keresaspa: (Giant Haystacks pissed as a frt!)
When I was but a boy and before Greg Dyke swung his malevolent axe I used to religiously watch the British wrestling on ITV every Saturday afternoon (World of Sport wrestling as it's invariably thought of as, although that particular show pre-dates my memory and it was the stand-alone show with "Yankee Doodle" as the theme tune that I watched). As a child one was expected to worship Big Daddy but I loathed the fat, lazy bastard with every fibre of my being. It wasn't just that his lazy, ultra-patriotic gimmick was offensive to somebody who had been raised in a nationalist/republican household (although that was a big part of it) it was that his bouts were so obviously fixed and that he buried every one of his opponents with the same old belly butt-reverse posting-splash three moves of doom. As an older man obviously I realise that wrestling is entirely fixed but Big Daddy's presence in retrospect looks even worse to me as I can now see that he was one of the single lamest workers in the history of the game (seriously, the Great Khali looks like the Great Sasuke compared to him), he completely destroyed the game by insisting that every possible contender had to job to him and had to do it quickly because he was far too broken down to work a proper match and he was only getting his push because his brother was the promoter and booker. It's no word of a lie to say that Big Daddy's presence killed British pro wrestling as a fixture on TV by stripping it of every shred of credibility and Dyke's decision to axe it was more than justified.

Still I WAS a child nevertheless and so I persevered. His nemesis Giant Haystacks (himself a really crap worker too, but never mind) became my number one but I generally rooted for those whom Daddy opposed as a matter of course. One particular tag team forced to lie down for the standard team of the big blubber-bucket and some talented young lad whose only role was to take a kicking whilst Crabtree stood on the ring apron fighting for a breath caught my eye and I made them my joint second favourites. One was my countryman the former Johnny Howard, wrestling as Rasputin and sporting wild hippy hair and beard whilst his partner was Scotland's Drew McDonald. Two great bears of men who nonetheless could still throw a few moves together without totally blowing up, they spoke volumes to a rather tall and beefy youngster for whom a career in professional wrestling was a given. Inevitably they got nowhere, sacrificed to Big Fatty a few times before the axe fell. The team seemed to drift, although McDonald in particular remained a mainstay of the TV-less British wrestling scene and soon after it was axed I even managed to see him in the flesh when a card made of top British talent, unknown Americans and PN News pitched up at the Ulster Hall.

And there he remained, plugging away to small crowds and for small money, sticking to his guns as a stalwart of the British wrestling scene as well as a trainer of the future generations. But no more. Given that Haystacks and Rasputin are both already dead, Drew McDonald was the last of my great childhood wrestling heroes still standing so I'm sorry to see the Highlander from Hell going. By all accounts a stand-up bloke too and a strong influence on a domestic wrestling scene that has finally more or less recovered from the shadow of Big Daddy and his belly. RIP the Spoiler, you were one of my icons as a kid.
keresaspa: (Percy Sugden)
It's convention that I recount in some detail the events surrounding any journeys I make for the entertainment of the reading none so I suppose I shouldn't break from that tradition following my recent excursion to the occupied territory of Scotland. So without further Apu:

Edinburgh and environs )
keresaspa: (Starry Plough)
It is fast becoming a tradition in Belfast that whenever some or other of our masters deign to put in an appearance the dissident republicans take to Black Mountain in order to set up a brief protest that will be visible to the whole of the city (presuming that the population of Belfast outside of the Falls is made up entirely of eagles and other birds of prey that is). Fair play to them as those setting up these statements will often run afoul of the loyalist inhabitants of Highfield and Lyndhurst and fisticuffs have often ensued although as yet I've heard nothing to suggest today's example ended with any claret being tapped. Either way however today's effort was certainly one of the more eye-catching examples:

Now it says more about the amount of time I've wasted watching cheesy wrestling programmes rather than reading the works of Pat Robertson and David Icke but I must confess my first thought on seeing the above was "I know Hogan and Nash were past masters at the backstage politics games but calling them war criminals is coming it a bit". But still, I suppose at least it makes something of a visible statement of defiance, even if it is one that the G8 leaders will struggle to see from some 90 miles away in Enniskillen. Perhaps something at the Lough Erne resort itself would have been more noticeable but I suppose that would be impossible, given that the dissident republicans are so riddled with informers that the security forces know when they took their last shites. Word of advice, chaps - if you're going to ape extreme right concepts like the New World Order have a wee duke at leaderless resistance while you're at it and maybe you will finally see an end to the constant round of arrests after every pointless graveyard rally.

