If that isn’t a recipe for this country turning out fresher, better-rested, more technically adept players, ready to win Euro 2024, then I don’t know what is.
Indeed, now I’ve realised this, I am beginning to regret having spent the last five years filling this column up with insults and jokes about Sepp Blatter’s girth, probity and suitability to run a sporting organization with revenues comfortably greater than quite a few sovereign nations.
What’s more, it’s got me thinking. If FIFA are enlightened enough to move their showcase tournament to an entirely idiotic venue and the wrong time of the year, maybe other sporting bodies will show their solidarity by doing likewise.
I, for one, should like to see the All England Club update its image by moving the Wimbledon Championships somewhere a bit more gritty and urban for a summer or two. Juarez City in Mexico, maybe, where it would still be a balmy 25 degrees Celcius in late June, and the irrepressibly jolly Pimm’s drinkers of SW19 would have terrific japes camping out for tickets in public parks famed for their welcoming atmosphere of murder, kidnapping and turf warfare between drug gangs.
The ICC, meanwhile, must be looking for a new venue for the Cricket World Cup: Afghanistan seem to be holding their end up at the moment, as do Scotland: a joint bid, surely, makes sense for 2027. In fact, sod it, give them the Rugby World Cup that year as well. The Summer Olympics? Well, of course, the small community of research scientists and penguins who live at the Esperanza Base in Antarctica could probably do at least a good a job as Rio de Janeiro. A bit nippy at -30 in July, mind, so perhaps the IOC might follow FIFA’s lead and sanction holding a summer Olympics in December, when the weather calms down.
And as for the Winter Olympics? You know, I’ve got a feeling Qatar might be good for it. No snow, plenty of desert... I know it sounds ridiculous but, guys, stranger things have happened. Right, FIFA? Right?
The Piranha has more bite than Floyd and Manny
Like you, I’m looking forward to Floyd Mayweather v Manny Pacquiao. But I hope you’re also getting excited by Gennady Golovkin, who smashed Martin Murray last weekend and continues to menace the middleweight division like a piranha let loose in the jacuzzi. Mayweather-Pacquiao is boxing’s biggest event by far. But Golovkin is, for my money, the sport’s most thrilling fighter. Hope, also, for what comes after the two older guys have retired.
Castro’s blazing a trail with his dog of an injury
I don’t have the stats to hand on how many rugby players have been forced to miss internationals because they have been bitten on the nose by a dog. But I’ve a feeling Martin Castrogiovanni is blazing some sort of trail with the injury that earned him 14 stitches and means he misses Italy’s Six Nations match this weekend against Scotland. It’s a loss Italy could do without. Although to be fair to Castro, I can’t imagine he’s thrilled about it either.
Gayle’s whirlwind innings just blew me away
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Wow. Or strewth. Or whatever the word is. I am still slightly lost for them after seeing Chris Gayle knock 215 in a World Cup match against Zimbabwe this week. A bit of grace, a lot of timing and power from those big shoulders like few other men in the world possess. All the more impressive, I suppose, given the permanent state of semi-meltdown in which West Indies cricket exists. Gayle is a reason to watch this World Cup, all on his own.
Did obnoxious screech sound familiar, Alan?
It was very funny to hear Alan Green bleating about the celebrations of Barcelona’s radio commentators when Luis Suarez scored his second goal against Manchester City. Apparently he thought the sound of a man sitting behind a mic emitting a loud, unnecessarily elongated and obnoxious screech might antagonise the fans nearby. Mmm. I think that’s called talking yourself out of a job, Alan.
