Bikes, beards and blunders!

Greetings armchair sportsfans!

In and around all the hoop-la which is London 2012 its easy to gloss over everyday feats of sporting grandure and failures.

We are only a week away from the biggest sporting show on earth and potentially a catastrophic embarresment for all those involved which would be a typically English thing to do and thus would be hailed as the greatest games ever.

But we'll have to put our (my) preconceptions on the medal shelf for just a little while and cross pur fingers Boris doesn't look too stupid, Phillip doesn't offend anyone and cor' blimey Team GB get some of those shiny round things!

One man that must be a dead cert for a gold is that Victorian era side-burn afficiando Bradley Wiggins. Seeing as yellow is close enough to gold already he'd probably win it with the bloomin' medal hanging off his handle bars whilst riding side-saddle on a bmx.

'How can you not love a bloke sporting these mutton-chops'

To me all cyclists are freaks, not in a horrible way...more in a 'you silly mad bastard, why would you do that to yourself day after day?' type of freak. The eveidence is all there, just look at those mental weekend cycling groups or indeed the suicidal couriers chancing death each day in the workplace.

Sportingwise I admire them for doing such a crazy event, not just for the physical side of it but also for the fact that for 90% of the time its as boring as F1.

Let's face it..nowt happens except for the odd vertical tussle up a pretty mountain or a race against the clock in a funny looking helmet. And just like those quick F1 things you know that the massses watching on the box are willing for a crash of hilarious magnitude.

Great Britain can not only hang their collective hats on Wiggo but also in the knowledge that the nation is surely destined for a glut of golds from all those on London on two wheels.

One man not reaching the sporting echelons on Sunday was Australia's own Murray...Adam Scott. Blessed with talent us weekend hackers could only dream off and coverted with the same mental fragility that us mere mortals face everytime we address the ball.

Before the final round at Royal Lytham & St. Annes Scott was speaking to the Beeb about his heroes and how he wished to emulate his fellow coutryman in Open championships past. Unfortunately he emulated (not quite as badly) Norman's famous Masters collapse as if he meant every poor swing and lipped putt.

'Maybe I should grow mop of blonde hair?'

Like Murray you do feel for him and you begin to wonder if that magic moment will ever come to pass, talented yes...a winner...not yet? Scott's faux pars (sorry for that pun) unravelled quicker than Tevez's caddying career. The sheepish look of winner Els' face tells you all you need to know about the Open which was lost more than won.

It's hard enough not too look smug at that moment in time and even harder when you look like the Big Easy, with big bobbly head then its even more difficult to hide it. Scott was gracious in defeat as always...at least he didn't cry like a baby!

Ernie wasn't the only South African enjoying himself in the English sunday sunshine. Pretty much the entire team was dining out on English bowling at the Oval, none more so than Hashim Amla. He isn't the most stereotypical looking South African or indeed cricketer going around.

Then again we won't begrudge cricket player pinching given England themselves rely on a few deserters to fill out their xi these days. So we can doff our caps to Hashim for his chanceless innings of touch and grace and be thankful that everytime we get to see him make another ton we'll be treated to his fabulous barnet.

Ok...so the barnet is on his face and it all looks a little backwards. Its a though his face is like a magic eye picture and if you stare long enough into his beard you'll see a sailboat?

'I've seen it and I want to see it again'

Nobody loves seeing the poms getting a spanking on the cricket field and I get the feeling Mr. Amla does too.

So with baited breath and much finger crossing we await the grand opening on Friday and hope for the love of all that it doesn't make us look like bunch of knobs!

Goodnight sportsfans!

The Crying Game

Greetings armchair sportsfans!

Poor old Andy Murray, today even ardent BNP supporters were lamenting over his distrught face all over the papers.

Until now he's never been the most popular of sporting characters knocking around but it's amazing what being a perenial loser can do for you. Just ask Henman or that other tall lanky fella who also commentates for the Beeb.

Let's not be too harsh on the lad, after all it ain't his fault that he's very good at something at the same time a few others are better and one in particular is simply out of this world!

We all hoped that this year would be his year, his best chance at winning the big one but someone forgot to tell Roger that part of the script. Andy has the all-round game, the grit and plucky determination but yet when the big moments arrive he's still as flaky as an Arbroath smoky!

Don't worry mate there's always next year???

There's no shame in losing to Federer, surely the greatest player to ever grace the court. And you can't be angry at him for being that good even if he does play with that irritating easy nature that gets under your skin, like Spanish football. He's also a seemingly nice bloke, wife and kids, good looks...what a shite!

He even had the audacity to assure Murray that one grand slam will be his...that's providing neither he nor Nadal or Djokovich decide they'd like a few more shiny things above their fireplace. No doubt Murray will believe it, he has no choice about that. However I'm beginning to feel that 'our Andy' (that's his name now by the way) might just end up trawling the same route to punditry that's befallen those before him.

Then again I can't see that happening either as Murray hasn't shown us any personality to suggest putting his grumpy mug of the telly would be about as clever as his drop shot. But it ain't all bad, eh? He'll earn a few quid knocking about the circuit for the next decade and after that coaching the next generation of Wimbledon blubbers.

Sure he ain't won squat but he's young, a decent player to be fair, the nation off his back and a fit young thing on his arm. Not that much to cry about really.

Oh no...its contagious!

Still I'd rather watch Murray struggle around the court all over again than watch Buffalo Williams do anything on or off the court and that goes for her sister Horse Williams too.

Ok they redefined and dominated the women's game through strength and athleticism and changed tennis fashion by destroying that too. You could throw a crochet blanket over a cow and it'd look the same and some of the awful tripe they're flashed at SW19.

Maybe bad dress sense is a champion type thing, RF hasn't got his clothing line moving off the shelves as silkily as he moves around the baseline. 

The women's game is not that interesting, even female tennis players and fans prefer to watch the men's game and not for the same reason we blokes don't mind two grunting russian dolls slugging it out in skimpy white dresses and pink knickers.

'Game, set and match Mr. Ed and Daisy'

The true heroes at Wimbledon over the past fortnight beside the Fed Express was that fella who beat Nadal (forgot his name already..so memorable) and that other Murray...Marray (sorry) and Neilsen. These two chaps had only played three tournaments together, never earned a penny and barely had enough kit to last into the second week.

And yet they overcame all this, beat the best doubles players going around and still their feats are washed away by the Scotsmans tears...we do love a loser after all.

Toodle-pip sportsfans!