I read the first part of this post with John Cleese’s voice, in best Monty Python dead parrot style, narrating the Wee Dug’s rant about sport. Priceless. The second part, which deals with the EU and Scotland’s place in it, is worth even more than that.
You know the telly is really bad when you’re upset that they’ve taken off Bargain Hunt. I hate football, dear gods I hate it so much. And don’t start me on tennis, sexual grunts with spaghetti driers on sticks and not a celebrity masterchef in sight. And we’ve still got loads to look forward to, like the bleedin Commonwealth Games and the Ryder Cup, which is apparently to do with hitting a small ball with a long stick which is rubbish for drying spaghetti, and horses are not involved at all.
They’re only bloody games, people. That means it’s not real. It’s just a game, the clue’s right there in the name. Game. It‘s playing. Kicking and batting baws and running and jumping about a bit.
Why are they running a marathon anyway? It’s 26 miles for godssake. Can they not get a bus? That’s why buses were…
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