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That there is a random sentence, used to verify my blog as a real blog.
Wednesday 15 December 2010
Tuesday 25 May 2010
Get behind the lads
"We've got to get behind this team," says the latest numbskull caller to TalkSport, a radio station that knows its audience (the thick) and plays to them beautifully. The caller, let's call him Terry, is angry that he heard someone on TalkSport criticise the England football team's performance in their 3-1 win over Mexico.
"It made me feel rubbish," he explains, before adding his 'get behind the lads' rhetoric.
Apparently, with the World Cup coming up, it is the duty of everyone in England to 'get behind' the England football team. I do not know what this entails, but I suspect it involves car flags, Stella Artois and joining facebook groups called "IF U DONT LIKE R COUNTRY AND IT'S FLAG THEN GO BACK WERE U COME FROM!1!!!!1!1!111!"
Even if getting behind the lads just involves watching the games on TV and cheering, I fail to see how that can make any difference to the team's chances of success.
Will Steven Gerrard have a better chance of slotting home a winning penalty if Gary Brown from Cheltenham has put up a Daily Mirror World Cup Wallchart in his bedroom?
But dipsticks like Terry are encouraged to share their views, because it's cheap radio. Get two presenters to argue for conflicting sides of an argument, then invite listeners to call in and call one of them a muppet.
It's not just TalkSport, either. BBC FiveLive's 606 phone-in is just as bad. Two or three times a week, the airwaves are opened to the nation's plumbers, students, accountants and sales assistants to explain exactly why they are more knowledgeable about football than the previous caller - and quite frequently than Champions League-winning managers. Why should we care what Joe Public thinks of Theo Walcott's development, or Rafa Benitez's transfer policy - in fact, why should we care what a retired footballer or broadsheet journalist makes of such subjects?
I blame Sky Sports. Remember when Sky first started covering the Premier League, with Richard Keys and his hairy hands filling hours of airtime with the help of Andy Gray and some fridge magnets? The technology has moved on, but the waffle remains. Now there's live football on the TV or radio almost every day of the week - and between the games, the broadcasters struggle to fill time with talking heads, analysis, rumours and round-ups.
The fans no longer go to matches. Instead they watch on their enormous HD-ready TVs, or go to the pub (in their chosen team's shirt, obviously, cos they have to get behind the lads) where they can tell each other exactly where Arsene Wenger is going wrong.
And this is the only version of football today's kids know. When they come to choosing their team, it won't be their local League Two club, it'll be the most successful or attractive team they see on TV. And it might not even be Manchester United, Liverpool or Chelsea. There's just as good a chance of a young English kid choosing to follow Real Madrid, or Bayern Munich, or Milan. Football has become a TV soap opera - and where does that leave the Hartlepools and Yeovils of this world?
I like football. I really do. I like to play it, I like to watch it and listen to it. Clearly I also listen to the phone-ins, because they're so darned addictive. But I don't subscribe to the over-analysis of every incident. Sure, show us a replay of the goals, fouls and near misses, but lets not keep banging on about it.
Let's just try to enjoy watching the football, shall we?
And for goodness sake, get behind the lads.
"It made me feel rubbish," he explains, before adding his 'get behind the lads' rhetoric.
Apparently, with the World Cup coming up, it is the duty of everyone in England to 'get behind' the England football team. I do not know what this entails, but I suspect it involves car flags, Stella Artois and joining facebook groups called "IF U DONT LIKE R COUNTRY AND IT'S FLAG THEN GO BACK WERE U COME FROM!1!!!!1!1!111!"
Even if getting behind the lads just involves watching the games on TV and cheering, I fail to see how that can make any difference to the team's chances of success.
Will Steven Gerrard have a better chance of slotting home a winning penalty if Gary Brown from Cheltenham has put up a Daily Mirror World Cup Wallchart in his bedroom?
But dipsticks like Terry are encouraged to share their views, because it's cheap radio. Get two presenters to argue for conflicting sides of an argument, then invite listeners to call in and call one of them a muppet.
It's not just TalkSport, either. BBC FiveLive's 606 phone-in is just as bad. Two or three times a week, the airwaves are opened to the nation's plumbers, students, accountants and sales assistants to explain exactly why they are more knowledgeable about football than the previous caller - and quite frequently than Champions League-winning managers. Why should we care what Joe Public thinks of Theo Walcott's development, or Rafa Benitez's transfer policy - in fact, why should we care what a retired footballer or broadsheet journalist makes of such subjects?
I blame Sky Sports. Remember when Sky first started covering the Premier League, with Richard Keys and his hairy hands filling hours of airtime with the help of Andy Gray and some fridge magnets? The technology has moved on, but the waffle remains. Now there's live football on the TV or radio almost every day of the week - and between the games, the broadcasters struggle to fill time with talking heads, analysis, rumours and round-ups.
The fans no longer go to matches. Instead they watch on their enormous HD-ready TVs, or go to the pub (in their chosen team's shirt, obviously, cos they have to get behind the lads) where they can tell each other exactly where Arsene Wenger is going wrong.
And this is the only version of football today's kids know. When they come to choosing their team, it won't be their local League Two club, it'll be the most successful or attractive team they see on TV. And it might not even be Manchester United, Liverpool or Chelsea. There's just as good a chance of a young English kid choosing to follow Real Madrid, or Bayern Munich, or Milan. Football has become a TV soap opera - and where does that leave the Hartlepools and Yeovils of this world?