But never mind eh? At least Saint Barack still loves us so we can all rest easily in our beds now.
keresaspa: (Edwige Fenech)
How much of a homophobe must somebody be to blow their own brains out in the middle of a cathedral because France is about to legalise gay marriage? No tears from me for Dominique Venner, the fascist historian who did just that. A doyen of the neo-fascist Nouvelle Droite tendency of the French extreme right, Venner was a member of the Organisation de l'armée secrète that launched attacks during Algeria's struggle for independence before becoming a big wheel in GRECE, a think tank that sought to unite Europe as a racist superstate and still has a big influence on the self-declared "intellectual" extreme right to this day, not least the National Front in Britain during its weirdo 80s period under Nick Griffin and his pals. Subsequently dropping out of active politics to become a revisionist historian his recent bugbears seemed to be gays and Muslims and seemingly the rights about to be afforded to the former proved a little too much for him. Poor diddums. Inevitably the ever so moderate Madame Le Pen was the first to rush to his praise like the good, gentle, compassionate conservative that she claims to be these days. The apple hasn't fell far from the tree there.

But enough about those rotters for something much more newsworthy happened today.

He was a four time holder of the European Middleweight Championship, with one British title and two British Welterweight titles to his name. He was one of the few British wrestlers to find his way into the prestigious Wrestling Observer Hall of Fame despite not competing on the American circuit. His rivalry with Jackie Pallo kept the fans interested for years before eventually spilling over into real life as his old school sensibilities were offended by Pallo's kayfabe breaking autobiography. Even long after his retirement he was a regular at independent wrestling shows up and down Britain, his presence lending credibility to any card on which he appeared. Not to mention that he possessed the blackest hair known to man well into his 80s and steadfastly continued to appear in public in just his trunks even when his physique went west. Yes if anybody summed up all that was good about the grand old days of the British scene (and thus was the antithesis of Big Daddy) it was Mick McManus who died today at the age of 93. A true legend of wrestling. Let's all enjoy him wrestling a long-dead Jimmy Savile lookalike.

keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
First Hugo and now this Good God what a week!

keresaspa: (Captain Mainwaring)
It's not always obvious from pictures, or even in person to be honest, but as a result of an accident with a glass door when I was learning to walk I am technically part of the facially disfigured minority. I'm no King Curtis Iaukea by any stretch of the imagination but there are at least two slices on my forehead. One of them is hardly noticeable due to age, as it has been more or less subsumed by a worry line, whilst the other is smaller but it is a straight up and down one and thus is not hidden by wrinkles. A third is slowly but surely emerging as the irresistible march of baldness continues to lay waste to my hairline. For whatever reason they all become more prominent in hot weather when the skin around them swells slightly and makes them appear that little bit deeper.

As I say they're nothing major at all but certainly they do contribute to people making judgements upon you. People are conditioned to see facial scars as a mark of danger and aggression and assume that the only way you can get them is from violence. Of course there are times when something giving you a bit of menace is a distinct advantage but there are other times when you are being perfectly nice and people still assume you are malevolent simply because of wounds you suffered years ago not healing properly. Nobody looks at a person with a missing fingertip or a limp or a gammy eye and thinks "what a bastard" but to some the very dint of having a facial scar makes one a dodgy son of a gun who you wouldn't want to bother with.

