It is 10.30pm on Saturday night and I am sat on the train heading back to Lausanne after an afternoon working in sunny Aarau – a small German-speaking city in the North-ish of Switzerland. Sunny and Northern are not two adjectives I have often used together too much in my lifetime, but strange things happen.
I am listening to a band called Daughtry and their album Break The Spell. It is one of my favourites right now along with Coldplay’s latest album. I stumbled across Daughtry by accident really – I heard one song of theirs on the radio, caught the name, and included it on my list to Santa, and Mr Claus produced the goods. Well, actually, it was Auntie Joan and Uncle George, and a great gift nonetheless.
Certainly one of the more random musical discoveries for me. I generally hear two or three tunes, and eventually buy an album. Unless it is Jon or Barry, our old friends, and it’s a no brainer. Play.com usually just send it without me having to click ‘buy’…so certain they are of the purchase. This one was a little more random, but a successful one.
It got me randomly thinking, what makes us like songs and bands? Now, I may perhaps be setting myself up for a few jokes with that comment. But genuinely, what makes you like a band or a song? Is it the tune? Is it the words? Is it the singer? Is it the title of the song? The voice?
It is not particularly easy to put one’s finger on it, and often it is a mixture of a few of them. For me, a large number of the songs I like and consider my favourites are because of the words. I have a couple of songs in my head these days with the words firmly imprinted in my mind and it is much to do with some of my thoughts recently. Analytical Bobby listens to the words of so many songs, and it is the reason why I grew to be a Barry fan. Those lyrics that I appreciate and associate myself with are often the ones that I prefer. I will not claim that to be the reason why I like Bon Jovi – that is more a style and a sound thing. I know, I know….leave it.
But before you start furiously scribbling on my Facebook wall and mocking me, I have another question for you. What is to say that what you hear through your ears is the same as what I hear? Do strawberries taste the same for you as they do me? What if Strawberries actually taste like Cabbage to you, but strawberries to me or vice versa? So nobody likes Mushrooms, that I accept and rightly so. But you get my point.
I guess that is what makes us all unique. The truth is, life would be very boring if we all liked the same thing. So if you like Mushrooms, then you’ll understand why I like Barry Manilow and Bon Jovi. You’re a bit weird too, but that’s fine, I won’t hold it against you!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Harm In No Trying
I posted an article on my Facebook wall this morning but decided this topic warrants a blog post. I've written before about the inherit risks and subsequent effects that athletes go through, ultimately for our entertainment. Sadly not all of the stories end happily as this one hopefully will.
On Saturday, we were in Madrid for my favourite Mexican's birthday. He's cracking on in years sadly, so its imperative we enjoy them with him. As my boys were playing against Sunderland in the FA Cup, I broke away from the group and found a good old fashioned Irish pub to watch the game. I couldn't persuade anybody else to come for some reason.
We drew after a fairly uninspiring game and I rejoined the group. As usual, I'll check my iphone and the scores, but it was a text message from my mum that drew my attention to the fact that Fabrice Muamba had collapsed. I followed it intently on my iphone....i would not like to guess what those updates cost in data roaming charges. For whatever reason, I could not shake it from my mind all weekend - Muamba rather than the roaming charges. Memories flooded back to me from when Marc Vivien Foe passed away and I heard about it at a Bon Jovi concert. When Antonio Puerta passed away in 2007 and Dani Jarque in 2009. For some reason, these deaths and the Muamba incident just leave me with this numb feeling that I cannot quite describe.
People die all the time, every minute. I am not a fan of death and I think it is overrated. I remember crying one day when I was about 10 years old begging my mum not to die. I had just worked out what it was all about. Mum classically reassured me she had plenty of years left in the tank, but everybody dies one day. It was some reassurance, but not the eternal one I was hoping for. I have come to terms with it as I have gotten older.
Naturally the passing of family, friends, and old acquaintances is sad. But something just seems to tie me to these athletes when something tragic happens like Fabrice Muamba collapsing last Saturday. All I could think about was this superbly strong and energetic midfielder that I saw at Goodison Park in March 2010 who I was seriously impressed with and can recall thinking as clear as day that I sat there thinking of how well Muamba would slot into our midfield.