I like football. I really do. I like to play it, I like to watch it and listen to it. Clearly I also listen to the phone-ins, because they're so darned addictive. But I don't subscribe to the over-analysis of every incident. Sure, show us a replay of the goals, fouls and near misses, but lets not keep banging on about it.
Let's just try to enjoy watching the football, shall we?
And for goodness sake, get behind the lads.
Thursday 29 November 2007
Utilising your web solutions for maximum community through-put
There's a lot to be said for communities building their own visions of what a community should be. Visions of communities are of key value in the interthrust between content and funnel.
Take Rick Schaeffer, who puts forward a very incisive and interesting theory on brand management in a web 2.0.4 world.
"The way they call hogs is they say, 'Sooie sooie sooie sooie, pig pig pig pig pig,' " Schaeffer explained. "Why hogs are attracted to the word sooie, I do not know."
As you can see, if you're not 'the hog' you're the 'word sooie' and no-one wants that in such a fast-changing world.
A book I urge you all to read is the excellent Everyone Poops. The author, Taro Gomi hits the nail right on the head when he states 'Everyone Poops' because, as the world is slowly coming to realise, everyone poops.
By harnessing this belief and capitalising on the synergy, communities can take brands and brands can take communities and they can all fuck right off. The cunts.
Take Rick Schaeffer, who puts forward a very incisive and interesting theory on brand management in a web 2.0.4 world.
"The way they call hogs is they say, 'Sooie sooie sooie sooie, pig pig pig pig pig,' " Schaeffer explained. "Why hogs are attracted to the word sooie, I do not know."
As you can see, if you're not 'the hog' you're the 'word sooie' and no-one wants that in such a fast-changing world.
A book I urge you all to read is the excellent Everyone Poops. The author, Taro Gomi hits the nail right on the head when he states 'Everyone Poops' because, as the world is slowly coming to realise, everyone poops.
By harnessing this belief and capitalising on the synergy, communities can take brands and brands can take communities and they can all fuck right off. The cunts.
Friday 26 October 2007
What the fuck are you looking at?
When I were a lad, a blog was called a diary. And they were rubbish.
Of course, the idea of reading someone's secret diary was a thrill - you'd find out their darkest thoughts and hidden desires. Every page would probably have your name written on in blood, such was this girl's infatuation with you.
Buy anyone who ever read someone else's diary will tell you it's actually as dull as fuck.
Instead of wanton passion, you get such gems as: "Had my tea. Findus Crispy Pancakes again. Beef." or "Brother Beyond were on Going Live this morning. They are so skill."
And blogs are no different. You either get some fuckwit who can't go a sentence without a LOL!, a bird who thinks she's deep because she posts black and white photos of her half-eaten meals and indulges in sixth-form philosophy about the relationships in her life, or you get blogs about blogging - fuck it, I'm boring myself just thinking about them. Let's just say that if all the bloggers knew half as much about the regurgitated bullshit they're spouting then they'd be too rich and rolling around in gold-plated whores to waste their employers' time updating their seldom-read blog.
And my blog will be no different. I'll probably never update it, but that doesn't matter, because no cunt'll read it. Why the fuck would they? Who gives a shit about this stream of piffle I've just written while waiting for a frozen pizza to cook?
So why am I blogging? Why am I talking to an audience that doesn't exist? Well, it's because I've been told that blogging is 'the most important skill I'll learn this century'.
Big fuck-off claim that one. Already this century I've learned to care for a newborn baby - but this torrent of twaddle is clearly far more important. I should have let her starve in her own faeces according to those in the know. I was going to take a CPR class next week, but fuck that shit, I'm a blogger now. Next time I come across a pensioner impaled on a railing, I'll give them my URL and tell them about the latest self-congratulatory webwank book I've just read.
Now fuck off and get on with your work.
Of course, the idea of reading someone's secret diary was a thrill - you'd find out their darkest thoughts and hidden desires. Every page would probably have your name written on in blood, such was this girl's infatuation with you.
Buy anyone who ever read someone else's diary will tell you it's actually as dull as fuck.
Instead of wanton passion, you get such gems as: "Had my tea. Findus Crispy Pancakes again. Beef." or "Brother Beyond were on Going Live this morning. They are so skill."
And blogs are no different. You either get some fuckwit who can't go a sentence without a LOL!, a bird who thinks she's deep because she posts black and white photos of her half-eaten meals and indulges in sixth-form philosophy about the relationships in her life, or you get blogs about blogging - fuck it, I'm boring myself just thinking about them. Let's just say that if all the bloggers knew half as much about the regurgitated bullshit they're spouting then they'd be too rich and rolling around in gold-plated whores to waste their employers' time updating their seldom-read blog.
And my blog will be no different. I'll probably never update it, but that doesn't matter, because no cunt'll read it. Why the fuck would they? Who gives a shit about this stream of piffle I've just written while waiting for a frozen pizza to cook?
So why am I blogging? Why am I talking to an audience that doesn't exist? Well, it's because I've been told that blogging is 'the most important skill I'll learn this century'.
Big fuck-off claim that one. Already this century I've learned to care for a newborn baby - but this torrent of twaddle is clearly far more important. I should have let her starve in her own faeces according to those in the know. I was going to take a CPR class next week, but fuck that shit, I'm a blogger now. Next time I come across a pensioner impaled on a railing, I'll give them my URL and tell them about the latest self-congratulatory webwank book I've just read.
Now fuck off and get on with your work.
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