Sport Whine

Delusions of grandeur

Written by Morty | 24 July 2009

Written by Morty
Friday, 24 July 2009

You have to walk the talk I just got back from a wonderful vacation in South Africa, where we took in the sights and sounds of the scenic Garden Route. As one of our many stops, we had lunch at the very pretentious Tessen Island, near Knysna, at a restaurant called Sirocco. Now, it's easy to mistake this place for a pub or a bar because it's so heavily branded by Peroni (it did, however, cme highly recommended so we figured we should check it out), but this is clearly the place to be seen having lunch, and it's packed with annoying wannabes.

It was midway through my dreadful and overpriced lunch (I do not recommend Sirocco at all by the way - terrible food, service and decor) that I glanced up at the entrance and saw a guy in a green T-shirt, white pullover and jeans waiting to be seated. My initial thought, based on the attire and the attitude he was exuding, was: pretentious wanker. It was when he turned to scan the restaurant and to see who had noticed him, that I realised it was Graeme Smith – captain of the South African cricket team. Ha! Massive wanker alert.

In Defense of Domestiques

06 August 2009

Written by
Thursday, 06 August 2009

I wore T-shirts and shorts for my first few months of cycling. I backed off hills and I barely survived 7km on my brand spanking new carbon bike when I first attempted cycling. For all of Morty’s disrespect of cyclists and Lance Armstrong, he has insulted bench players of basketball, midfielders in football, forwards in rugby and caddies in golf (OK, so that was low too). All his infamous “Domestique” column reflected was how little he knows of a sport he would never conquer, or attacking the same new look jerseys (new tighter fit to avoid grabbing) all rugby players swears by in modern games.

Sweeping the Tri-Nations

Written by Morty | 24 September 2009

Written by Morty
Thursday, 24 September 2009

Springbok dominance After a lengthy trip away from the computer (I was on a much needed vacation), and with occasional access to dial-up Internet access only, I’m back with a retrospective bang.

I start with rugby – the Tri-Nations, more specifically. The Boks have regained their crown as the best rugby playing nation in the southern hemisphere, and they did so emphatically dominating the All Blacks and Wallabies. The mark of any great team is that even if they aren’t playing at 100%, they find a way to win, especially on the road, and their last game in New Zealand, against the once dominant All Blacks, proved that they now have the mettle to win big games.

Champions of Spain versus Champions of Italy

Written by Jonny Carter | 20 September 2009

Written by Jonny Carter
Sunday, 20 September 2009

The lure of European football transcends merely the million dollar incentives; rather the Champions League represents a team’s arrival at the highest echelon of world football. Or at least it did when it was called the European Cup.

Marketing men have milked football for every penny that’s available, and milked a few more pennies that weren’t. With nine months to go until the Champions League final there’s almost an entire season between now and the most prestigious game in football, and yet the best team in Spain and the league winners of Italy are somehow playing each other on a so called ‘Match Day #1’. The competition is bogus.

Ce n'est pas une course, c'est un monument - Looking forward to Europe’s richest race

Written by Jeff | 28 September 2009

Written by Jeff
Monday, 28 September 2009

The favourite I only know one French joke and not a particularly good one.

A gendarme is patrolling a park when he comes across a man in the bushes. He prods him with his night stick and says, “Monsieur. Defense de pisser.” The man half turns and explains, “Je ne pis pas. Je m’abuse.” The gendarme grunts, “Ah, vive le sport,” and walks on.

Now, the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe is also a kind of a French joke, especially with that final turn, but 4 million Euros makes it less of a laughing matter than otherwise it might have been.

Should you be lucky enough (and rich enough) to own a champion thoroughbred, your route to a squillion quid in stud fees starts in the spring with the 2000 Guineas over Newmarket’s straight mile.