Jarque and Puerta were two young Spanish footballers who I had watched, studied and analysed since they broke into the first teams at Espanyol and Sevilla respectively. I rated Jarque as a *** key defender, while Puerta was behind a talented Adriano at Sevilla, but his potential was there to see. Perhaps it was the fact I had followed them both, as part of my job, and seen their development, that attached me to them in some form.
I'll share a small quote from the doctor in the BBC article published this morning:
"Two hours after [regaining consciousness] I whispered in his ear, 'What's your name?' and he said, 'Fabrice Muamba'. I said, 'I hear you're a really good footballer' and he said, 'I try'.
And that is good enough for me. People trying. It's half the battle and sums up why this guy is miraculously hanging in there. It is a stark reminder of the risks that professional athletes go through, ultimately for our entertainment. I suspect all of those people in the stadium on Saturday afternoon shared a similar feeling to the one I experienced. Seeing tributes and well-wishing from all over the world for Muamba was heartening and after so often sitting in some pretty horrendous abuse at times, it was a timely reminder that maybe football fans are not so bad after all. Aside from the one chap who was arrested for racially abusing Muamba on Twitter on the Saturday evening. Maybe he needs to make more of an effort himself and try harder to be a better person.
On Saturday, we were in Madrid for my favourite Mexican's birthday. He's cracking on in years sadly, so its imperative we enjoy them with him. As my boys were playing against Sunderland in the FA Cup, I broke away from the group and found a good old fashioned Irish pub to watch the game. I couldn't persuade anybody else to come for some reason.
We drew after a fairly uninspiring game and I rejoined the group. As usual, I'll check my iphone and the scores, but it was a text message from my mum that drew my attention to the fact that Fabrice Muamba had collapsed. I followed it intently on my iphone....i would not like to guess what those updates cost in data roaming charges. For whatever reason, I could not shake it from my mind all weekend - Muamba rather than the roaming charges. Memories flooded back to me from when Marc Vivien Foe passed away and I heard about it at a Bon Jovi concert. When Antonio Puerta passed away in 2007 and Dani Jarque in 2009. For some reason, these deaths and the Muamba incident just leave me with this numb feeling that I cannot quite describe.
People die all the time, every minute. I am not a fan of death and I think it is overrated. I remember crying one day when I was about 10 years old begging my mum not to die. I had just worked out what it was all about. Mum classically reassured me she had plenty of years left in the tank, but everybody dies one day. It was some reassurance, but not the eternal one I was hoping for. I have come to terms with it as I have gotten older.
Naturally the passing of family, friends, and old acquaintances is sad. But something just seems to tie me to these athletes when something tragic happens like Fabrice Muamba collapsing last Saturday. All I could think about was this superbly strong and energetic midfielder that I saw at Goodison Park in March 2010 who I was seriously impressed with and can recall thinking as clear as day that I sat there thinking of how well Muamba would slot into our midfield.
Jarque and Puerta were two young Spanish footballers who I had watched, studied and analysed since they broke into the first teams at Espanyol and Sevilla respectively. I rated Jarque as a *** key defender, while Puerta was behind a talented Adriano at Sevilla, but his potential was there to see. Perhaps it was the fact I had followed them both, as part of my job, and seen their development, that attached me to them in some form.
I'll share a small quote from the doctor in the BBC article published this morning:
"Two hours after [regaining consciousness] I whispered in his ear, 'What's your name?' and he said, 'Fabrice Muamba'. I said, 'I hear you're a really good footballer' and he said, 'I try'.
And that is good enough for me. People trying. It's half the battle and sums up why this guy is miraculously hanging in there. It is a stark reminder of the risks that professional athletes go through, ultimately for our entertainment. I suspect all of those people in the stadium on Saturday afternoon shared a similar feeling to the one I experienced. Seeing tributes and well-wishing from all over the world for Muamba was heartening and after so often sitting in some pretty horrendous abuse at times, it was a timely reminder that maybe football fans are not so bad after all. Aside from the one chap who was arrested for racially abusing Muamba on Twitter on the Saturday evening. Maybe he needs to make more of an effort himself and try harder to be a better person.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Curing Manflu
I am not sure there is a value that can be put on providing a smile for somebody else, or being on the receiving end of something that makes you smile. Unless that is, you are a professional smile maker, or smiler, but I have yet to see that on anybody's CV. This week I have had a serious case of man flu – I’m fortunate I am living to tell the tale.
