds recently. However banter, provocation and the tactical use of the carefully crafted insult should be much a part of every cricketer’s armoury as any Yorker, slower ball or bouncer.

Besides, how could we deprive the world of such priceless gems as Rod Marsh’s “How your wife and my kids?” to which Ian Botham replied, “The wife’s fine, but the kids are retarded”

The equally splendid retort from Zimbabwean chicken Farmer Eddo Brandes when asked why he was so fucking fat by Australia’s Glen McGrath, “Because every time I fuck your wife, she gives me a biscuit.”

To deprive the greatest of games of such an important and it has to be said entertaining component, makes us die a little inside.

Rafa reprieved

So to the Champions League, always a favourite of ours here at World of Spurt and it was backs to the wall time for Liverpool at Anfield last night as they faced Italian maestros Inter in a clash which may have decided Rafael Benitez’s future at the club. After a managerial sacking the pundits always opine that it’s not one single result that matters, but in our experience every season reaches a tipping point which can often swing on one game.

But it's a fantastic game, with the Scousers starting brightly at tempo and Inter unbalanced by the sending off of perennial bad boy Marco Matarazzi after half an hour. Inter then dug in like ten limpets, Italian guile and exemplary defending seemingly ready to thwart the Anfielder’s ambitions.

The second half wore on without a goal and when Patrick Vierra handled in the area and it wasn’t given, it seemed like game over for Rafa. But soccerball revolves on the smallest of details and the introduction of angular goal pest Peter Crouch, an injury to stalwart defender Cordoba and the intervention of an Inter boot saw Kuyt score in the 85^th minute, while a trademark Stevie G drive sealed a memorable win for the hosts.

Still much to do at the San Siro, but Benitez will no doubt be breathing a little easier this morning

Indian Premier League – the spoon of shame

And there’s just time for a quick word on the exciting India Premier League, the hip new Twenty20 tournament taking shape in the financial powerhouse ™ of the current cricketing world.

Interesting idea and will no doubt make a shedload of money but the way the IPL is handling the formation of the teams is intriguing. For those not in the know, there’s a central pool of top cricketing talent from Australia, Pakistan, SAF and West Indies etc. and each team can sign up to eight non-Indian players via a round by round bidding process.

Does this remind anyone else of picking teams in the school playground and the burny-cheeked humiliation of being picked only one ahead of the solitary girl who’s playing? Fortunately there’s no England players involved this year, but Bangladesh’s Mohammad Ashraful and Mashrafe Mortaza we're looking at you to duke it out for the wooden spoon of shame.

The return of the Fred...

Good to see talismanic England all-round Freddie ‘Andrew’ Flintfoff making a return to the fold after nearly four month’s absence. The Fredster will be hooking up with the England’s Lions for a three match thrash in India, but the downside is our Fred will be playing purely as a batsman and fielder.

While it’s great to see him back and we shouldn’t underestimate his bucket hands at slip and mighty wielding of the willow (the official term), Fred’s actually three world class players in one and it’s his devastating bowling that England have missed most since the 2005 Ashes triumph. Hostile, wicket-taking and economical, the Fred bowls a mighty trinity and let’s hope we’ve not seen the best or indeed last of it.

Huge ‘grats to the England women cricketers too, who beat the Aussies in their own back yard. A mighty triumph, any day on which the Aussies surrender the Ashes is a good day!

Ski Sunday snow p0rn

Ski Sunday snow p0rn

You don’t usually think of the UK as a hotbed of winter sports but apparently there’s over one million of us Brits who regularly take to the slopes each winter - to wipe each other out , sneer at skiers and drink ourselves insensible in random Alpine towns (actually the winter sport where we have the highest medal potential).

So whether you love or loathe Ski Sunday’s Top Gear-style makeover, there’s no denying that the revamped Sunday evening show is a real boon for lovers of snow p0rn trapped in a wintery Britain sadly lacking in powder of the boardworthy variety.

Still I have no hesitation in saying Ski Sunday’s presenter Ed Leigh is a bastard.

A bold statement to make and actually he seems like a fairly nice bloke, but he’s a lucky bastard at least to grab a dream job of touring the world for the Beeb and being paid to snowboard some of its more exotic spots.

