Here's an article from today's Guardian that's good for a laugh. However, coming on top of the Tevez/Mascherano farce, the farce that is Chelsea, the bung enquiry and more and more Premiership clubs being bought by corrupt foreign businessmen, it's actually food for thought. Money and hype really are destroying the game.
Is Grand Slam Sunday too exciting?
Barney Ronay, The Guardian, Saturday September 16, 2006
It's almost time for Grand Slam Sunday on Sky Sports. I know this because all week an excitingly chunky GRAND SLAM SUNDAY graphic has been popping up on my TV screen accompanied by the words: "Don't forget! It's Grand Slam Sunday!" Why grand slam? Because all four "majors" are in action: Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool and Manchester United. And it really is very exciting. When Richard Keys looked straight into camera on Wednesday night, eyes moist with a kind of glee that can only be described as sensual, and said "Don't forget! It's Grand Slam Sunday!", something primal stirred within me. Could this be the most exciting day in the most exciting league on the most exciting TV channel and, by extension, the most exciting occasion not just in the history of civilisation but in any humanly imaginable future? Quite possibly, yes. Which is all very well - but is it dangerous?
Levels of excitement this high can often stray into something sinister. The Victorians would often talk of elderly relatives suffering from excitement or "enthusiasms" shortly before locking them up in a draughty sanatorium; as in, "Mother has been terribly excited of late - she talks of nothing but fairies, strange mists and Andy Gray shouting 'You just do not save those - take a bow, son!'" It's definitely contagious, too. This week, just imagining how loud the Sky Sports "whoosh" noises are going to be when a graphic appears on screen, or a replay is queued up, I began to hear my own whooshing noises. Pour milk into bowl - whoosh! Leave house - whoosh! Go back for umbrella, barking shin on chair leg in haste - whoosh!
Asked to give an opinion on anything at all I imagined myself answering in a fast-edited montage, with shots of a moody Jose Mourinho, Rio Ferdinand jumping on my back, and Arsène Wenger shaking my hand as I say, "No, I don't think it is going to rain after all."
There may be another side to all this. Some observers of the Grand Slam Sunday phenomenon have suggested it may be possible for something to be so exciting that it becomes, in practice, really boring instead. In which case, what are we to make of all this apparent excitement, not least among Keys and his fellow Sky presenters? How do you tell if something is actually exciting, or if the people excited by it are just excited by their own excitement at being so excited, like a bunch of giggly six-year-olds who keep saying the word "cheese" until it becomes the most hilarious thing since somebody kept saying the word "orange" last week.
Most likely, rather than the dangerous force of nature it might appear, the excitement surrounding Grand Slam Sunday is willed excitement, like the willed high spirits of a bunch of Americans shouting "Whoo!" and "Get in the hole!" at each other until they're convinced they must be having a good time. Peer pressure is at work here. The excellent Martin Tyler, ringmaster for the occasion, was almost demoted last season for not sounding constantly excited enough, although he has since remembered to shout "DROGBA!" a lot more.
On reflection, Grand Slam Sunday is possibly not the threat to public health it seems at first glance. But just to be on the safe side, here's hoping for a couple of 0-0 draws.
Barney Ronay, The Guardian, Saturday September 16, 2006
It's almost time for Grand Slam Sunday on Sky Sports. I know this because all week an excitingly chunky GRAND SLAM SUNDAY graphic has been popping up on my TV screen accompanied by the words: "Don't forget! It's Grand Slam Sunday!" Why grand slam? Because all four "majors" are in action: Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool and Manchester United. And it really is very exciting. When Richard Keys looked straight into camera on Wednesday night, eyes moist with a kind of glee that can only be described as sensual, and said "Don't forget! It's Grand Slam Sunday!", something primal stirred within me. Could this be the most exciting day in the most exciting league on the most exciting TV channel and, by extension, the most exciting occasion not just in the history of civilisation but in any humanly imaginable future? Quite possibly, yes. Which is all very well - but is it dangerous?
Levels of excitement this high can often stray into something sinister. The Victorians would often talk of elderly relatives suffering from excitement or "enthusiasms" shortly before locking them up in a draughty sanatorium; as in, "Mother has been terribly excited of late - she talks of nothing but fairies, strange mists and Andy Gray shouting 'You just do not save those - take a bow, son!'" It's definitely contagious, too. This week, just imagining how loud the Sky Sports "whoosh" noises are going to be when a graphic appears on screen, or a replay is queued up, I began to hear my own whooshing noises. Pour milk into bowl - whoosh! Leave house - whoosh! Go back for umbrella, barking shin on chair leg in haste - whoosh!
Asked to give an opinion on anything at all I imagined myself answering in a fast-edited montage, with shots of a moody Jose Mourinho, Rio Ferdinand jumping on my back, and Arsène Wenger shaking my hand as I say, "No, I don't think it is going to rain after all."
There may be another side to all this. Some observers of the Grand Slam Sunday phenomenon have suggested it may be possible for something to be so exciting that it becomes, in practice, really boring instead. In which case, what are we to make of all this apparent excitement, not least among Keys and his fellow Sky presenters? How do you tell if something is actually exciting, or if the people excited by it are just excited by their own excitement at being so excited, like a bunch of giggly six-year-olds who keep saying the word "cheese" until it becomes the most hilarious thing since somebody kept saying the word "orange" last week.
Most likely, rather than the dangerous force of nature it might appear, the excitement surrounding Grand Slam Sunday is willed excitement, like the willed high spirits of a bunch of Americans shouting "Whoo!" and "Get in the hole!" at each other until they're convinced they must be having a good time. Peer pressure is at work here. The excellent Martin Tyler, ringmaster for the occasion, was almost demoted last season for not sounding constantly excited enough, although he has since remembered to shout "DROGBA!" a lot more.
On reflection, Grand Slam Sunday is possibly not the threat to public health it seems at first glance. But just to be on the safe side, here's hoping for a couple of 0-0 draws.
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