They think it's all over... ?

As we see the return of football this weekend, I want to reassure you all that you can consider CATCOUK your quiet place, where I WILL MENTION NO FOOTBALL! My personal opinion is that all proffesional footballers are a bunch of pansies, and get paid far too much money. So rest assured, you'll hear no more (unless I have to take the mick about something!)

But to link nicely to this week's sporting title, this week's blog is about my recent sporting success. Now I know this will come as a shock, and something of a disappointment to my female readers, but I am no sporting god! In fact, I'm not eveb remotely good at sport. I'm just about fit enough to play, and I enjoy playing sports, I'm just no good. In fact, I know that there are slightly below average monkeys that can do sports better than I can!

Anyways, because of this clinical incompetance for sport that I suffer from, it is well documented that my disabled 17 year old brother (the alcoholic mentioned the other week) can beat me at just about anything (except outdoor activities, and for some bizarre reason - Badminton). So apart from the activities that I am fairly good at, my arthritic younger (no joke) can beat me. When he invited me to join him and Dad for some Tennis today, I knew that it was going to be a tall order.

I havn't playe tennis in about two years, and back then, I was only just holding out against Ian (my brother). This session was going to end in tears. Sure enough, we warm up and I can't serve, return the ball over the net (and when I do it goes miles off the court), and Ian is hitting the ball for all his worth. Dad is being his usual 50 year old git, and is playing it slow.

Eventually the torture of warming up is replaced by the hellish suggestion that we play some singles games!!! Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Dad (being 50) gracefully lets me an Ian play the first match (while Dad phones an ambulance for himself to recover). Four games to a match, winner stays on. In the result of a draw, the last person serving stays on.

Sure enough, first game shoots through, and it's 40-love to Ian. I havn't scored a single point. But then I realise, that my strength has always been optimism, and tactics. I manage to get the score back to 40 - 30 before Ian won. Now I know it was a loss, but it proved there was hope. I had observed Ian's play, and found some critcal flaws that I could exploit.

Ian had tried to serve like he was at Wimbledon - hard, low and fast. With very little luck. I think in the whole session he got four first serves over. The key was using his over-confident shots. I played really slow serves (almost so slow the ball was in reverse), but all my first serves were going in (bar a few). Ian then tried to hit the ball back hard and fast. Sure enough it ended up in the net. It went on like this, and I won the next three games to take the match.

Ian has much more skill than me, but in the end, he just doesn't have the wit to out-wit me! He is of course a half-wit. And this prooves that Brains beat braun any day of the week! Ladies - I may be over weight and rubbish at sport, but I can do maths! (what a chat up line!)

Finally, linking back to "They think it's all over...", I was involved with someone who thought it was all over this week. I was at brilliantly wonderful Sainsburys (that is most definatly sarcastic) this week (doing trollies again) when a manager rushes out the store, and asks if I can follow him... QUICK! It turns out he's chasing a shoplifter. At that time he was just walking slowly (clearly thinking his heist was "all over" - get the link). The manager asked him to stop, and he bolted!

The manager promptly followed. Well, it being that I have delusions of being a 1970's cop, I ran as well (it also has something to do with the fact the most excitment I get at work normally is seeing what's on Buy One Get One Free that week!). Anyways, we're running after the criminal, and I'm just overtaking the manager on the run when this hardened criminal turns around to see us barreling towards him. Naturally when he saw me: the 70s cop, he put his hands up, and came quietly.

Having built that great image, I would have liked to say at this point...
"Wearing a leather jacket I threw a big 6ft bloke who'd just stolen a load of money, into the back of a police car, and told the sergeant to book him!"

But this is the real world, so...
"Wearing a bright orange fluorescent Sainsbury's jacket, with a blue shirt, and a tie with red chilles on it, I gently escorted the 12 year old boy who had stolen a packet of sweets to the office."

What a let down.

Well, this weeks Blog has all been about disappointment.

Are you a bloke that now thinks I'm a complete idiot for hating football? Are you a women that used to fancy me, before you found out I can't play sports and now hate me? Are you the boy that I got arrested for nicking 32p worth of sweets, and hate me? Why not leave me a comment telling me how much you hate me?

Perhaps you're a women that supports my views on football, and now like me more than ever. Maybe you're a bloke that used to fancy me, but still thinks I'm okay as how sports aren't that important to you, so you still want to be a gay lover. Maybe you the boy that I got arrested for nicking 32p worth of sweets, and have now seen the error of your ways, and think that I am some sort of youth working messiah, and you'd like to start you're own cult around me. Why not leave a message saying how great you think I am? (except the gays - sorry, I may be desperate, but I don't swing that way!)