As such I am happy to big up the newly launched campaign against the portrayal of my deformed brethren in the cinema by Changing Faces. The stereotyping of the facially disfigured as evil by Hollywood is a tired cliché that reinforces negative assumptions about a group of people that have already suffered injury. Plenty of us hacked-up freaks are perfectly reasonable and nice human beings and there are plenty of bad slags out there amongst the perfectly visaged majority. Call off your tired old stereotypes and recognise my kind for the valuable contributions we make to society. Give me Gary Moore over Frank Iero any day of the week!
keresaspa: (Huffy beardy weirdy)
It's rare that Albion get involved in the whole deadline day nonsense but for once two new boys arrived at the Hawthorns at the last knockings. Keith Andrews will do in a pinch as there is an injury driven shortage of bodies in midfield and any half decent filler player who could come in and play a few games in the absence of Brunt and Gera was all that was required. I certainly don't expect him to become a new club legend but we'll give him a go. Liam Ridgewell however is another matter as I don't know whether to be very happy or very disappointed with him. The Albion defence has been pure shite this season so signing a versatile defender is a good step whilst the fact that other clubs have been sniffing around him seems to bode well. There again I'm reminded of the hopeless partnership he had with Scott Dann last season, the one that saw the Brum scum relegated handily, and the fact that any time I've seen him play (which admittedly is not very often) he hasn't half been prone to making stray passes. As such I'll cautiously welcome Ridgewell and hope that he can play a vital role in shoring up the duff defence all the while gritting my teeth a little through the smile. Still, at least Odemwingie was not sold, which was the main worry for January.

Oh and as stated previously I don't do those writer's block things on here, but once again I'll answer the question anyway. Unfortunately however I have no idea who my lookalike is. In the past the obvious answer was Buh Buh Ray Dudley who, eye colour apart, was the spitting image of me about seven years ago. These days though not so much as not only do we now have different hairstyles and facial hair but my head seems to have lengthened with age. As such no idea. I've often thought I bore a passing resemblance to Kirsten Dunst so we'll go with her.
keresaspa: (Geoffrey of Monmouth)
We all get them. The begging letter from a deposed general you have never heard of promising you untold riches in return for full access to your bank details and maybe a bit of scrouse to get the ball rolling. After all what self-respecting Nigerian billionaire doesn't want to hand over half of his hard swindled fortune to a total stranger on the other side of the world? Well kudos to the scammers for a recent example that I received which at least demonstrates that (a) they know how to be topical and (b) they are finally sending their fake offers from people you might actually have heard of if you don't have a PhD in Nigerian military history. Observe:

Dear Friend,

This mail may not be surprising to you if you have been following current events in the international media with reference to the recent protest in Egypt.I am Mrs. Suzanne Mubarak, the wife of Deposed Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak who is seriously ill and has slipped into coma.

Ever since the turn out of events and even prior to the protest,I have been thrown into a state of antagonism, confusion,humiliation, frustration and hopelessness by the present military leadership of the Egyptian Liberation Organization.I have even been subjected to physical and psychological torture.As a woman that is so traumatized, I have lost confidence with everybody in the country at the moment.

You must have heard over the media reports and the Internet on the discovery of some fund in my husband secret bank account and companies and the allegations of some huge sums of money deposited by my husband in my name of which I have refuses to disclose or give up to the corrupt Egyptian Government. In fact the total sum allegedly discovered by the Government so far is in the tune of about $6.5 Billion Dollars.And they are not relenting on their effort to make me and my sons (Gamal & Alaa Mubarak) poor for life. As you know, the Muslem community has no regards for women, more importantly when the woman is from a Christian background, hence my desire for a foreign assistance.

I have the sum of 62.5USD(Sixty-Two Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars) with a financial firm in Europe whose name I can not disclose for now for security reasons until we open up communication. I shall be grateful if you could receive this fund into your bank account for safe keeping and any Investment opportunity. This arrangement will be known to you and I alone and all our correspondence should be strictly on email alone because our government has tapped all our lines and are monitoring all my moves.In view of the above, if you are willing to assist for our mutual benefits, we will have to negotiate on your Percentage share of the 62.5 USD that will be kept in your position for a while and invested in your name for my trust .

Please note that this is a golden opportunity that comes once in life time and more so, if you are honest, I am going to entrust more funds in your care as this is one of the legacy we keep for our children.In case you don't accept please do not let me out to the security and international media as I am giving you this information in total trust and confidence I will greatly appreciate if you accept my proposal in good faith.I am aware of the consequences of this proposal. So I ask that if you find no interest in this project that you should discard this mail.

