I would never willingly, knowingly, consciously, ‘watch’ an awards show. Not the Oscars, Grammys, Emmys, Dog-of-the-year show or even Footballer of the Year. Of which there seem to be about 9. The BBC one, the viewers one, the FA one…

It’s not that I’m opposed to ranking a group of peers on the merits of dubious criteria, or by some critically accepted body of work. Frankly, I couldn’t give a shit. But I just don’t like the format. Some smug Harry, or indeed Harriet, stands up and ‘compares’ a heap of nothing, often actually becoming the show itself, as Billy Crystal did at the Oscars for so many years. As Ricky Gervais did in such controversial style that no-one wanted to see who won ‘best actor in a semi-comedic, quasi-thriller part played by a person or persons of the contradictory gender’ because it interrupted the flow of the stand-up routine.

But last night after the news, as I was putting the sword to the last 2 clues on the Evening Standard crossword (the ‘easy’ one, obvs.), the FIFA World Football Magnificent Award Ceremony! For Magnificent Footballers came on. One minute it wasn’t, the next, it started. And Idris Elba took centre stage.

I love Idris Elba. Even though he’s not going to become the first slightly ethnic James Bond. He’s a great actor and a wonderful director. But a ‘stand-up’ he ain’t. Not that he didn’t really try to be funny. But that just made it worse. And for an actor who, presumably, learns lines for a living, whole speeches, soliloquies even, he really had trouble stringing his relatively straightforward sentences together.

But I forgave him because they kept showing goals being scored, saves being made, celebrations by French people and other ‘items of interest’. Everyone was there. Mbappe, Luka Modric, Zidane, fat Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Gareth Southgate, the Didiers, Drogba and Deschamps, everybody in football. And Dani Alves wife. OMG, Dani Alves wife.

When actors win awards they gush. They cry, they scream, they talk for 45 minutes about losing their virginity in high school, how their children’s love of cream cheese inspired their performance, all sorts of total bollocks.

When footballers win prizes they do so as Robots-in-a-second-language. “I’d like to tank my tim, my man-ger, my vife and my kids for dis ting wot you give me. Good bye night.”

It was embarrassing. It was cringe-worthy. All these fantastic, esteemed superstars, revered and worshipped, and none of them have anything to say. All held together by Idris, who had loads to say but stumbled over the words whilst saying it.

Even Gareth Bale’s overhead kick couldn’t keep me watching.

Tank you and good day-night-time.

A xxxx