I have 5 smiles for you this week. A smile a day keeps the doctor away...or so I would like to think.
Monday
Was suffering from a severe dose of man flu and was in need of cheering up. I decided to go for a run....I am losing the battle with a certain Mexican compadre of mine to lose 10kg by May 1st, and I don't like losing. I went on my cheeky 5kg route and halfway through, a gran is pushing her grandson down the road in a pushchair, and the kid, who cannot have been more than two years old, stuck out his hand to give me a high five. Amazing. Smile achieved and the kid had no idea. Hopefully my tap put a smile on his face.
Tuesday
The one and only Suzanne Brodeur sent round an email with this link. I cannot fathom how it only has 65 or so hits, but this is legendary in my eyes! Video aside, SB is a sensational smile-maker....I have yet to meet anybody who has not smiled in her presence. I think she could be a cure for manflu.
Wednesday
HJ came home from Zambia.....despite suffering from a potentially terminal case of man flu, it put a smile on my face. As it always does and always will.
Thursday
Stuck on a plane for 5 hours for a ninety minute flight. Yet I was thoroughly charmed and entertained by the two 50+ year-old air hostesses who looked after us and did their utmost to keep us sane and smiling, when it was probably harder for them. The vodka and oranges also may have contributed to this.
Friday
Stuck in Heathrow Airport Terminal 5 for three additional hours – the fog strikes again. Thankfully, Wagamamas put a smile on my face and belly this time. I think I speak for a fair few people when I say this, but I can become a fraction impatient and restless when I am hungry. On the flipside, I’ll smile all day long after a good meal. So my beloved Sony Shop has been replaced by a London 2012 store – I guess that was the bad karma from yesterday’s blog. Still, I had a good lunch, so I’ll keep smiling.
5 big smiles in 5 days....enough to cure the most serious of potentially terminal manflu diseases.
I have 5 smiles for you this week. A smile a day keeps the doctor away...or so I would like to think.
Monday
Was suffering from a severe dose of man flu and was in need of cheering up. I decided to go for a run....I am losing the battle with a certain Mexican compadre of mine to lose 10kg by May 1st, and I don't like losing. I went on my cheeky 5kg route and halfway through, a gran is pushing her grandson down the road in a pushchair, and the kid, who cannot have been more than two years old, stuck out his hand to give me a high five. Amazing. Smile achieved and the kid had no idea. Hopefully my tap put a smile on his face.
Tuesday
The one and only Suzanne Brodeur sent round an email with this link. I cannot fathom how it only has 65 or so hits, but this is legendary in my eyes! Video aside, SB is a sensational smile-maker....I have yet to meet anybody who has not smiled in her presence. I think she could be a cure for manflu.
Wednesday
HJ came home from Zambia.....despite suffering from a potentially terminal case of man flu, it put a smile on my face. As it always does and always will.
Thursday
Stuck on a plane for 5 hours for a ninety minute flight. Yet I was thoroughly charmed and entertained by the two 50+ year-old air hostesses who looked after us and did their utmost to keep us sane and smiling, when it was probably harder for them. The vodka and oranges also may have contributed to this.
Friday
Stuck in Heathrow Airport Terminal 5 for three additional hours – the fog strikes again. Thankfully, Wagamamas put a smile on my face and belly this time. I think I speak for a fair few people when I say this, but I can become a fraction impatient and restless when I am hungry. On the flipside, I’ll smile all day long after a good meal. So my beloved Sony Shop has been replaced by a London 2012 store – I guess that was the bad karma from yesterday’s blog. Still, I had a good lunch, so I’ll keep smiling.
5 big smiles in 5 days....enough to cure the most serious of potentially terminal manflu diseases.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
London 2012
Call me miserable, pessimistic, grumpy…..Northern. The last few days have hit home to me that the Olympics in London this year may not be as great as people are imagining.