I ask that you do not be vindictive and destructive. If my offer is of no appeal to you, delete this message and forget I ever contacted you. Do not destroy my family reputation because you do not approve of my proposal.

Please expedite action

Yours sincerely,
Mrs. Suzanne Mubarak

Yup that's right, Mrs. Hosni Mubarak wants to make me rich and is playing the poor traumatised damsel in distress harassed by those evil "Muslems" despite being totally innocent card. Now there's no denying that 62 million United States Dollars would come in handy but on reflection I have decided to pass on your generous offer "Suzanne" and will instead be vindictive and destructive by publishing your little e-mail for the amusement of my millions and millions of fans. Well, even if it actually is her (which it isn't), the days when Mubaraks could deal out pain of Alessandro Moreschi proportions are well and truly over. And if that's not the case then eep. Sorry Suzanne, as the Hollies would say, let's you and me have dinner some time.

And meanwhile, in lieu of actually thinking of anything to write about myself, I shall fall back on my former position and follow a meme that is doing the rounds.

Books )
keresaspa: (Are you buying me drink?)
I'm finding it difficult to care about this whole enquiry that's going on today. On the one hand you have Rupert Murdoch and his smug git of a son, a pair so odious and so steeped in nepotism that they make Shane McMahon's European title reign seem deserved, whilst on the other you have the self-same elected drones that have plunged Britain into the mire and who a short while ago were dipping their sticky fingers into the till to swipe money for gold taps and duck islands. At the risk of overdoing the wrestling metaphors it is difficult to care when it is heel against heel as we have here. Equally it is all made even harder by the fact that many of those whose phones were tapped were the very z-list celebrities who happily tipped off Murdoch's mob when they were getting their baps out in the Caribbean and wanted in the papers or the politicians who kissed the backsides of the rags in a desperate attempt to get their approval before elections. Let's face it, we've had three Prime Ministers in a row who kowtowed before the altar of The Sun so to see them trying to take the moral high ground is laughable. Murdoch owns the political establishment in Britain to such an extent that a pie in the mush is the worst he's ever going to get and it also captures the farcical nature of the whole exercise neatly. In good old Blighty there is no comeuppance for the rich and a supposed grilling by a buch of stuttering time-servers, all of whom seemed enthralled to be in the presence of this real-life Mr. Burns, will not change that one iota.
keresaspa: (Jabberjaw)
Ye gods, but it has been windier than Fred "the Shockmaster" Ottman after a bucket of bean and cabbage surprise these last couple of days. Ordinarily I find wind to be a minor inconvenience at worst but when schleps out to scenic Newtownabbey and the picturesque Newtownards Road are required it becomes a bloody nuisance, especially when it is accompanied by the sort of diluvian rain that requires one to hide in the somewhat phallic bell tower of one of those terribly convenient Catholic churches that some smarty pants inevitably builds in the middle of loyalist estates. Still it's an adventure although I'm tempted to wonder if our friends in Iceland with their volcanic activity might have a connection to the sudden outbreak of drastic weather conditions. Not contended with destroying the banks and thus unleashing wave after wave of poverty on the world Iceland now feels the need decimate the aviation and tourism industries too, for the second year running no less. Am I the only one who misses the old Iceland with its Eddas, salted fish, steroid guzzling truck pullers and crazy little avant-pop pixies? Mind you it's a shame for our new friend Harold Camping that all this didn't happen last week as it might have leant some credibility to his apocalyptic prophecy. Apparently October is the next date for our diaries according to the biggest overnight sensation since John Bishop. One would think that a man who proclaims himself a Bible scholar would have encountered Matthew 23:13 ("Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh") but I suppose knowing not the day attracts not the radio show listeners and nets not the big money donations.

