Looking For Sex

      Today is Friday and it's early morning and fairly grey outside, and I am doing what I usually do most mornings. It is my Internet time, unless of course it's Saturday or Sunday, when any time could be Internet time. But Saturdays and Sundays can be complicated. Football can get in the way, though before the season got going, I promised myself that I would spend less time listening to live commentaries. I like Alan Green, he's from the same neck of the woods as me, and he's straight up and down. He tells it as it is. In fact I think I am right in saying that Radio 5 Live recently ran a trail on the excitement and drama of football, where Alan Green is heard to say "there's the final whistle. Thank God that's over," or words to that effect. And I enjoy 606, where every punter is multiskilled and multifunctional, in their heads at least. There they are managers, players, lovers, foes, and most of them desperately in need of counselling. In fact what I truly like about 606 is the passion.

Well I'm sorry for those of you who were born late and missed the real era of football, when Saturday was a Saturday and Sunday was a day of rest. You knew that Saturday was special, because all the matches kicked off at three o' clock and the real buzz didn't come from the skills of the likes of Wayne Rooney, but rather the character of the players. What I am alluding to here is the thousands upon thousands of fans who would turn up at Old Trafford on a Saturday with the air thick with excitement. "Will he, wont he"? And afterwards, the press would be in a frenzy, and the sales of Sunday papers would go through the roof, either because they had found him, or were hunting him, and speculating as to why he hadn't turned up to earn his crust. I am of course talking about George Best, who could create nearly as much excitement by his absence, as he could when he did turn up.

Now George hasn't been very well lately and just before he went in to hospital he was interviewed for one or other of the Saturday or Sunday supplements. I say "one or other," for I am ashamed to tell you that I can't put my finger on the magazine that I put "somewhere safe." Anyway, I don't think I am libelling George, and that is certainly not my intention, or doing a disservice to the newspaper in question, when I say that in looking back to the times when Saturday was a Saturday, George observed that in those days, they never trained, (right,) played with a ball that was a lot heavier than it is today, (right,) and played seventy matches a season, (wrong,) because on some Saturdays George was playing elsewhere. Which brings me to my father.

My father was a gambling man who liked a drink, so he was always at his most optimistic on a Saturday. Standing over me one Sunday, when Sundays were Sunday and parents and children were together, physically anyway, he said to me, "You're usually lucky" and asked me to give him eight numbers for the football pools. So I did. But before I could finish, he got irritable and told me to spread them out. Now in those days, parents had authority, so there wasn't the slightest prospect of my telling him that he was stupid, or, to "get a life." So I kept my thoughts to myself, thoughts that is, about the stupidity of a parent asking you to pick numbers because you are lucky, and then telling you how to pick them. My father was an intelligent man; he was just overcome by nervous energy and the will to win.

Well it is still grey outside, and my day has gone all awry. What I should be doing is writing a blog about "Poland and "the weight of history"", but instead I am writing this, and if I look beyond the garden to the road opposite I can see the children, (I hate the word "kids",) making their way to school. I can't hear them, not because they have changed for the better, but because the windows are double-glazed.


Now I wonder what their spelling is like. I wonder what would happen if the teacher asked them to spell China, or better still Chinese, and spelling can be crucial. If you go to Yahoo and get the spelling wrong, and especially if you are looking for sex, this is what you get. "...chineas sort ya self out (CREAP) i know u spent alot of time on it an I appreciate dat tho anyway iv ya want sum sex...pretty girl to look..." Don't believe me? Well try this, and mind your spelling. Type in "chineas sex girl" and work your way down to the quote, and, (this is the crucial bit,) click on the link.

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© Cormac McCloskey

Note: "Looking For Sex" was first published, by me, on Windows Live Spaces on 11th November 2005

N.B. When this blog was first published, had you followed my advice and typed in "Chineas sex girl" at Yahoo. You would have got ME! Because the quote in the final paragraph, (taken from another website), was used by me in a blog entitled, "What the blog is going on". I'm not sure that it works now, but it did then. . . .