The Six Nations rugby tournament starts tonight. England playing Wales. Ooooooooohh. That’s a big one. Its World Cup year in rugby so this is a great little hors d’oeuvres to serve up to the starving nations. Although rugby players generally don’t look too malnourished. So a mini-feast of sport awaits us.

All started, last Sunday night (round here) by the Superbowl. The world’s biggest sporting event. According to Americans. The ‘football’ world cup final may have more viewers but it doesn’t have as many singers at half time. And not as many costume changes by those singers either. As Katy Perry managed to wear 3 different ‘things’ in a 12.5 minute break. At Spurs during the half time break, we may get Martin Chivers, or Pat Jennings, maybe Stevie Perryman, to come on and say a few words. No-one cares what they wear. And they rarely sing. And never change clothes. But that’s only because most matches aren’t televised live and no-one needs to worry about advertising rates dropping for those precious minutes. At $3million per minute, you can’t let attention from the screen lapse. Not for the gridiron fans the long queue for a cuppa tea and the longer queue to piss against the wall in a dingy ‘bog’ under the pitch.In the game itself one of the teams (big guys, crash helmets, tattoos) beat the other team (big guys, crash helmets, tattoos) by 28 to 24. The winning team was the New England Patriots who are led by Tom Brady, or ‘Mr Giselle Budchen’ for non-footballing aficionados. The other team were the Seattle Seahawks but no one cares because we don’t tolerate losers.

Could you call Christiano Ronaldo a ‘loser’? Well, the world player of the year (this is ‘real’ football now, by the way, not that silly padded-up one) turned 30 and as well as his CR7 range of underpants has further diversified and has given his tips for a healthier life. Or, as its known in vainer circles; a 6-pack like his. In yer fuckin’ dreams. I imagined something useful, life-affirming, holistic, like ‘wake up; do a thousand sit-ups; have breakfast, do another 1000. Watch tv whilst doing 2000 more. Eat lunch (salad), 1000 sit-ups. Speak portuguese, do 1000 sit-ups’. But it wasn’t even that good. It was vague and namby-pamby and possibly just got lost in the translation but it was all ‘eat well; healthy stuff’ and ‘get your mind in the place to help you exercise’ and ‘I really am much better than Messi’. Still he must start thinking about life after football. He’s getting old.

Tomorrow sees the actual biggest game in world sport. In my house anyway. Spurs play the Arsenal at the Lane. And there’s so much at stake. Like pride. And pride. And shame. And pride. This match has nothing to do with 4th place, 9th place or even Katy Perry in a stars-and-bars onesy. Its just about ‘bragging rights’. Well, for Spurs fans its about bragging rights, for Arsenal fans its about smugness rights. And if we lose (heaven forbid) I’m not going to work Monday. Nor tuesday, wednesday or the rest of February and half of March. Nor go to my coffee shop or anywhere else where I might be patronised or given the lecture of ‘the nature of football and the management of teams’. Because causing actual bodily harm is a crime, even against Gooners, and I don’t wish to go to prison.

Happy Friday

A xxxx