So anyway it's windy, it's Iceland fault and Harold Camping has misinterpreted the Bible and these three facts are all connected in some way. At least, I think that's what I just said.
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
They tell me Solomon Burke is dead but I could swear I saw him commentating on TNA last night. That is all.
keresaspa: (L7)
"Music was my first love" opined John Miles in a song that everybody thinks is ghastly but I personally believe to be a fine piece of work and on a day that Big Cards says is about love rather than the martyrdom of an early Christian what better topic than the one Miles crooned about? Of course we all have our own opinions of what constitutes good music but it is interesting to think of why we ended up with the opinions we hold on that score. Thinking about it I believe that in my time I have encountered a few albums that have proven seminal in the development of my taste. Whilst these might or might not be my favourites they are still pivotal for the impact they had on my taste. I've managed to isolate eight that I think have had a big impact on my taste and they are:

Bad Manners - Height of Bad Manners The first album I bought and as such an important part of framing my future taste. I was about seven when I bought this gate fold vinyl best of from Woolies and it marked the beginning of me caring about music at any level beyond taping the charts off the radio. I still have it to this day and it was from there that I first became interested in music.

Small Faces - The Complete Collection I lost interest for a while in my early teens (even though that's supposed to be the age you go gaga over pop music) until I started to get the notion of listening to music again. Then one day at about 14 I wandered into the recently opened HMV and picked up a copy of a cheap no-name compilation of Small Faces hits, despite the fact that I was still a few years away from owning my own CD player. Either way it meant I was a music fan once again.

V/A - Progressions This prog compilation was doing the rounds in our house for a while before I took an interest in it. To say that it sparked what has become a lifelong enjoyment of progressive rock would probably be true as once I heard "Living in the Past" I was hooked.

Bal-Sagoth - Battle Magic I had dabbled slightly in metal but it was not until I was about 18 that my passion for that wonderfully ludicrous genre really kicked in when a slightly odd little chap I went to school with taped me a copy of the Bal-Sagoth classic. The extreme metal kick that dominated my early 20s and that is still a part of my musical taste began there and then.

Frank Zappa - Son of Cheap Thrills One of those days of undergraduate poverty where you were hanging about Virgin Megastore determined to buy some sounds but unable to afford nearly everything in the days when "2 for £20" was considered good value. I spotted a copy of this Zappa sampler lingering for around a fiver and decided to take a chance, having only previously encountered Uncle Frank as a name on TV. Again hooked from the word go and "We're Only in it for the Money", which remains my favourite album, was bought soon afterwards on the strength of this purchase.

L7 - The Beauty Process Similar scenario to above, only this time I had sank a few pints earlier in the day and, as I recall, it was nearing six o'clock closing time in the self-same Virgin Megastore. They had a bit of a sale on and I noticed a copy of this album and felt that I had to buy it. Given that I was none too sober at the time I suspect that cover image may have appealed to me as dark-haired women with a feg on were my thing at the time! Whatever the reason it was a decision well made and the genesis of my love of all things riot grrrl.

Fats Waller - The Centenary Collection I had flirted with jazz as a youth but left it aside early on. Then another big sale at Virgin Megastore saw me touch for a three CD set of Fats at the knockdown price of three of your quid. Suddenly I realised that jazz wasn't just for old farts (or perhaps that I was becoming an old fart) and I widened my mind not only to it but also to blues, country and other things that I had hitherto considered music for the elderly.

Shonen Knife - Let's Knife A couple of years ago this one and in fact I covered it here at the time but given how much Japanese nonsense I listen to now this was definitely a seminal purchase.

So what of the rest of you? I don't for a minute imagine that you all woke up as proggers or goths one morning by chance and indeed you all must have certain albums that helped to mould your various tastes. Do tell.

Anyway just to ensure that the usual quotient of misery is met here I will move on to that meme that is doing the rounds where you describe five things that everybody else loves and you don't and say why. I've tried to think of something a bit different here as I have riffed on a lot of popular stuff that I hate in this dusty, unloved corner of the web before. As such:

1) Coffee - All you hear from people is how they can't function without their coffee. I don't know how many times I have drunk the fetid stuff in my life but I can tell you this - it has bugger all effect. Not only that but no matter which version it is they all taste like crap. Americanisation at its worst if you ask me. Give me a cup of tea any day.

