Sporting Madness

I have to say – I am, by no means, ‘Sporty’.

Picture my surprise then at the time I spent watching the damn thing yesterday – a large chunk of a tennis match; almost the whole of one football match and several serious chunks of a second.

Andy Roddick is one of those people you are free to admire – he is not squeaky clean, he needs a shave now and then, and he perspires: He is, however, the perfect ‘English’ gentleman – something he denies occasionally.

Roddick goes out to win, happily demolishing any opponent mercilessly: But you just know he won’t cheat. I can’t think of a single other tennis player I would be so sure of saying such a thing about (although I suspect one or two others might fit the charge).

He won in Dubai yesterday through effort, coming back from a set down, with a steely determination and a glint of charm in his eye. You just want to shake his hand and say, “Well done.”

Not so with the football.

I watched parts of two English cup matches and, although the results were glorious in there unexpectedness, I really can’t say I enjoyed the victories.

The Man Utd game was a disgrace – I didn’t want United to win, but I didn’t want them to loose through such atrocious, unfair refereeing. A hollow victory for Portsmouth. The ‘game’ stops being a game when the rules are abused in such a blatant way – it’s one reason why most Romanian football matches are unwatchable.

Barnsley won – and that is magnificent! The underdogs break through, again; the fairy tale continues.

Saddening is the reaction I feel – more delight in Chelsea loosing than in Barnsley winning.

What a state of affairs when such a spirited and uncompromising effort as the Yorkshire teams takes second place to the defeat of the southerners.