With apologies to Eminem:
Guess who’s back, back again
Football’s back, tell a friend…
I won’t lie, I am a bit torn over the decision to restart the Premier League. Sure, I want to watch the action, but I’m not sure it’s the best idea from a safety point of view, and I just hope that it doesn’t backfire for any of the players or backroom staff involved.
But – deep breath – the decision has been made and we go into our first game away at Aston Villa with (apparently, at least) 7 Ollie McBurnies up front.
It’s a bold, attacking line-up. Come on you Red And White WIZZZZZZZAAAAARDS!
Day 63, eh? Into 10 weeks of lockdown tomorrow then…
Winter has certainly arrived in the Cape this week. A second cold front today with 13mm of rain already this morning (it’s 9:30am). I went out and had a run in the fresh air and the precipitation, but there were some issues.
I’ve never had a problem with getting wet. When you are born and dragged up in Sheffield, rain is a very regular thing and being annoyed about it would result in a very stressful existence. (Ironically, Summer has arrived in Sheffield this week and it’s lovely over there.) However, I’ve never run in a facemask in the rain before.
I would imagine that it’s something akin to being waterboarded. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but it really wasn’t very pleasant and I found myself involuntarily blurting out the coordinates to a clandestine terrorist base in network of caves in the Drakensberg.
I survived and made it back inside for a hot shower and a hot coffee.
Talking of weather, we were one of many families who were watching the live stream of the first rocket launch from American soil in 9 years last night, until it was postponed at just “T minus seventeen minutes” because of a “strength of electrical field in atmosphere violation”.
One of the commentators mentioned “well, this is Florida in the Spring, and the risk of thunderstorms was always going to be a factor.”
And that got me thinking: why don’t they launch from somewhere else then – somewhere less likely to have a strength of electrical field in atmosphere violation?
Right. I have quiz questions to write, some maths homework to do and I need to cook dinner (Uber Eats last night was such a treat – love me a night off cooking).
I think a slow-cooker sausage casserole will fit the bill for today’s ugly weather.
I mean… these things happen every day, right?
Ironically, real fans were the ones who did realise something was wrong, bombarding FC Seoul’s official Instagram account as they watched the game on television.
“Just look at their breasts, they were four times bigger than those of normal mannequins,” one supporter wrote.
Ugh. Body-shaming mannequins now, are we? And how bad must the game have been for you to be repeatedly rewinding to check the size of the bazoomas on the lady in (appropriately enough) Row DD?
I’m still a long way from being convinced that there is a need or justification for bringing football back this season, but this sort of thing is swinging my mind to it being actually quite a good idea. Yes, more of this, please.
Another day. No football.
I’m getting very tired of seeing this. You could argue that simply not opening up the app would prevent the daily anguish of seeing this message, but then if there was – by some massive stretch of the imagination – a surprise game of togger, you wouldn’t know it was coming.
Can you imagine how awful that would be if you only found out after the fact?
Sadly, it’s not likely to be right anny time soon though, so maybe I will actually take a chance and spare myself the regular torture and associated depression for a little while.
The worst half hour yet.
I decided yesterday afternoon – on a whim – to try a backyard run. Other people have done it, why shouldn’t I?
I shouldn’t have done it.
It was half an hour of boredom, extreme concentration, hectic effort and very little reward.
Boredom because it was the same thing over and over and over and over again. Concentration because there were trip hazards everywhere, one of which was mobile and kept barking at me and trying to eat my shoes while I was trying to run. Effort because there were so many turns and obstacles that my average stride length turned out to be just 0.65m. That’s against my average of 1.12m on a normal run. So despite what that very dodgy looking 9:30/km average seems to suggest, there was an awful lot of hard work going into getting myself around the front and back gardens. And little reward because all I felt at the end was hot, bothered and miserable. There was no post-run glow or exaltation. No feeling of achievement. There was just one endorphin. I wanted thousands.
Still, I did it, and I’ll likely do a couple more over the next three weeks, because even though it’s not very pleasant, it does still get the heart going and it does still get the Discovery points.
UPDATE: Experts don’t like it either.