Aaargh I'm dying. Right, I'm fine now.

OK, so the title's a bit long but it's also pretty descriptive. The World Cup is on as I write and it's been a pretty successful tournament in South Africa. Unless you're an England fan, Asamoah Gyan - the Ghanian striker who missed a penalty with the last kick of the game which ultimately meant his team went out of the competition, or Frank Lampard, whose goal was disallowed despite being around twelve years over the line. However, one thing has driven me mental with anger. Cheating.

Now we all know that football players are prone to exaggerated reactions to fouls and firm tackles but this World Cup has seen things reach a whole new level. Not content with merely diving, when an opponent brushes an ankle or makes the lightest contact with an arm, the players are now performing acrobatic leaps, total body collapses and more rolls than a Greggs bakers' in an effort to win a free kick or get an opponent sent off.

However, a new and impressive feigning technique has emerged which prompted a friend of mine to utter the following: "There should be three cards in football - a yellow card, a red card and an Equity card". For those of you who are not from these fair isles of Britain - 'Equity' is the actors union. And he's right about the acting. The new trend is, regardless of where another player makes contact with you, to collapse to the ground clutching your face and writhing in agony. It's really quite astonishing. Astonishing because the players are so dense that they don't seem to realise that their every movement is captured in super slow-motion, high-definition (unless you subscribe to ITV HD) and also astonishing because FIFA and the officials seem happy to let them get away with it.

I've watched numerous games over the past few weeks where players have given the impression that they have just been shot in the face with an elephant gun from a distance of 4 centimetres, only for the replay to show that they were tapped on the arse by a wayward boot from an ungainly defender. And they really go for it too. I have to say that the Italians, Brazilians and the French seem to be the greatest exponents of this dubious new fad.

Personally, I think that if a referee witnesses a blatant example of 'face clutching' then he should be allowed to smack the offender in the jaw with a claw hammer. And then give him a yellow card for time-wasting whilst he has emergency, reconstructive surgery on the sidelines. And then kill him anyway. Possibly.

If it continues for much longer I may be forced to watch pro-celebrity knitting instead.

Sign of the times

The photo says it all. And I love it. Hat sellers outside Trent Bridge cricket ground have a readymade market of stupid hat buyers passing their stalls. However, with grammar and prices (4.99 pence!) so badly misjudged, you have to wonder what sort of simpleton they're targetting.

I bought one.

An England 1-2-3

Yep. We did it again. We lost at football, rugby and Formula One, all in the space of a few days. England lost to Russia in the Euro 2008 football qualifiers. This means there's a good chance we won't make the finals next summer. England lost 15-6 to South Africa in the rugby world cup final and Lewis Hamilton finished seventh in the Brazilian grand prix, to miss out on becoming world champion in his first year. There's still some hope for him though, due to alleged fuel irregularities by Williams and BMW Sauber. If all the affected drivers are disqualified, then Lewis takes the title. It's a long shot, but it's our only hope of restoring a bit of national pride...

Unless Timmy Mallet makes a TV comeback.

ELF Cup and cricket

I've lost interest in this competition since Greenland went out but if anyone is at all bothered, the final was yesterday and the winners of the ELF Cup 2006 were Northern Cyprus. Oh, alright then. If you must. The final score was Northern Cyprus 3 - 1 Crimea. Happy now?

And I'm not going to mention the cricket because a) you may not like cricket, b) you've no idea what cricket is, c) we're performing abysmally against Australia in the Ashes (down under) so I'd rather not mention it . And that's all there is to say about that.

Oh, and the 'vigorous storm' we were told was heading our way the other day? Nothing. A bit of rain and that was it. What an anti-cliamx. At least Birmingham won yet again on Saturday, against Burnley.

Wow, what a stupendously disjointed posting. Oh well, a change is as good as a rest as they say. You can have too much of a good thing can't you. So I thought I'd deliver something that had no structure, format or point to it.

And I think I've succeeded

Ping pong addiction

A friend of mine recommended this "great' game for my Xbox 360. I scoffed at his suggestion but I bought it because it was on offer at HMV. Well, what's £20 amongst friends? Mind you, I was extremely dubious about the whole thing ... until I played the little devil. What a laugh. What addictive jollity. What the hell am I doing?

I'm playing computer table tennis. Yes, I know. I thought it would be berserk/sad/infantile/pointless etc, but it's actually a truly wonderful and seriously addictive little game. So much so, I've managed to get repetitive strain injury in one thumb and three fingers in just over an hour. If I were in prison, that would be considered a form of torture. However, it's worth it for the pure enjoyment of charging round the virtual table as you attempt to master a multitude of spin shots, lobs, smashes and 'focus shots' (whatever the hell they are)whilst the music increases and the crowd whoop and clap a bit.

Trust me - it's cracking fun if you like that sort of thing. Even if you don't, you may just find yourself longing for a bit of bat and ball stimulation. My current favourite character is a little Chinese fella. He has quite an alarming face but his ball control is sublime and he has some very pleasing T-shirts, which is nice.


I think I should lie down for a while.

Wimbledon - a British wasteland

Wimbledon started today. The last Brit to win the men's singles at Wimbledon was a very nice gent called Fred Perry. That was in 1936. The ladies have fared a tad better with big-haired Virginia Wade lifting the trophy in 1977.

Since then however, the Brits have had more success at the luge than we have had in tennis. However, most years some poor bugger (John Lloyd, Annabel Croft, Tim Henman etc)is shoved into the limelight and for that year, becomes the 'chosen one', otherwise known as the Great British Hope. Of course, the poor bugger in question is doomed to failure amidst a hugely disproportionate amount of media and public fervour.

Thus the cycle of Wimbledon fervour and failure continues. This year's poor bugger is Andy Murray. The flag-waving hasn't kicked in yet but when it does, this clearly talented Scot will be crushed by the pressure and claustrophobic expectancy of the fans and the Press.

Oh for the days of Willie Renshaw. He was Britain's most successful tennis champ ever. He won 12 Wimbledon championships between 1880 and 1889. No media hassle or screaming hysteria from the fans for Willie. No paparazzi intrusion, candid holiday photos appearing in Heat magazine or sordid sex claims in the Sunday papers for Mr Renshaw. Oh no. In fact, no-one even seems to have noticed him at all. Perhaps the old-fashioned way is the best way after all.

Better get Andy Murray a flat cap and a packet of fags.