THE diarist has never grasped American football. And I was never that good with Roman numerals either. So trying to fathom out what Super Bowl LIII is had me scratching my head like Stan Laurel attempting to perform a surgical ventricular restoration on an ailing budgie. “It’s number 53,” said a clued-up colleague with the authority of Caligula counting up the writhing bodies at one of his more effervescent toga parties.
The NFL showpiece between the New England Patriots and the LA Rams takes place in Atlanta tomorrow night, which will no doubt lead to the diarist becoming embroiled in some eye-wateringly cumbersome conversations about wide receivers. And as for muffed punts? “I’ve been called worse,” chirped the sports editor before shuffling off to clean his hearing trumpet. The prolonged pantomime of the Super Bowl, which goes on longer than the Brexit negotiations, includes the ridiculous razzmatazz of the Pepsi Half-Time Show, a grotesque, over-the-top interlude which is still not as engrossing as the prize draw at Glebe Park.
Of course, readers will remember the stooshie that was whipped up in 2004 when Janet Jackson’s right breast popped out of her corset during a vigorous period of on-stage thrusting and gyrating with fellow performer, Justin Timberlake. The collective, horrified gasp of the American people mercifully blew it back in again. Or something like that. According to Timberlake, Jackson had suffered a “wardrobe malfunction”, an excuse the diarist often uses to temper the growing hostility that greets me when I waddle into the office with an exposed truss.
Despite it’s exhausting longevity, interminable pre-match build-up, relentless commercials and fatiguing post-event festivities, the average NFL game consists of just 11 minutes of actual play. At least it’s marginally more than Marvin Compper has managed at Celtic …
*YOU’RE taking the, er, pistachio. The diarist’s rugby writing cohort, Alasdair Reid, discovered these disgraceful scenes (pictured above) at Scotstoun the other weekend – the neatly discarded husks of pistachio nuts on the stand steps. The rugger lot can be a highfalutin crew. The post-match sweepers and cleaners at Murrayfield today will no doubt be cleansing the stadium of the remnants of swan sandwiches, fox and partridge skewers and tweed napkins. Tut tut.
*TRY me out? Arsenal’s Emirates Stadium will be one of 21 host venues for the Rugby League World Cup which is coming to England in 2021. It will be the first non-football match to be played at the 60,260-capacity stadium. Gunners fans watching some of the tripe served up as Arsene Wenger’s tenure petered out may question that particular statement, though . . .
*NAMESAKE nonsense. A quick squint at the leaderboard for stage one of the Staysure Tour’s q-school (pictured below) revealed a couple of intriguing qualifiers. Among the successful over-50 golfers was a certain John Inman and a Rafael Benitez. Given his increasingly ropey relationship with Mike Ashley at Newcastle United, it may be the real Rafa Benitez who is saying “I’m free” pretty soon . . .
*ONE hundred and eiiiiiightyyyy . . . And no, it’s not the weight darts colossus Andy Fordham tipped on the scales. The Viking celebrates his 57th birthday today, a pretty remarkable feat given that he endured the kind of health concerns that would’ve flattened a herd of bison. In his lager-swilling, 31-stone pomp, Fordham’s thirst was unquenchable. He had 62 bottles of Pils to celebrate his first wedding anniversary. “And a few spirits,” he noted. Aussie cricketer, David Boon, once claimed he himself drank 52 cans of beer on a long haul flight. “Yeah, I heard they were only small cans,” scoffed Fordham.
*IT’S political correctness gone mad. In these sensitive, jittery, you-can’t-say-or-do-that times in which we exist, it seems even winning a trophy in football is a no-no. Having watched his side slither out of two cup competitions within the space of a few days, Spurs boss Mauricio Pochettino shrugged off the disappointment by suggesting that a clump of one-off silverware is not that important. “That only builds your ego,” he said of cup glory. Given they’ve not won anything for 11 years, Spurs fans have probably forgotten what an ego is. They’ve probably forgotten how to stroke it too . . .
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