Bend It Like Bazza

There’s a million and one adjectives I would use to describe myself. I’m not shy….there’s plenty of good ones mixed in with the negatives ones. I’ll admit I’m massively weak at X, just as I’ll say I’m pretty good at Y. In fact, I’d rarely say it, unless I’m as comfortable as can be with you, but I consider myself to be a ruthless and objective self-assessor. I won’t punish or praise myself for too long, and I’ll move on. Of all the positive or negative adjectives I could possibly use about myself, I would not use naïve as being one of them.

Very little surprises me in life. Professionally, I’ve seen plenty and there’s little that shocks or stuns me, so being naïve about X, Y and Z hardly ever happens. Are sporting events at the highest level fixed? I have little doubt. The sport that you love and adore? I’ll say somewhere, somehow, it is fixed. It may be drugs, it may be match-fixing….could be anything. Waking up as a young pup in 1988 to the news that Ben Johnson was doping in Seoul just about ruined me. The worst you can imagine, I expect it and I’m rarely surprised.

So, let’s rewind to Junior Bobby. This boy was brought up on a certain old crooner that sang ballad after ballad on any of my lengthier road trips. Holidays weren’t too common back in the day and Auntie Joan and Uncle George used to ease the burden on my folks and take me and my stinky sister (it was World Sibling Day not so long ago and that is my tribute H – you’d be disappointed if any different!) to Primrose Valley for an awesome caravan stay. I loved them. The highlight of the road trips was the music and the singing to the one and only Barry Manilow.

Growing up, I’d frequently get stick for my appreciation for Bazza and that is fair. At all the various stages of my life, Barry and Bon Jovi have been ever-presents. Totally different artists, not everybody’s cup of tea, but that’s ok. In terms of my passion for the pair, I’d categorise Bon Jovi for the music and Barry more for the words. Many a time I’d listen carefully to the words of a Barry tune and just be fascinated at what a life he must have led. So much sentiment, so much charm, so much feeling. Not that it bloody worked for me with the women, but I always enjoyed the words as much as the music.

Fast forward to three weeks ago, when I’m googling ‘Barry Manilow tour’ to find out if he’s coming back to the UK and I can wangle some tickets for my mum. To my surprise, Old Bazza has only gotten married to his manager Garry Kief. Turns out, the entire family always thought he was gay, but I literally had zero inkling at all! I guess I was completely side-tracked by the beautiful words and crafted songs written about women to ever really give it any thought over the years.

Not that anything changes – my love for Barry will indeed be eternal. I may revisit various songs just to see if I did actually miss any clues in there of course. The biggest thing springing to my mind is the fact that it’s obviously been hidden (from me any way!) until his career is coming close to an end and he is 71 years-old. That’s sad to me, but I hope it’s not stopped him from having a bit of fun!

Maybe I have a naïve side after all.

The Hard Way To Know You're Still Alive

They say bad luck comes in threes. Hardly a pleasant proverb to think about when two bad things happen to you. It's complete rubbish of course. It is only when three bad things happen that it springs to your mind

A month or so ago I was chewing on a legendary liquorice torpedo and snap, Bobby's tooth and filling disintegrates. A couple of weeks later, my mother-in-law's tooth gave way. That's a long old journey just to get a darn tooth fixed. Then a week after that, my mum's tooth broke. Not a popular trend and I'll take the blame for it.

Unfortunately this theory becomes cyclical. Mum and Dad's boiler broke down, the printer ran out of ink, and mum's tooth broke. Three bits of bad luck, and the best part of a grand gone in a flash. A harsh few days, but it happens.

Breaking my tooth got me randomly thinking about the worst pain I have been through. I tend to look back on those moments fondly, strangely enough. If you can overcome severe pain, hardships, I think it stands you in good stead for what may lay ahead. That's not to say I encourage and embrace it, but it prepares you.

When I was a kid, I had a tooth abscess. That was as painful as they come. Toothache is miserable, wisdom teeth issues are not pleasant, and I've had them all. The abscess was a different ball game however. Having a needle pushed through your tooth twice a week for a couple of weeks, when you're 12 years old, was not my idea of fun in my prepubescent era.

Another fairly miserable one was these mysterious stomach seizures I had as a kid. Frequently over a period of six months, I was in agony and curled up in a ball screaming. Had various checks and tests at the doctors and turned out I was massively constipated. No kid in their right mind wanted to go to the toilet at my school and risk being pelted with soggy tissues and so on, so I just avoided it. Needless to say, the doc said I was full of shit and there was only one remedy for that!

Then a stack load of other injuries playing football, getting up to mischief, drunken mishaps. All of which lead to dislocations, sprains, cuts and breaks. Looking down at half of your finger pointing upwards is slightly surreal. Cracking it back in place then driving an hour to the hospital is even more so. But you take a deep breath, suck it up, and do what you have to do.

As everybody’s (for ‘everybody’s’ read ‘my’) favourite lyricist says: ‘Feeling pain’s a hard way to know you’re still alive.’ I could not have put it any better Barry. However, when he sung those magical words, he was referring to a psychological pain rather than the brutal nature of physical. I think both of those are true and I was reminded of it only a week last Thursday.

