The Americans have a lot to answer for,
their self appointed role to police the world to their standards is
at the top of the list, somewhat reminiscent of a much maligned
Empire who plundered the globe based on their financial requirements,
but that's not the topic of this post. The British media are terrible
for building up heroes, raising individuals, sporting celebrities in
particular, then completely making a U-turn (why does an U-turn sound
wrong?) and obliterating the pedestal THEY constructed. Every English
football team manager has been subject to this approach as have any
celebrity who grows too popular, digging up the dirt is very soon
deemed to be more in the public interest than the continued
promotion. The USA, however, have generally supported their heroes
through thick and thin and at times have even drawn a grudging
respect from me for exactly that.
The continued attack on the US cycling
hero, Lance Armstrong, has sickened and disappointed me. The fact
that he has now withdrawn from defending his good name is taken as
proof of his guilt. He has given up any counter legal action after
ten years of allegations from the regulatory body in the US that he
has taken performance enhancing drugs, even though there is no evidence at all. The guy is a fantastic role model, he beat
testicular cancer and became SEVEN times winner of the Tour de
France, a feat that impressed even the austere French. Life IS too
short to continue any such defence, Lance has suffered much in his
life and has still come through as a shining light to us all. The
current word on the net is that he will be retrospectively stripped
of his titles, what a load of utter shite!! I, and I sincerely hope
that any bugger reading this will support me, still see him as the
level that any upcoming star in the cycling world should aspire to.
Someone ask Bradley Wiggins how he feels about this.
Once again a message to the media: 'Support the hero for the right reasons, don't invent an opinion that is not only wrong but also negative and destructive.'
Tossers!
On a completely separate note, I have
just returned from hunting down and despatching a curry takeaway for
the family. The Indian takeaway in Aldbourne is fantastic, reflecting
the village in general. It is, however, obviously a remodelled
chippy. A memory rose to the raging, muddled surface of my troubled
mind: In the days when I would drink till closing time like a man
possessed, then queue with the drunken masses for a portion of
noodles, ribs and chips I would habitually engage with the ubiquitous
fruit machine. Fruit machine, bandit, one-armed bandit, blinking
thief, the ungainly beast has many names, but, a bastard by any other
name is still a bastard.
At the time when I was patronising such
establishments the gambling licensing laws were such that the winning
limits were restricted and as such so were the gambling limits. Time
and time again I would throw a few quid into these machines, whilst I
was waiting for my order, only to realise that the stake was 2p, yes
TWO PENCE, giving me dozens of chances to win. As soon as I realised
my mistake I would pray, I would curse out loud when I won, and I
would always wish I had not been drawn in to the insane world of the
2p gambler. Invariably I would win, again, and again, and again,
until such time as the completion of my order would be declared and I
would leave with a stinking mound of inferior noodles, a massive pile
of copper coins AND still over a quids worth of credit in the
machine.
Bastards.
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