Regular sufferers of these weekly wafflings will appreciate that the diarist has always enjoyed a puerile titter, so it will come as no surprise at all that the furore over the flatulence at the flechettes has had me chortling away.
“Flechettes?” asked the head of sport with a raised eyebrow. “Aye, it’s French for darts,” I responded with authority. “And flatulence?,” added he who must be obeyed. “Sorry, it was the pea and ham soup,” I said with a guilty squirm.
“How dare you break wind in front of me,” came the enraged retort. “Apologies, I didn’t realise it was your turn,” I conceded.
The farts at the darts in Wolverhampton recently has certainly kicked up, well, a stink as Scotland’s Gary Anderson and Dutchman Wesley Harms blamed each other for making the oche smell like Noah’s Ark on a humid afternoon.
“If the boy [Anderson] thinks I’ve farted he’s 1010% wrong,” roared Harms amid the fog of this windy war.
Anderson responded with gusto – well, we think it was gusto – and was defiant in his denial. “It definitely came from table-side and it was eggs, rotten eggs, so that’s why I was thinking it was him, it definitely wasn’t me,” he said.
Back in the day, the American golfer, Tommy ‘Thunder’ Bolt, was fined $250 by the PGA Tour for, shall we say, regularly trumpeting his intestinal urges. The other year, Swedish fitba player Adam Lindin Ljungkvist was sent-off for his act of “deliberate provocation” when he let one rip on the pitch.
All this gas blowing got the diarist thinking of the great French fartiste, Joseph Pujol, who entertained the masses with a rasping repertoire which included La Marseillaise and an interpretation of the opening cannonade at the Battle of Austerlitz.
Le Petomane, as Pujol was known, had an enema before each show to ensure his performances were “odourless.” Suffering Dundee fans, meanwhile, have suggested the club’s players try that too as their displays remain eye-wateringly honkin’ …
*The World Chess Championships have been hammering along with all the sprightly pace of coastal erosion.
The diarist has been following affairs on a live online blog and was particularly intrigued by this sequence of moves: Kg2 e5 34. Rb4 f5 35. Rb6 Ke6 36. d7+ Kxd7 37. Rb5 Ke6 38. Rb6+ Kf7 39. Rb5 Kf6 40. Rb6+ Kg5 41. Rb5 Kf4 42. Rb4+ e4 43. fxe4 fxe4.
It looks just like the intricate scribblings on the tactics board of Dick Campbell.
*Back to the darts, and the PDC has agreed a new sponsorship deal with Ladbrokes. Financial fillips in sport come in many shapes and sizes, of course.
In the 1970s, John Surtees caused a mighty stooshie when the F1 team he ran had condom manufacturer Durex emblazoned on the car. The prudish BBC even refused to televise a race at Brands Hatch due to the, er, covering.
Not quite burning bridges, more burning rubber.
*The diarist extends his best wishes to the bold Billy Connolly who turns 76 today.
In the week that Scotland’s footballers staved off yet another crisis - for now at least - with wins over Albania and Israel in the Nations League, one is still reminded of the Big Yin’s old observation about the fortunes of the national team
“Scotland has the only football team in the world that does a lap of disgrace.”
*Talk about skating on thin ice. But forget curling. This was more of a bender it seems.
Canadian quartet Jamie Koe, Chris Schille, Ryan Fry and DJ Kidby were kicked out of the Red Deer Curling Classic for being “extremely drunk”.
Brooms were broken, profanities tumbled forth and there was some damage caused in the locker room as Fry, an Olympic gold medallist, and his drouthy colleagues went on a boozy bonspiel.
“It was unacceptable behaviour that nobody wants to watch or hear,” said an official at the event.
A curling skip is used to calling the shots, of course. But it seems Fry’s shots were nine tequilas, six sambukas and a few vodkas.
*An offer you can’t refuse? Or perhaps not. Fans of the Golden State Warriors basketball team in Oakland, California now have the opportunity to fork out $100 for the privilege of not actually attending a game.
The new ‘In The Building’ pass gets paying punters into the Oracle Arena but they don’t get a seat and can only watch affairs on the TVs outside the theatre of play.
It’s basically paying money to view the game at the pub. Apparently, fans of Scottish football’s basement club, Albion Rovers, are keeping a close eye on developments as they’d be more than happy to pay 100 quid not to attend a game these days.
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