2) Mixed Martial Arts - I follow professional wrestling from time to time but I can't for the life of me fathom what the appeal is of two men hugging each other on the floor with the odd rabbit punch being thrown. Well, perhaps I can but I know for a fact that the audiences for this rubbish aren't ALL frustrated women and gay men. At least pro wrestling can be a bit exciting even if it fake whereas MMA is as dull and tedious as amateur wrestling. For me MMA is no better than dog fighting and I look forward to that craze falling by the wayside.

3) Science fiction - I can't really justify my dislike of this on any level other than "it's crap because I say so" but really the appeal of the genre, be it TV, film, books or comics, has always been lost on me. It's just greasy kids stuff trying to pretend that it is intellectual and worthy as far as I'm concerned. No, actually it is just a case of it being crap because I say so!

4) Cannabis - I might like me reggae but I don't care for collie at all. Why people rave so much about not being able to walk properly (the only impact I ever experience) is beyond me and, just like coffee's mythical properties, I found it no more relaxing than building a house of cards in a hurricane with Lizzie from the Football League Show yammering in my ear.

5) The Rolling Stones - Sad old tramps making pedestrian blues rock. Please just lie down. I may have defended listening to old man music above but an exception is made for these useless granddads.

Happy Communist Martyrs Day people!
keresaspa: (Terry-Thomas)
Kudos to Clare Short for today's performance. I'm still very much of the opinion that this inquiry is a toothless waste of time that is as likely to punish Blair as Sean Connery is to put in a believable acting performance but I still enjoyed seeing a lady of some principle letting Tony have it over the head with her proverbial umbrella. Were there any justice Blair and that oily little Goldsmith person would be in the dock but the world doesn't work like that. Nevertheless, nice one Clare - today you are a credit to South Armagh.

Elsewhere it happened quite a while ago but I have only just heard about it and therefore, despite the fact that I imagine at most two of you have heard of him, it is my duty to announce the death of Tony Halme. If ever anybody was going to have a sensationalist death it was always going to be the artist formerly known as Ludvig Borga, although my money would have been on the standard arteriosclerotic heart disease inevitably suffered by heavy steroid users. If ever anybody summed up what is wrong with Vince McMahon's size matters policy it was Halme who despite, or perhaps because of, his ridiculous physique was what I believe the kids call a "hot mess" in the ring. Still being a just awful wrestler wasn't enough for Tony who also found time to be a bad shoot fighter, a tolerable boxer, a star of Gladiaattorit, an alcoholic (well, it is Finland), a gun nut and a politician. As a member of the extreme right anti-immigration True Finns the 'Viking' sat in the Finnish Parliament, spouting about how Tarja Halonen was a lesbian before admitting that he was maintaining a political career despite huge gaps in both his short and long term memory. Indeed his career as a celebrity politician on the right was not so much Frank Carson's conversion to UKIP, more like an alternate universe where the BNP does decide to admit non-white members and Norman Smiley becomes the first one. I don't wish to be insensitive but if ever anybody was going to have their name attached to the phrase "took his own life with an illegally held gun" it was always going to be Halme.

Well that's all. Hospital appointment tomorrow so keep me in mind won't you. Bye for now.
keresaspa: (Dipsy)
Once upon a time many moons ago I went through a phase of being a football programme collector. This being me I promptly went buck mad and bought up hundreds of the blighters and festooned them in little piles all over the house. Time went on and my fervour cooled and laterally the programmes have nestled unloved in the boxes of old electrical appliances, never seeing the light of day. Recently however I decided it was time to have a run thrugh them and see what was there. A good laugh was had looking over the old Rothmans ads and the bad 70s haircuts found within. However a few stood out from the collection due to either the oddness of their covers or the sheer inexplicable nature of the matches and, once again putting the scanner to some sort of use, I would like to share the ten oddest of my own collection with you. Read on or run off the choice is yours.

