Sunday, 18 December 2011

A true sports personality

I'm not usually very interested in BBC Sports Personality of the Year, but I notice that Darren Clarke has been nominated this year. Clarke has been described as a "walking, smoking, Guinness-drinking counterblast to the notion that the modern professional golfer has to be a finely-tuned athlete with a six-pack." He smoked his way to victory at this year's British Open and then stayed up all night on a nineteen hour bender. His manager, Chubby Chandler, says he plays better when he's fat. Clarke does not disagree.

"I'm not going to change anything that I do. I think it would be very poor of me if I was to change the way I am because of a few people's opinions. That's not going to happen.

"I drink a little too much, smoke a little bit too much and enjoy myself a little bit too much at times. But when it comes down to it, I'll put my head down and work whenever I really have to."

I can think of no better way of driving the Righteous to distraction this Christmas than by having this fine athlete win Sports Personality of the Year. Please vote and vote often. You know it makes sense.


Anonymous said...

Jealous, much! Fine role model for us all.

Anonymous said...

Thanks Chris,I needed a new Hero.

The importance of heroes can never be misunderstood or misjudged.

A guiding lite in a stormy sea.

A marker of independence and freedom.

A man fallible,human,emotional.

He is just a man like me!

jean said...

In my hand I hold a ball
White and dimpled, rather small

Oh, how bland it does appear,

This harmless looking little sphere.

By his size I could not guess

The awesome strength it does possess;

My life has not been quite the same

Since I chose to play this game.

It rules my mind for hours on end.

A fortune it has made me spend.
It has made me curse and cry

I hate myself and want to have a curry and chips
I am promised a thing called ‘par’

If I can hit it straight and far.

To master such a tiny ball

Should not be very hard at all.

But my desires the ball refuses

And does exactly as it chooses

It hooks and slices, dribbles, dies

and disappears before my eyes.

Often it will have a whim

To hit a tree or take a swim.

I am promised a thing called ‘par’

If I can hit it straight and far.