Well, it’s Sunday evening and, at last, the World Cup is finished with France coming out on top. For weeks we have had a load of interminable, frequent and regular claptrap about “it’s coming home” and even though England didn’t win, members of the team – and especially Gareth Southgate – seemed lined up for sainthood, at the very least. As my daughter pointed out (from the feminist perspective) all this rubbish about reaching the semi-finals for the first time for decades, was inaccurate, as the England women’s team had done it 3 years ago!
Then there was Wimbledon. Now I must ‘declare an interest’ here, as I like Wimbledon. Not tennis especially, but tennis at Wimbledon and spend a fair amount of time during the 2 weeks glued to the TV or iPad. The first week was rather tame however things really hotted up in the latter part of the second week following the demise of Roger Federer and the resurgence of Novak Djokovic. I even watched a match between Williams (S) and Giorgi – but I guess that was for the ‘pure visual entertainment’, rather than the tennis!
Throughout the week the emotional incontinence from the BBC and its team accelerated to a point where I thought we might even be shown a film of the birth of Serena William’s (there is someone else who is destined for sainthood) child, that had been discussed interminably throughout the week and, on at least 3 occasions, I turned on the broadcast and thought it was an edition of BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour! Finally and just before the men’s final, we had some ludicrous ‘poetic’ mumbo jumbo from the retiring Barry Davies, which made one think that Centre Court was a World War I battlefield.
Comparing these two major sporting events also highlights the massive difference in athleticism between the tennis players and the wimps on the football field in Russia and, frankly, more generally. One tennis match going on for six and a half hours!