I am sat on a British Airways plane waiting to fly to London. Due to the fog in London, we are delayed two hours and they only knew this when we boarded the plane – not ideal. It is not just Easyjet that suffer delays – fog stops any airline, cheap or less cheap. I’ll give BA their due, they are providing drinks for people and the air hostesses have ipads with all our flight details on and are helping with rescheduling options for people missing connections. That’s the difference I guess.
Speaking of travel, my mum read a newspaper report claiming that a regular journey in London that takes one hour and a half, will take over three hours during the Olympics as they try to manage the flow of people. Awesome. I cannot wait for those tube journeys. Imagine going to see 9.6 seconds of the 100m final and travelling SEVEN hours there and back to watch it.
One of the biggest unions in the UK dished out a few threats this week about considering action during the Games. I witnessed the protests about the Games in Vancouver two years ago and I am sure that it has happened in other host countries before, but I cannot help but think there is an inevitability about some form of union action in the UK. The world is watching, we’re hosting the biggest sporting event in the world, and I just sense something like this is going to cause all kinds of unnecessary disruption.
Rewind to a couple of weeks ago and I am watching Derek Chisora slap Vitali Klitschko in a press conference, spit water on his brother before the fight, and then embark in one of the most ridiculous scraps post-fight with David Haye…..closing the battle with screams of ‘I’m going to kill you David’, and ‘I’m going to burn you David.’ Classy, very classy. Throw John Terry and Wayne Rooney and their antics in recent months in for good measure, and you have the cream of British sport disgracing themselves. They may not be participating in the Olympics, but it is not what I want to see when the spotlight will be on British athletes more than ever this year.
On the participation front, I vividly recall the struggles faced by Canadian athletes at the start of the Vancouver Games in dealing with the huge pressure on them with the whole country expecting. I imagine this is also the same for all host countries and their athletes – but let’s face it, if there is one thing British athletes are not good at, is dealing with pressure and expectation. A huge stereotype, but let’s see.
And there you have it. I warned you it was miserable, pessimistic and grumpy, and I didn’t even start scribbling about budgets. I hope I’m wrong.
I am sat on a British Airways plane waiting to fly to London. Due to the fog in London, we are delayed two hours and they only knew this when we boarded the plane – not ideal. It is not just Easyjet that suffer delays – fog stops any airline, cheap or less cheap. I’ll give BA their due, they are providing drinks for people and the air hostesses have ipads with all our flight details on and are helping with rescheduling options for people missing connections. That’s the difference I guess.
Speaking of travel, my mum read a newspaper report claiming that a regular journey in London that takes one hour and a half, will take over three hours during the Olympics as they try to manage the flow of people. Awesome. I cannot wait for those tube journeys. Imagine going to see 9.6 seconds of the 100m final and travelling SEVEN hours there and back to watch it.
One of the biggest unions in the UK dished out a few threats this week about considering action during the Games. I witnessed the protests about the Games in Vancouver two years ago and I am sure that it has happened in other host countries before, but I cannot help but think there is an inevitability about some form of union action in the UK. The world is watching, we’re hosting the biggest sporting event in the world, and I just sense something like this is going to cause all kinds of unnecessary disruption.
Rewind to a couple of weeks ago and I am watching Derek Chisora slap Vitali Klitschko in a press conference, spit water on his brother before the fight, and then embark in one of the most ridiculous scraps post-fight with David Haye…..closing the battle with screams of ‘I’m going to kill you David’, and ‘I’m going to burn you David.’ Classy, very classy. Throw John Terry and Wayne Rooney and their antics in recent months in for good measure, and you have the cream of British sport disgracing themselves. They may not be participating in the Olympics, but it is not what I want to see when the spotlight will be on British athletes more than ever this year.
On the participation front, I vividly recall the struggles faced by Canadian athletes at the start of the Vancouver Games in dealing with the huge pressure on them with the whole country expecting. I imagine this is also the same for all host countries and their athletes – but let’s face it, if there is one thing British athletes are not good at, is dealing with pressure and expectation. A huge stereotype, but let’s see.
And there you have it. I warned you it was miserable, pessimistic and grumpy, and I didn’t even start scribbling about budgets. I hope I’m wrong.
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