Let the good times roll )


Jun. 26th, 2007 12:50 pm
keresaspa: (Tiger Jeet Singh)
It seems after the burst of hellish weather we got lumbered with over the weekend that England is now drowning. And they call this global warming? Bad luck all round, although you really think there should be some contingency plans in place by now seeing as this sort of thing seems to happen all the time now. Too busy with dragging the arse out of handing over power to bother about anything as trifling as people being flooded out of house and home, I suppose.

Elsewhere I was gutted to hear about the death of Chris Benoit. The Rabid Wolverine could always be relied on for a top quality match and he was surprisingly funny live in Belfast. He must have been in a terrible place to die the way he did and the wrestling world is certainly poorer without him.
keresaspa: (Zappa)
Up early today as I had to go into town to take back an album that I mistakenly bought before coming here. Pretty done out as a result, having been up reading old copies of Scorpion that came into my possession to all hours. Talk about your pieces of bull-dink! Reading that sort of nonsense at all hours has a nasty tendency to angry up my blood and makes sleep an impossibility. Note to self: next time you read a load of fascist twaddle make it during the day.

Meanwhile I see that Michel Platini has won the UEFA Presidency. On the plus side it will (hopefully) see the end of so many pointless Champions League games and qualification for teams that lose 7-0 like Everton a few years ago. On the other hand, he does seem to be close to that tosser Sepp Blatter which does not bode well. Deserves a chance I suppose as Lennart Johansson's time was up ages ago but if calendar seasons, like Blatter wants, come in he'll have to go.

Finally this might not mean much to most of you but I need to take time out to say RIP to Bam Bam Bigelow, one of the finest big man wrestlers to ever grace the ring. Who can forget his great run as ECW champion, when a man of his prodigious girth was able to get up to the top rope and fire off a moonsault that some cruiserweights would be proud of. So farewell to the Beast from the East - there'll never be another.

keresaspa: (Strawberry Switchblade)
Never have the words of Vietnam's favourite paedophile been more apt as I have been consigned to the house for the guts of four days due to Christmas falling so close to a weekend and I am almost insane as a result. No real complaints about the day itself. After getting up relatively early to be a fenian I mucked about with my presents (which included a load of sudoku stuff, sweets and, from [ profile] queenmartina a flail of all things) then noshed on turkey (original, aren't I?) followed by a Phillie Blunt. Sweet! For the first time in probably my whole life I also managed to avoid the horrors of a Christmas Day Coronation Street, as well as other horrors such as Doctor Who, by wasting a lot of time on the new WWE game on the Playstation 2, which also ended up in my stocking. Finished the night off marking essays, which was a little surreal but I did get a good lot of them done. Yesterday was a bit of a stinker, mind. I could feel a bit of a flu developing, was out of cigs and the telly was so crap that I was approaching teeth-grinding mode. So all in all, fun while it lasted but by God am I glad that it's over for another year.

OK then, I'm not really up to much in the way of deep and meaningfuls so I'll end with this one swiped from [ profile] queenmartina which thankfully demands one word answers. Feel free to ignore and I should be back with something more substantial tomorrow.

Just one word )
keresaspa: (Harry Cross)
Not an awful lot to report about today. I managed to finish up my current bit of work (if I never see that chapter again it'll be too soon) and am in here trying to dodge the storms. To kill a bit of time I finally get round to cleaning out a load of gunk from my e-mail inbox. One or two gems turned up on the way. Apologies to those of you who have seen these before but this is really a service to myself so as I can remember where these things are whilst freeing up a bit of inbox space. Anyway, enjoy.

*Queen Mother jokes - hardly topical but good for a laugh. Old bat!

*Plague of the Mullet

*Bad album covers from Britain

*wrestling lookalikes - Ron Dixon rides again!

