Who has got the cure for the sit-at-home blues? Ask Dr Grabthar. Now with bigger, easier to read font!

Thursday, January 20, 2005

[José] Blogger Alienates Audience

Welcome to Grabthar's Hammer! It's a pleasure to have you here, just take off your shoes at the door and please don't touch the wall hangings. As indicated previously my personal nurse Hadyn will be using this space as a forum for American sports, specifically American football (or Gridiron as it's also called. Which term is more frequently used and therefore appropriate in causal conversation, Hade?).

As for myself I must admit a varying indifference towards sport in general (whittling being the exception). I have been known to watch a rugby game on the telly and, occasionally, a superbowl or two. But sport (televised or otherwise) was never really my thing. For the longest time I suspected my aversion to sport was the result of realising the inherent irony in flopping my morbidly obese body on a couch to watch athletic gods writhe in physical exertion, a concept which I can only appreciate in the abstract.

It was only during the America's Cup regatta of 2003 that I realised what sport was missing. As I watched Skipper Dean "Karloff" Barker watching his Cup hopes gurgle to the bottom of the ocean, it became clear why so often sport failed to arrest my attention: sport, I decided, does not make enough use of cannons.

If cannons were used to their full potential in the various sports codes of the world it would revolutionise the dynamics of human competition. America's Cup racing would no longer be the jaw-slackingly boring contest it currently is if each boat was armed with a compliment of six cannons. Instead of a competition that requires 3D computer graphics to entice the smallest spurts of excitement, we would have a titanic sea battle the climax of which would be the arousing image of a boat full of rich people sinking into the deep.

Imagine the defensive line of the Raiders forcing back the Buccaneers (their thematic enemies) with a broadside of cannon fire.

Close your eyes and muse on the sensual scenario of Kournikova lighting the fuse on a massive cannon at Wimbledon and firing a cast iron tennis ball the size of Rodney Hide's head into Capriati's face.

I think I've made my point.

So, no … yeah I won't be writing about sport. Rather I'll be continuing the fine blog tradition of pontificating about anything that takes my fancy. So expect grammatically interesting treatises on the sinister nature of perforated Salvation Army donation envelopes and several photo galleries depicting the history of French ceramics through the use of dioramas made solely from reject chupa chups.

In my next post I'll whack up some links to my various comic strips. Nice.

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