I accidentally watched the Boat Race today. I was at my mum's house with a few minutes to kill while I waited for her to bring me a giant plateful of curry, and when I turned the telly on, there it was. It was just starting. I used to watch it when I was younger, but in those days I'd watch anything.
I thought it would be quite boring, but it was actually very engrossing, because the teams seemed to be very evenly matched. Then about 10 minutes in, some bloody idiot swam in front of the boats, and only the quick intervention of the umpires, in particular the reserve umpire Matthew Pinsent, stopped the idiot from getting his stupid head cut off. It was more consideration that he deserved.
In order to avoid slicing the guy's head off, the teams had to stop rowing, and then they had to wait another half an hour before they could restart the race. The idiot went off to be arrested, smiling to himself.
Seven months it takes to train for the Boat Race. Seven months of getting up at dawn, and training and practising, and dedication, and self-discipline, and self-denial. And it was all ruined in a few seconds.
Immediately after the eventual restart of the race, Oxford got the end of one of their oars knocked off, and the race was effectively over. Shame they didn't lose it in the guy's head half an hour earlier.
It was all unsatisfactory. Disappointing, and sad. The losers were distraught, one of them, completely spent with the effort of trying to make up for the missing oarsman, was unconscious and needed urgent medical attention. And the winners were subdued. There was no presentation. No-one felt like celebrating.
And hopping around, on the quayside, with ants in her pants, was Clare Balding. Doing that sports presenter thing of trying to make everything sound exciting, and better than it is, and getting reaction, and all that jazz. It's been extra-ordinary, dramatic, unprecedented, she said. I've run out of superlatives, she said.
The thing was, the occasion didn't need superlatives, it didn't need audio description, I wasn't sitting there with a blindfold on. This was TV, not radio. Everything that you needed to know could be seen, it didn't need spelling out to us like we were 5 year olds. It was quite apparent that the Oxford team, especially the female cox, were absolutely distraught. It was pretty clear that all these people, who had given so much in preparation for this day, were just trying to deal with what had happened, in the best way they could, and shoving a microphone up their nose, and asking them for their 'reaction' and for the 'latest' didn't do anyone any favours.
She kept interviewing people, in that excited 'I'm a little puppy, please like me' way that she has, and at one point she segued clumsily from telling us about the 12 stone Oxford rower who was now unconscious, who was the lightest guy in the race, to the 17 stone Cambridge fella, who was the heaviest. The interview with the 17 stone giant was made more comical, because she was at the bottom of some steps, and he was at the top, so it was like watching Gulliver's Travels.
Everyone she interviewed was polite, and tried to make sense of it all, even though it didn't really make any sense, and Matthew Pinsent pointed out, with as much disappointed dignity as he could,. that underneath everything that had happened, it had been a really good race. Yes, Matthew, shame it won't be remembered for that first 10 minutes, when it was.
The whole occasion was like a wake, and watching Clare do her thing, was like watching someone interview mourners at a funeral. 'Oh, look here's Uncle Charlie, he's the lightest of the mourners at 9 stone 7, what did you make of the cremation, Charlie?'. 'Excuse me a moment, Auntie Maude, can I have your reaction to the choice of 'My Heart Will Go On', for the musical accompaniment to the casket disappearing into the furnace?'. It was uncomfortable viewing.
I know that sports commentators and summarisers have got a job to do, but sometimes it feels like we're being treated like idiots. It's not necessary to keep telling us how amazing and memorable and unprecedented and unbelievable it all is. There's pictures. Now and again, why don't you just let the pictures tell the story?
Anyone looking at the pictures today could plainly see the suffering in the participants, the sadness and the crushing disappointment. Wouldn't it have been kinder, just to let them grieve in peace?
I thought it would be quite boring, but it was actually very engrossing, because the teams seemed to be very evenly matched. Then about 10 minutes in, some bloody idiot swam in front of the boats, and only the quick intervention of the umpires, in particular the reserve umpire Matthew Pinsent, stopped the idiot from getting his stupid head cut off. It was more consideration that he deserved.
In order to avoid slicing the guy's head off, the teams had to stop rowing, and then they had to wait another half an hour before they could restart the race. The idiot went off to be arrested, smiling to himself.
Seven months it takes to train for the Boat Race. Seven months of getting up at dawn, and training and practising, and dedication, and self-discipline, and self-denial. And it was all ruined in a few seconds.
Immediately after the eventual restart of the race, Oxford got the end of one of their oars knocked off, and the race was effectively over. Shame they didn't lose it in the guy's head half an hour earlier.
It was all unsatisfactory. Disappointing, and sad. The losers were distraught, one of them, completely spent with the effort of trying to make up for the missing oarsman, was unconscious and needed urgent medical attention. And the winners were subdued. There was no presentation. No-one felt like celebrating.
And hopping around, on the quayside, with ants in her pants, was Clare Balding. Doing that sports presenter thing of trying to make everything sound exciting, and better than it is, and getting reaction, and all that jazz. It's been extra-ordinary, dramatic, unprecedented, she said. I've run out of superlatives, she said.
The thing was, the occasion didn't need superlatives, it didn't need audio description, I wasn't sitting there with a blindfold on. This was TV, not radio. Everything that you needed to know could be seen, it didn't need spelling out to us like we were 5 year olds. It was quite apparent that the Oxford team, especially the female cox, were absolutely distraught. It was pretty clear that all these people, who had given so much in preparation for this day, were just trying to deal with what had happened, in the best way they could, and shoving a microphone up their nose, and asking them for their 'reaction' and for the 'latest' didn't do anyone any favours.
She kept interviewing people, in that excited 'I'm a little puppy, please like me' way that she has, and at one point she segued clumsily from telling us about the 12 stone Oxford rower who was now unconscious, who was the lightest guy in the race, to the 17 stone Cambridge fella, who was the heaviest. The interview with the 17 stone giant was made more comical, because she was at the bottom of some steps, and he was at the top, so it was like watching Gulliver's Travels.
Everyone she interviewed was polite, and tried to make sense of it all, even though it didn't really make any sense, and Matthew Pinsent pointed out, with as much disappointed dignity as he could,. that underneath everything that had happened, it had been a really good race. Yes, Matthew, shame it won't be remembered for that first 10 minutes, when it was.
The whole occasion was like a wake, and watching Clare do her thing, was like watching someone interview mourners at a funeral. 'Oh, look here's Uncle Charlie, he's the lightest of the mourners at 9 stone 7, what did you make of the cremation, Charlie?'. 'Excuse me a moment, Auntie Maude, can I have your reaction to the choice of 'My Heart Will Go On', for the musical accompaniment to the casket disappearing into the furnace?'. It was uncomfortable viewing.
I know that sports commentators and summarisers have got a job to do, but sometimes it feels like we're being treated like idiots. It's not necessary to keep telling us how amazing and memorable and unprecedented and unbelievable it all is. There's pictures. Now and again, why don't you just let the pictures tell the story?
Anyone looking at the pictures today could plainly see the suffering in the participants, the sadness and the crushing disappointment. Wouldn't it have been kinder, just to let them grieve in peace?
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