Last night’s trek to Gulmarg, in the Kashmiri Himilayas was incredible – featuring literally filthy amounts of powder, awesome fresh tracks and the highest Gondola in the world.

Dammit I hate him, and if ever by some chance he becomes hor de combat and you're in need of a replacement: Aunty Beeb: pick me! Pick me!

Still in the unlikely event this blog ever earns enough cash for me to retire – at least I now know where I’m going to reside. Meh.

Crystal balls ...polish ours

It’s Monday, traditionally a depressing day of unrelenting misery as we return to a life of unending toil for the Man.

But should we give our crystal balls an extra polish today or what? A rampant weekend of FA action yields two absolute shockers: first-up Man Utd spank Arsenal solid at Old Trafford. 2-0 up within twenty minutes and a Rampant Rooney Runs Riot to use our finest tabloidese.

Frankly humiliating for the Gunners and what’s wrong with my fellow Spurter Vlad? How has he managed to restrain himself from gloating of epic proportions, instead choosing to post on the highest paid sportsmen in NZ? WTF? Either he’s ill or a exercising inhuman restraint. Let it spurt Vlad, let it spurt.

Next up, Liverpool’s stunning 2-1 loss to Barnsley. Didn’t catch it, but apparently the Reds were all over the championship club but an inspired performance from stand-in keeper Luke Steele kept them at bay. A seagull took a pre-game dump on manager Simon Davies' head (surely an omen) and the Tykes stole it with a 93rd minute smash and grab. Blimey, we have gone all tabloid today.

Rafa may have been keeping his powder dry for tomorrow’s Champion’s League clash with Inter, but it’s looking damn soggy now. What’s it down to? Rotation? Those pesky American owners? A looming DIC bid? Being European capital of culture 2008?

Even arch-Scouser Jamie Carragher’s worried and ex-Anfield legends are queuing up to have a pop. Troubling times indeed for the Merseyside giants. Does everything hinge on winning the Champions league?

The Highest Paid Sportsman in New Zealand

You probably think that the highest paid sportsman in New Zealand is an All Black. It isn't - neither is it a cricketer.

Since 1999 the highest paid sportsman in NZ has been Tiger Woods' caddy.

Following Steve William's recent split with Tiger, seems like the title's up for grabs again, though he's probably still not doing too bad.

+++ While you're here SEO traveller - you may like to know the WOS's John Houlihan has just published a novel, Tom or the Peepers' and Voyeurs' Handbook which has just been published on Kindle, iPhone, iPad and Kindle for PC and Android.

You can buy a copy direct on the UK Amazon store above, the international store here or in the EU here, or why not head on over to the dedicated Facebook for further info and show it some Like love? Thanks, JH!

The Romance of the Cup

It's FA cup Saturday here in UK-land which means dispatching the other half for retail therapy (and replenishing of the Hardcore beer supply) while we settle down in relative peace to an afternoon of BBC sofaville.

This is the fifth round of the famous old trophy with 16 teams competing for a quarter-final place and traditionally it's time to wheel out phrases like 'romance of the cup', 'minnows springing a surprise' and 'banana skin in waiting'. Translation for overseas readers: some of the smaller teams have a remote chance of turning over one of the major franchises (or teams as we still qauintly insist on calling them).

Uttter bollocks of course and so last round, No-one outside of the big four has won the FA cup in ten years and it's unlikely to change anytime soon. Still, if there is to be a year when someone else breaks the stranglehold then this could well be it, with half the teams in today's games from outside the top flight.

And the odds are somewhat shortened by a sumptuous Man Utd Arsenal game later this afternoon when one of them must go and my fellow Spurter (and Red Devils fan) Vlad and most of the already rather inebriated male population will undoubtedly be tuning in to the live game on the BBC.

Traditionally a real snorter, Wenger and Ferguson have dialled down the hatred and mutual loathing (a touch) this season but this fixture will be keenly contested and both teams will want to set down a marker for the Premiership race which is currently tighter than a gnat's chuff.

The bonus appetiser is a rather more traditional blood n thunder lunchtime tie with Bristol Rovers versus Southampton. Largely devoid of skill but with plenty of huff n puff, the Hardcore sympathies are immediately engaged by the underdogs, and Rovers push the Saints hard, relying on traditional lower league attributes of a partisan crowd, a bumpy pitch, a low winter sun and a muscular approach.

