Agassi vs. The Thug

I am not a great fan of sport - which, to those who know me, is something of an understatement.

However, over the past few years, I have been bound to the television for much of my entertainment. Not only that, "foreign" television.

Whilst I enjoy film and theatre, intelligent debate and factual programmes, understanding is almost impossible when you barely have the capacity to order a beer in the local ex-pat bar, and can't get your hair cut for love nor money.

I have consequently drifted into viewing sport on the grounds it is at least something I can follow (although I deny vehamently any understanding).

In time, one becomes attached to individual faces - and certain events.

In fact, one longs for paticular events as some sort of reference point in the the ever shifting mindscape of international life.

Wimbledon is one such event, and Andre Agassi one of those 'old, familiar faces'.

Yesterday he played his last Wimbledon match and at the end, said an emotional farewell to the crowd and spectators (whilst crediting them with a degree of knowledge I doubt really exists).

Agassi (unlike poor old Pete when he bowed out) had been given Centre Court - even though he was playing the number 2 seed (normally sent off to exile in a lowlier court 'til later on in the tournament) Rafael Nadal.

The old man put up a fight for the first set - then fell to the inevitable power of the up and coming, just-out-of-teenage-er.

Nadal went for his habitual roar of triumph and then, remembering who he was playing and what he had just done, pulled up and stepped back out of the limelight.

The Centre Court paid its tribute to the defeated ex-champion and you knew some sort of ending had happened. There was dignity in it - and respect. The Coup-de-Grace had been delivered, a Young Lion had taken over the pride, the handing over completed. Agassi had been given given his triumph.

What a contrast latter on in the day when England fell to Portugal in the World Cup.

There was little dignity here, and a lot of bitterness. The action which most sits on my mind (much like an under-cooked suit pudding on the stomach, waiting to be vomited) is the stomping and brawling of England's prize thug, Rooney.

I don't doubt his ability with a ball - but what a lout he is - and what a representative of his country.

FIFA's 'Fair Play' is splattered all over the place as if printing it makes it a reality. There are few professional footballers one would think subscribes to it. The game doesn't matter, only beating the opponant does. Pretence and deceit are valued, as long as the other team loses.

And Portugal can't hold its head up either - a whinging Ronaldo trying to pursuade the referee to send off an opponant - what a spectacle.

What a contrast to Rafael Nadal.