I recently learnt that the three most popular sports in the
United Kingdom are football, rugby and tennis.
My first feeling was resentment to see that cricket was missing. This is
the country that introduced us to the game and watched us make it a national
obsession. How would you feel if the person who introduced you to smoking and
watched you climb to 20 cigarettes a day gave up the habit himself?
Then I read that these were the three most popular sports that
Brits view, not play. For example, 46% watch football but only 10% play it. 18%
watch tennis; only 3% play it. Resentment gave way to curiosity: what sports do
Brits actually participate in?
A week later I found the answer in an article by Toby
Melville in the New York Times. The top three sports that Brits participate in are:
“complaining, expecting the worst and cursing the authorities”. When asked what
they feel about the Olympics, Mr Melville reported that Brits “gave answers that
included bitter laughter; the words ‘fiasco’, ‘disaster’ and ‘police state’;
and detailed explanations of how they usually get to work, how that is no
longer possible and how very unhappy that makes them.”
My English friend Henry Smith always whinges about the
weather: I thought it was because it’s always raining or drizzling in London
when I speak to him. But on reading Mr Melville’s article, I remembered meeting
Henry once on a bright, sunny April day; the sky was clear, the air was crisp
and cool and, even in the heart of the metropolis, we could hear the chirping
of birds.
“Hi Henry!” I cried, “Glorious day, isn’t it?”
“It is sunny now, I suppose,” he admitted with a scowl, “but
the forecast for tomorrow is thunderstorms in the afternoon. And this is after
three rotten days of rain last week! On Tuesday, I was trying to…”
Squinting in the afternoon sun, he described the
inconveniences caused by last week’s wet weather.
I contacted Henry on Skype the evening I read the article.
“Hi Paddy,” he said with a morose sigh.
“How’s things?” I asked.
“Rotten,” he said, “It has been drizzling since Monday. But
you know what’s worse? The blessed Olympics. It’s terrible. A full-scale bloody
disaster. A pain in the backside.” Then
he suddenly changed the topic. “Has anyone locked you in your basement, thrown
a party in your house and completely messed up your living room?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, that’s what’s happening here with the Olympics. I get
all the hassles but none of the benefits. Transport is in shambles: subway
plans are an utter chaos and the bus services are in absolute disarray. But if
my journey is delayed by the Olympics, I can’t reclaim the cost. And there has
been construction everywhere for months. But could I get the benefit of
employment in construction? No! All those construction jobs were taken up by Lithuanians,
Romanians and Czechs. And could my business benefit? No! I can’t promote my
products tied to the wonderful Olympics: I could be prosecuted and fined for
using the word ‘Olympics’. It’s like living in a police state.”
After a brief pause, he went on.
“And if it doesn’t stop raining during the Olympics, the nightmare
gets worse, because there is absolutely no contingency plan; the Olympic
Stadium has no roof! If I went to watch and it rained, I’d get bloody wet,
wouldn’t I?”
“Are you planning to go?” I asked.
“Of course not!” he said, “Do I look mad? I’ll never reach
there with the horrendous transport situation. The tube system…”
“Yes, yes, you told me,” I said, “Do you have a business
you’d like to promote with the Olympics?”
“No,” he said, puzzled, “You know I’m happy with my job in
market research.”
“Not thinking of moving into construction?” I asked.
“Of course not! I know nothing about construction.”
“And how do you get to work every day?”
“I drive. My office is just three miles from home in the
next suburb.”
“Then why do you say your life will be in a shambles during
the Olympics?” I asked.
“My God!” he cried, “Haven’t you been listening?! Let me
explain again. Firstly, the rain is expected to increase…”
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