Rovers are unlucky with several good chances, a second half goal ruled out and then Ricky Lambert's 84^th minute deflected free-kick sees them through. Fairy. Tale. Ahar for the Pirates, they've jolly rogered the Saints to reach the quarter-finals for the first time in 50 years. Perhaps this is the underdogs year after all?

So Long Dwain

Clearly being a drugs cheat in sport is something that you can never be forgiven for. Unless we really like your haircut (Abel Xavier), or your country doesn't have anyone else as good (David Millar), you're just conveniently dead (Marco Pantani), or you can convincingly claim that it wasn't your fault (Ooh Aah Camara and Waterford Crystal. But they are horses.)

And let's face it, Dwain Chambers' friends are looking few and far between at the moment. He was the subject of one of the first questions on last weekend's Fighting Talk - should he be allowed back into the sport now that he's served his two year ban?

At first the answers were firmly against Dwain:

• "He's a disgrace and arrogant with it"
• "The British team members say they want nothing to do with him"
• "The rules are on his side but morally he is in the wrong"
• "Sportswise he's on the scrap heap"

Moving to the entertainingly scathing:

• "He's going to go the same way as Tonya Harding" (porn films and celebrity boxing?)
• "Victor Conte defending him is like getting a character reference from Osama bin Laden" or "like getting Rose West to do your landscape gardening"

And ending up at the pleasingly bizarre suggestion:

• "Fill him up with drugs and send him to Iraq"

However the dissenting voices talked sense, saying that "he's served his two year ban and done his time" and that the governing bodies were to blame - they would have known that he would qualify easily to get back into competition when his ban was up.

Doping in sport isn't an offence like paedophilia where offenders need to be put on a register and monitored even after they're deemed to have completed their punishment. The sports bodies - particularly athletics - need to grow some balls and ban people for appropriate lengths of time rather than rolling over every time someone says "restraint of trade."

(Download the Fighting Talk podcast.)

Gilchrist ...missed

On a separate note, shame to see Adam Gilchrist is close to retiring from the national side, even if it was on such a typically bright note spanking a valedictory 118 on his home ground to secure another Aussie win.

Much as we usually despise Aussie cricketers, Gilchrist is a marvel, creating the template for the modern wicketkeeper-batsman. He always came across as a bloody nice bloke in post-match interviews even when he couldn’t buy a run against our Freddie in 2005, he took it on the chin and roared back. A Test average of 47.6 with a strike rate of 81.95 tells its own story, alongside 379 catches and 37 stumpings. Far less irritating than Ian Healy too.

For Gilly’s full and remarkable career stats see here. Goodbye old son and good on ya. as we believe the Aussies say.

Schizo schizo England...

Well just like a puppy repeatedly dry humping your leg... we couldn’t be content to make a start and just let it lie.

Still any day when England win is a good day in our book and Paul Collingwood’s men finally ahem triumph in the land of the Kiwi and post their first one-day win. About frickin’ time, say we.

Honestly England used to be rubbish at ODIs but we could live with that after winning the Ashes in 2005 - the first time we believe since cricket was played in top hats.

Then over the past year, we decided to be appalling at Tests but good at ODIs winning thrillingly at home to India 4-3and then 2-1 away in Sri Lanka before confusingly becoming rubbish again over the course of the last week.

Not content with that, England briefly then decided to be good at Twenty20 less than a week ago – great but only about six months too late for the first Twenty20 World Cup when it might have done some good

Why can’t we just make up our minds? Perhaps we should go back to being rubbish all the time – it was less confusing then.

Welcome to the World of Spurt...

World of Spurt is born... another unwanted member of the commentariat, flopping out of a bloody womb to inflict itself on the world with all the grace of a wailing, gore-encrusted, ginger headed stepchild.

Well that or it's a brand new blog about sport from a bunch of disgruntled but occasionally brilliantly acerbic British sports fans. We’ll leave that up to you to decide.

Here we going to dissect the big issues of the day, talk a load of bollocks, and occasionally, just occasionally offer some home truths and penetrating insights into the wonderful world of sport as we see it. Either that or knock off early and go down the pub, like we usually do.

So welcome.... more spurtings shortly...