Published: 13 September, 2012
ON the “Super Saturday” night Mo Farah and Jessica Ennis won gold at the Olympics, crispface Gary Lineker did one of the winks he does and said something about how it was going to be hard to pick a winner of the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award this year.
Throughout the Olympics, the BBC kept dropping in the fact that SPOTY would be so cracking this year. Like that was the most important thing to it all. The obsession with the BBC’s end of the year prize (or the obsession everybody at the BBC thinks we have) borders on the vulgar. How can you split the achievements of Farah, Ennis, Wiggins et al?
Now there's Andy Murray too! SPOTY is of minor significance. This is proven by your inability – yes, you, reading this – to name the last 10 winners of it. No, you can’t. None of us can.
This apparent need to divide and compare is worrying and with it comes this endless Olympics vs football comparison. There was no need for everybody to make us feel guilty for liking football over the summer, as if we can’t enjoy the Olympics and football.
Every 2.3 seconds somebody said “I’ve gone off football” because the Olympics is better. This divide-and-rule approach means that when people babble about “Britain’s amazing year for sport” they almost completely forget that Chelsea won the Champions League because, in this new world, being interested in football is as bad for you as eating cake for breakfast every day.
I HEARD a delightful rumour this week. No, not that Richard Osley’s luggage was lost on the flight home from Majorca and he might have to appear semi-naked in this week’s column (sadly, just as I have more than one Tottenham scarf, he has another Arsenal shirt).
It was that Arsenal might be ready to pounce for... Didier Drogba. I know, it’s bonkers, but the Gunners are desperate and we all clutch at straws now and again. Heck, we even signed Gallas.
Now, I have to admit that I cannot abide watching The Drog. Yet I would love it, really love it, if he were to start rolling around football pitches across the country in Arsenal colours.
Eh? Let me explain.
In the old days I could joke about Arsenal in this column with passion because I couldn’t stand the sight of the so-called Invincibles, Henry, Keown, Lehmann et al.
They were irksome and smug and, most annoyingly of all, they were winners.
Sadly, today’s Arsenal team are bigger passion killers than John Terry’s over-the-knee socks.
Szczesny? I’ve eaten Nice biscuits that have stayed longer in the memory.
Giroud? Well, he just reminds me of David Bentley, who reminds us all of David Beckham, so he’ll never bring up the bile.
But Drogba? Now he is annoying on an Invincibles scale and, though I ought to be careful what I wish for, if Wenger is brave enough to pitch for him he might just make Arsenal worth railing against again.