How does gravity effect you ?
John Furlong, the bloke in charge of the Winter Olympics doesn’t like the way his event is being publicised by the British media.
Well boo f***ing hoo.
It wasn’t the British that stopped members of the public from seeing the Olympic Flame, or us having broken down machinery, or us denying access to practice to non-Canadians in the vain hope we might finally win something on home soil. We were too busy organising p**s-ups in breweries, a skill Mr Furlong might want to learn.
Britain simply doesn’t do the Winter Olympics. We only watched it in the Eighties because Nottingham’s own Torvill & Dean were guaranteed the gold, before selling their collective souls to reality TV.
Let’s face it, Britain doesn’t do winter, let alone winter sports. A quick glimpse of the exclamation mark filled weather forecasts over the last three months will tell you all you need to know about our ability to cope with cold weather. And just because you have twenty foot high snow drifts every winter doesn’t make you more ‘manly’ than us, it just means you were born in the wrong place.
Each event of the winter Olympics seems to revolve around degrees of effect that gravity has on the participant. How quickly will you slide down this track, how quickly will you bounce down this slope and how stoned do you have to be to strap an ironing board to your feet & slide down a hill with three other equally wasted stoners. There’s an element of skill in the Bob Sleigh, apparently. The driver steers the sleigh round in the same way our Nottingham Tram drivers ‘steer’ the tram.
These aren’t sports, they’re f***ing holiday activities, something rich families do of a winter in some packed valley at the foot of a mountain range you need elephants to cross. And we don’t have elephants.
These chalet villages are like a f***ing cold Butlin’s holiday camp. So EXACTLY like a Butlin’s holiday camp.
But why stop at winter holiday sports, why not go for the summer market as well ? Why don’t they include the Donkey Derby, a Knobbly Knees competition (Gold, Jersey, 1985) or Open the Box in London 2012.
You’ve got to feel sorry for Marion Rolland, four years training, travelling half way across the world, probably paying Ryan Air some stupid tax on those ridiculous skis only to fall over after five seconds, the Olympic dream up in a cloud of the wrong type of snow. But there was no need to make out like she’d injured herself, get up you numpty, you’re s**t. If she’s got any sense, she’ll not be paying the airline ski tax on the way back, leave them there, duck.
So all events are c**p at the Winter Olympics.
Except for the female Skeleton Bob, obviously, that’s cool.
Well boo f***ing hoo.
It wasn’t the British that stopped members of the public from seeing the Olympic Flame, or us having broken down machinery, or us denying access to practice to non-Canadians in the vain hope we might finally win something on home soil. We were too busy organising p**s-ups in breweries, a skill Mr Furlong might want to learn.
Britain simply doesn’t do the Winter Olympics. We only watched it in the Eighties because Nottingham’s own Torvill & Dean were guaranteed the gold, before selling their collective souls to reality TV.
Let’s face it, Britain doesn’t do winter, let alone winter sports. A quick glimpse of the exclamation mark filled weather forecasts over the last three months will tell you all you need to know about our ability to cope with cold weather. And just because you have twenty foot high snow drifts every winter doesn’t make you more ‘manly’ than us, it just means you were born in the wrong place.
Each event of the winter Olympics seems to revolve around degrees of effect that gravity has on the participant. How quickly will you slide down this track, how quickly will you bounce down this slope and how stoned do you have to be to strap an ironing board to your feet & slide down a hill with three other equally wasted stoners. There’s an element of skill in the Bob Sleigh, apparently. The driver steers the sleigh round in the same way our Nottingham Tram drivers ‘steer’ the tram.
These aren’t sports, they’re f***ing holiday activities, something rich families do of a winter in some packed valley at the foot of a mountain range you need elephants to cross. And we don’t have elephants.
These chalet villages are like a f***ing cold Butlin’s holiday camp. So EXACTLY like a Butlin’s holiday camp.
But why stop at winter holiday sports, why not go for the summer market as well ? Why don’t they include the Donkey Derby, a Knobbly Knees competition (Gold, Jersey, 1985) or Open the Box in London 2012.
You’ve got to feel sorry for Marion Rolland, four years training, travelling half way across the world, probably paying Ryan Air some stupid tax on those ridiculous skis only to fall over after five seconds, the Olympic dream up in a cloud of the wrong type of snow. But there was no need to make out like she’d injured herself, get up you numpty, you’re s**t. If she’s got any sense, she’ll not be paying the airline ski tax on the way back, leave them there, duck.
So all events are c**p at the Winter Olympics.
Except for the female Skeleton Bob, obviously, that’s cool.
posted by Lucky Col at
9:39 PM
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