An early morning start at my laptop and a strong coffee was going well until my trusty old laptop decided to pack up and apparently go to laptop heaven. He suffered the physical pain I guess, but it was me that had to redo the work lost from that morning. I gave him the equivalent of laptop mouth-to-mouth and he has survived, but he is heading to the Knackers’ Yard.

Next up was our Swisscom box – our satellite box. He also decided to pack up and there was no saving this one. A tragic loss, but he lived a good and extremely full life recording football match after football match with the occasional Gossip Girl in between.

Two fairly painful pieces of bad luck in the same day, and those which border more on inconvenience and the hassle that goes with it, so I would bracket them in the psychological category. I should really have known what was coming when I played football that night when a beautiful driven shot connected with the post….the non-footballing type of post – if you catch my drift.

There is nothing worse than that sickening feeling in your stomach –not the needle through the tooth, not the stomach pains, nor the dislocation. Popping babies out doesn’t even come close I am certain as any man will testify. I have actually carried out a survey as to the extent of human pain. My Research said that pregnancy came in 3rd worst in the list of most painful ills, Man Flu came in 2nd, and a swift kick in the nuts topped the list. It must therefore be true.

They are all tests and they challenge us physically and mentally. Whether it is the broken tooth, losing the work on your laptop, or the boiler breaking down. Adversity and pain is a hard way to know we’re still alive, but it strengthens our resolve. It’s all about the bouncebackability and coping and surviving. Just consider it a reminder that whatever the pain, you are actually still alive.

Sleep is Overrated

As I sat in the O2 arena on Friday night, it crossed my mind for the first time that it may be time to seek help. We all do crazy and random things occasionally, some more than others, but it is often when we reflect on them, that we delve deeper into the reasons why we did them or why we do them.

Last week was a hectic week. Great fun, plenty of travel, a thousand laughs, the occasional uncomfortable moment or two, a bit of sun, a lot of rain, some new faces, some old faces. All combined make some great moments. Even the bad moments, they all contribute to memories. The secret is trying to have some great memories and trying to ensure the great ones outweigh the tough ones, and not letting the tough ones weigh more heavily on one’s mind than the ten amazing ones. So, when I was bent over a Toronto toilet last weekend, producing the goods from my stomach, it was not exactly a moment I hoped would stick in my memory for too long. Note to self: several beers and car rides are not a good combo for sensitive Bobby. They never have been and they never will. Walk Bobby, walk. Hardly a proud moment but we move on.

Fast forward to Friday night and I find myself sat in the fantastic O2 Arena in London watching an old favourite of mine. Barry and I go a long way back. Back to the old days when Auntie Joan and Uncle George used to take my sister and I on these great long road trips to Primrose Valley and Filey. Thankfully I had not been introduced to alcohol at that point, or my love for Barry may not have developed so positively.

Friday night was fantastic. There is absolutely nothing like singing at the top of your voice, no matter how bad a singer you are, and just not having a care in the world apart from that very moment. Whether it be in the O2, in the shower, or in the car, there is something very cleansing about it, even if it is Barry. So, to give you a taste of Barry, I strongly recommend you click here and enjoy this song – bare with me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5IifdSv9Gk

Rewinding back to midweek and I found myself in Barcelona. I have been to one Clasico before – Figo’s return in white. While this was not quite the best game I have ever seen, it was a fantastic occasion and what better way to get absolutely drenched in a downpour than to be sat in the Camp Nou enjoying one of the greatest teams in the history of football. That may seem like a slight exaggeration, but I cannot think there has ever been anything better than this Barca team, and this Lionel Messi and I doubt anybody could genuinely oppose that. My man of the match was Lassana Diarra – amazing display for Real, and I was amazed once again by the midfield duo of Iniesta and Xavi. Everybody talks about their play on the ball which is special, but their work rate as that of the team itself, is often underrated as they work so hard to win the ball back. A different world to the O2, but an absolute pleasure to watch. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIw-J60gsZM&feature=channel_video_title

Rewinding further back to Toronto and UFC 129 – the first ever Mixed Martial Art event in Ontario and 55,000 fans came out to visit – some further than others. An amazing event, even when one is struggling with a hangover. We visited the Expo on the Friday and enjoyed a fantastic Q&A with Dana White – the UFC president. Fans could ask a question to the Dana, followed by any request they would like, and Dana would do his best to make that come true. Requests ranged from tickets, to sitting with the ring girls, to putting the belt on the champion, and Dana did his utmost to make them reality. What sporting organisation or federation in the world does that? I am unaware of any and that is what puts the UFC at the top of the chain as far as interaction with their fans goes and many could learn from this. A slight contrast to Barca and Barry, but an absolutely fantastic event but for different reasons. The highlight of the event for me was the gutsiest display I have seen in a long time from Mark Hominick, who will now have more fans after this fight than he did prior to it. This one is neither for the feint hearted, nor those with a queasy stomach from a hangover but here goes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YROSBBBlDE4

I sincerely hope you watched all three videos. It will give you a clearer idea of why I was sat watching Barry on Friday night, wondering what exactly was wrong with me. Maybe there is a reasonable crossover of fans between football and UFC, but throwing Barry into the mix, in the space of a week, has psychologist written all over it. I guess we cannot help how we are, and how we are made up, and there is not always a reasonable explanation for any of it. Probably best just to enjoy it all, even the less glamorous moments in the bathroom, keep smiling and store the moments in the memory bank.