Why do people bother with Twitter?
I have to admit I struggle with this phenomenon. I just don’t get why anyone wants to be bombarded with the latest inane ramblings of someone like Wayne Rooney or Piers Morgan.
Do I need to be told Waza and Colleen are buying some wine at Waitrose.
Do I need my phone to go off at three in the morning to tell me what Piers thinks of Kevin Pietersen? No I do not.
I believe that the reason God gave me a brain, heart and a couple of legs, was to let me have a life of my own and therefore there is no reason whatsoever to live a surrogate life through the tweets of someone else.
I appreciate that this makes me sound like my dad in 1985, when told he needed to buy a Commodore 64.
“Personal computers, what’s the bloody point of personal computers”, but why do professional footballers put themselves in a position where total strangers can insult, belittle and abuse them. The problems they encounter are totally self-inflicted.
Surely they must realise that the world is now full of semi-illiterate pond dwellers (sometimes referred to as residents of Pennywell) who will get great delight in sending bile across the network. It seems that for some, sensible debate is way beyond them.
Footballers really should stay away from social media
Why do people bother with Freeview?
100 channels and absolutely nothing to watch. Can you say that you have ever watched a programme on the ITV Be or Reality channel . I’m told there may be one or two who find the channels in the high 90s worth a peak, but seeing as I’m normally asleep by 11pm, I wouldn’t know about that.
However, I have to admit that I do pay a visit to ITV 4 on a regular basis. Through the week it will be for re-runs of The Sweeny and The Professionals, which was cutting edge telly in 1978, but is now toe curlingly terrible. It still has to be watched for the cars though. I would have committed murder for a Mark 2 Capri .
Then now and again, early on a Saturday morning, on goes the telly for the Big Match. This does not go down too well with the wife who reckons having one middle aged bald bloke in her bed talking football is enough. She doesn’t need Brian Moore to join us.
Unfortunately back then, every time we were on the Big Match , we would get a right stuffing from a London side but it is still an hour well spent and puts me in a great mood for the weekend.
The programme graphically illustrates just how much things has changed . The grounds we remember as state of the art (Villa Park, Hillsborough, Old Trafford) were only top stadiums because the others were utterly abysmal. The tackling allowed would now constitute an assault; but in those days taking him out above the knee was simply part of the game. A Ronaldo or Messi simply could not have existed.
As for the need to impose a massive R onto the screen when showing replays of Rush & Dalglish score with 10,000 piling down from the Kop…What was that about? Did they really think we needed to be told that people moving at one mph wasn’t live footage? Then again for those of us watching Shinton and Rafferty at the time it wasn’t always that easy to tell.
So why do people bother with Newcastle?
Is it for the chance to watch a team win a trophy? Well obviously not. Deep down, we all know that’s not going to happen because somewhere on an ancient scroll, it is written that Newcastle shall forever be barren of silver.
Is it for the chance to be with like-minded friends, dancing and singing your heart out? Well, in theory yes but in 2016 the authorities would prefer that you to sit still, shut up and eat your burger.
Is it therefore for the guaranteed entertainment on show? Well no, because the beauty of football is its unpredictability. You don’t know what you are going to get, whether it be a dire totally undeserved win at Bournemouth, or a totally undeserved defeat against Arsenal
So why do 50,000 in the ground and tens of thousands in the pubs still bother with Newcastle United?
Well how about January 12th 2016; Gallowgate End, 90th Minute, Paul Dummett.
The sheer elation of the moment that makes a noise come out of you that isn’t human, along with a facial expression that belongs in a Lake District gurning competition.
That’s why. And as long as moments like that come along, there still might be hope.
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