Replacement knee surgery reduces me to writing about football.
I do not like football.
Football is admittedly a good spectator sport, but the people involved at professional level, both players and administrators repel me, and in any case I prefer to be doing rather than watching.
Continuing my persona as Grumpy Camel my moan concerns the familiar manager interview about a multi million pound transfer, whilst in the background his team are seen on the pitch “training”.
I have never seen anything that resembles hard work taking place in these scenes - they are all prancing about in some sort of slow motion, vaguely raising legs, or side stepping, mincingly, like a bunch of pansies.
Compare that with a similar interview with a boxing manager where his protagonist is seen bouncing medicine balls off his midriff, or stressing out press-ups at at sixty to the minute, or murdering a punch bag with zebra like blows, with the rapidity of a sub machine gun, and sweat pouring out everywhere.
I reckon footballers are like rare vintage racing cars, too expensive and vulnerable to be driven fast round a circuit, and lavished with far too much admiration.