*Glug's Jokes we hardly knew ye )

Those last two pictures, for those of you have are noodle scratching, came from the final day of the late-lamented teletext page Glug's Jokes which provided half-arsed ribaldry day-in, day-out for years on end before being pulled from the schedules in yet another revamp of the service. Heartless gits.
keresaspa: (Default)
So it seems that Real Oviedo reject and all round girlfriend-bashing, shot-missing, Sharon Stone co-starring, farm working, rugby player fight-losing, dogging aficionado Stan Collymore has decided that he is to return to the Premiership after five years of playing at being a movie star. Stan (who is apparently 'regarded by some as one of the most gifted, charismatic and outspoken soccer players of his or any generation' and is blessed with 'highly intuitive mind, natural screen charisma and athleticism', at least according to this piece of fiction) is apparently convinced that football misses him so much that he can just walk into a Premiership team despite ages without playing and being, to say the least, a bit rubbish for a good few years before this. Oh, to have the mind of Stan Collymore where you really do believe that you are the best at everything even though it is clear for all to see that you're a bit of an idiot really.

Still, I suppose football attracts them really. Gretna became the big cheese recently for getting to the Scottish Cup final despite having a budget a good deal bigger than a number of SPL clubs. Their 5-1 defeat at the hands of Derry City was put down as a plucky last stand against a top-flight side, even though most of the Candystripes could only dream of being on the money of Gretna's top earners. One thing money can't buy is class and it certainly can't buy good supporters. Imagine the reaction if fans of one of the bad rep English teams like Millwall came to a match in KKK hoods. Feet of clay, I believe they call it, for everybody's favourite 'plucky underdogs'.

Finally, one little wtf (as I believe the kids say now) to draw your attention to before I skedaddle. I was reading a recent copy of Pro Wrestling Illustrated yesterday and I chanced upon a bit where they include the results of a bunch of small groups you've never heard of. It seems at one of these, the derivatively named Arkansas Wrestling Entertainment, the International heavyweight title (bit of a contradiction for an Arkansas-only group there) was vacant and a bout was held to fill it. It seems household name Matt Riviera was the lucky winner after a titanic struggle against the might of Frank Thornton. Now, I don't imagine that Last of the Summer Wine pays that well but does that really mean that the artist formerly known as Captain Peacock should be forced into the ring?! Where's Age Concern when you need them?

OK, enough nonsense for one day. Other things to be getting on with so tally ho and toodle pip.
keresaspa: (George Formby)
Those of you who read this load of old gubbins (and somebody must) may recall that back at Christmastide one of my fish, Fish*, passed on. Well, on Friday night (actually Saturday morning, but you know what I mean) I came in after a skinful to notice that the remaining one wasn't doing much moving. Closer inspection revealed that he was upside down in the middle of the tank (rather than floating on top as is usual). A few half-arsed attempts at reviving him (involving poking mostly) failed to get any results and he was declared DOA. Disappointing, even though (or perhaps because) I've had the little blighter since 2001. I didn't repeat the mistake of last time and attempt a cremation but rather went for a straight burial with a broken off clump of palm leaves to mark the tomb. End of era!

Speaking of eras (he said, developing a lame segue) in amongst my birthday stuff was a copy of the recent Best of ITV Wrestling A-Z, the follow-up to the one I was rabbiting on about earlier in the year. Absolute belter, folks, and definitely a big improvement on the previous one. It was good that they focused on some of the less-heralded but quite amusing turns like Tally Ho Kaye, Honey Boy Zimba and Catweazle in this one. It was also good that they included a couple of bouts that I remembered first-hand notably a battle royal featuring King Ben, the arthritic 'Texas' Ted Heath, a Kendo Nagasaki knock-off by the name of El Diablo, the painfully thin and even more painfully coiffured Jimmy Ocean, Alan Kilby, Ivan Trevors, Pat O'Sullivan and Kurt Heinz (the latter being the ones whose singles match was not shown on the original broadcast, as memory serves). Also good to see again the tag team match from '88 between Kendo Nagasaki and Psycho Stevens against Wayne Bridges and Rollerball Rocco. It was amazing how far ahead of the rest Rocco was in terms of ability and also something of a surprise to see Bridges using a HHH-style Pedigree to win the match. Almost as surprising as realising that Kwik Kik Lee was actually shoot-fighting pioneer and all-round Japanese legend cum headcase Akira Maeda slumming it. Full of surprises and a great way to waste of couple of hours, as well as taking one's mind off dead fish.

* Both were named Fish. What can I say, I just lacked imagination that day!


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