MORE FOOTBALL COMMENT.
I went downstairs to the cat Shadow.
He was curled up on his big beanbag and appeared to be asleep.
He opened one eye.
"Where you been?" he demanded.
"Blog," I replied, trying not to sound too defensive.
He snorted.
"Y'know," I said, "you're the only cat I've ever come across who can snort."
"You missed the football," he said. "It was the team managed by that bloke who kicks boots at people when they lose. They lost. You'll be sorry you missed that."
He seldom gives Alex Ferguson a name, never mind Sir Alex. He is convinced that there walks one knight of the realm who would kick a football boot at a convenient cat if Manchester United lost.
"Up against Arsenal, weren't they?" I inquired.
"The unsmiling Frenchman. Him with Thierry Henri in his team: and still he can't smile."
"That's Arsene Wenger," I said. "He probably smiles inside."
"He must have done at the end of that game," the cat Shadow chortled. "In extra time ol' Henri rose head and shoulders above the very best in the Premiership to head the winner."
"I would have liked to see that," I admitted.
"Oh, just watch the footie programmes for a couple of weeks," he said. "It'll be repeated often enough."
"Didn't Arsenal beat them away, too?"
"Yep. It was the double. Talk about snow in Scotland. There was sure ice at the Emirates Stadium when those managers did the hypocritical handshake at the end. They didn't even look at each other."
"It's good to see the magnanimity of two sporting leaders," I said. "Lifts your heart."
"Don't it just," he said.
THEN THE WHOLE SPORTS THING.
I had barely got comfortable when he landed on my lap with all the arrogance of a cat who has owned you for long enough to know who's boss.
"Truth to tell," he ventured, "I don't have much time for sport. I think its benefits are greatly overrated."
"Go on, maestro," I said.
"Well, take the English. Not bad at games where they can be jolly good losers and tell themselves that it isn't the winning but the taking part that counts. Rubbish at sports where the only point in competing is to win and make money."
"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" I said. "We started things like football and cricket. You can't expect to win all the time just because you invented something. Other countries will desperately want to beat us because we invented the game."
"Other countries will desperately want to beat us because they hate our guts." he said. "Look at the Scots with football. Look at the Welsh and French with rugger. Look at the Aussies with cricket. Don't even think about the Irish. And look at the whole of Europe with the Eurovision song contest."
That's neither sport nor entertainment," I objected.
"Whatever," he said. "If a sensible cat had been running things this country would have opted out of all sports. Sports are just wars waged on playing fields. We won the wars years ago. Why fight them again now?
"England should have refused to appear on a cricket pitch after Douglas Jardine and Harold Larwood polished off the Australians. They should have packed in football before the Hungarians came along. As for rugger, if they had done the right thing and expelled that boy who picked up the ball at Rugby School thousands of broken bones and cauliflower ears would have been avoided. Anyway, if you can't beat 'em don't play 'em. Sod sportsmanship, it doesn't exist."
"Snooker?" I suggested, cautiously.
"Club game made big by tele," he said. "The more money it attracts the less friendly it will become. You see."
I sighed.
I started to tell him that he was not in favour of sport because he was such a bad loser.
But he had already gone back to sleep.
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