Simo

What a fucker of a day. Marco Simoncelli was killed today in a horrific crash in the Malaysian MotoGP. The world needs people like Simoncelli. Very upsetting.

The symptoms of doomdom

Future historians will one day regress the origins of a Europe wide war to the weeks of June 2011 when thousands of Spaniards and Greeks took to the streets and squares of their respective capitals out of frustration and anger at the political corruption that had led their countries to the brink of bankruptcy.

Meanwhile during the same period in the UK, possibly because the mainstream media didn't want anyone to know what was actually happening on the continent in case everyone got the same idea here, everyone was focused instead entirely on the finals of Britain's Got Talent.

A talent show in the loosest possible terms where a kid who looks like a puppy in a syrup and was clearly cloned from another spooky Canadian kid was about win the opportunity of a lifetime to be appalling exploited by a sweaty Simon Cowell. The days when the sun never set on the Empire had never quite felt so long ago.

I'm disgusted at us. If millions and millions of people watched these shows out of a sense of irony, fully aware of how utterly offensively vacuous they are, I wouldn't lose quite so much sleep, but no. These shows have become genuinely important to people. People talk about them at work, on twitter, in queues. Everywhere. Seriously.

So while the European Union begins to break up, a monumental notion no less significant than the collapse of the Soviet Union, everyone in this country is distracted by someone juggling orphans and the news that amateur racist Cheryl Cole might be returning to judge the X-Factor.

We're doomed, we've given up then is what we're saying to ourselves. That's the general conclusion we can draw from these specific symptoms of doomdom. We're the national equivalent of a once beautiful but now fat divorcee who wears track suits all the time with custard stains down the front, smokes 100 cigarettes a day and feeds her seven kids crisps for tea before sending them out to make life a misery for anyone living within a five mile radius.

Call me presumptuous but I don't think Socialism has worked.

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Well if the country can ignore the nightmare that is so clearly approaching with all the inexorable velocity of an out of control Fiat Punto skidding sideways down an icy road towards a group of school children while the female behind the wheel applies her lipstick in her rear view mirror in complete ignorance of the terrified faces of the little cherubs she's about to skittle into a mass grave.

I myself will use the Concacaf Gold Cup which starts tomorrow to take my mind off the fact that we're all doomed and it's every man for himself.

Mexico as we all know are current Champions having given the US of States a 5-0 shellacking in the 2009 final. I see no reason why this can't happen again this year. It being held in 'merca will only add to the humiliation of the host nation as they are slaughtered once again.


Mexico play the might of El Salvador tomorrow night at Cowboys Stadium. The result will be a national embarrassment for El Salvador and many members of their team will never quite be the same again.

Elsewhere in the sporting world, my new MotoGP hero while Valentino Rossi sorts out how to ride his Ducati is Marco Simoncelli and his magic Euro hair-do. He looks remarkably like a 1970s Kevin Keegan in fact, only not quite so gay.

I fancy him to win his first MotoGP race tomorrow in the Catalunya GP. He's been threatening to win one of these things all season, but has up to now, preferred instead to fling himself off his machine or fling other people off theirs.

Marco is not the crowd favourite having destroyed poor little Dani Pedrosa's shoulder in the last race in Le Mans with an overtaking manouevre that required the breaking of up to nine laws of physics and as many racing regulations.

Fantastic stuff. Proper racing. None of this nancy boy F1 business where there's no racing allowed, only prancing about in Gucci sunglasses shouting ciao at the locals.

"I tell you what, I will LOVE IT,
love it if I win tomorrow."

Sunday gibberish

A bed similar to the one I got out of just now only without the strumpet lying
semi naked across it with wanton eyes and lovely boobies.

As we all know of course today is the Portuguese MotoGP and I myself enjoy this. I will watch it while eating Jelly Babies and I suggest you do too. The thing about it is, while F1 is for show ponies in Gucci shades who eat sushi and sleep on futons, MotoGP is actually racing for men.

Men. Chaps who would sooner staple their testicles to a dining room table than eat something that isn't bleeding. It's been four weeks since the last race as those silly Japanesers went and had most of the northern part of their country destroyed by God who was angry at them for all the alien schoolgirl cartoon rape porn they churn out over there.

The riders appear to have gone even more mental during this month long hiatus and have started arguing with each other just because it's something to do. This tension coupled with the unpredictable weather in Portugal and the enormous hair of Marco Simoncelli means controversy is afoot.

I have gotten out of bed early for this. Nap time will be postponed for a few hours. I will not however be watching Arsenal probably beat Manchester United as I have no more tears. Arsenal can only win when there's no pressure.

I will mostly be betting on Liverpool, Manchester City, Birmingham and Jorge Lorenzo to win the MotoGP race. And why not?

Jolly good show old man

I enjoy a good bit of needle in sports don't you? Here we have young Casey Stoner applauding Valentino Rossi for taking him out of the race with a somewhat aggressive over-taking manoeuvre.

Valentino of course won't give a shit as he's been doing that sort of thing his whole career and he's a nine times champion and has come as close as you can get really to being bigger than the sport.

To be fair and in real terms it was the marshals anyway who were at fault as they all rushed to help Valentino Rossi get back on his bike and totally ignored Stoner, which was funny or taking the piss depending on which camp you eat your beans.

Still, good stuff. I feel frustrating that Japan went and had an earthquake so we now have to wait for Portugal in a month's time for the next race by which time they may have calmed down a bit. Hopefully the racing media can keep the fire stoked until then.

MotoGP and crazy Eye-talians

As you know the MotoGP season begins today in Qatar. This is of course awesome. Our hero Valentino Rossi unfortunately only has one good shoulder at the moment so won't be competitive for a few weeks.

This means Casey Stoner, barring alien abductions, is a penalty kick for this GP so we shall be investing chunkily in him and supplementing this wager with a double bet on Chelsea to beat Manchester City today who have players who can't dress themselves.

The footage of Mario Balotelli struggling to put his bib on prior to the game against Dynamo Kiev in mid-week must be a goldmine of information for a sports psychologist. That few minutes sums up the player's personality and approach to the game perfectly.

He makes one or two attempts to put his bib on, fails and instead of persevering he just gives up and throws it away like a frustrated child, eventually someone has to do it for him. That is how he plays the game to a tee. Initially he is enthusiastic, but if after ten minutes he feels things aren't going his way, instead of sticking at it, he just gives up and eventually the team have to do his job for him.

I know footballers are selfish and ego-centric but he shows legitimate cause for psychiatric evaluation. He makes Narcissus seem quite humble.

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**Update

Having missed the game due to nap time, I was angered to see this headline
on the Telegraph home page, only to read on and discover it was a typo. Phew.