To the Bitter End: Shuggie Bain

Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart

Picador

Pp. 430

This beautiful and bleak Booker Prize winner (2020) is a story narrated by a boy about his mother and how she was destroyed by his father. The acknowledgement states, “Above all, I owe everything to the memories of my mother and her struggle.” The struggle of the mother in this novel, Agnes, is with her desperate need for love, her spiral into drink and depression, and her humiliation and denial of her situation. The writing is as sharp as a scalpel, slicing through the pretensions of society to the ugly truth beneath, with a Celtic use of expression that means a person doesn’t blush or turn red; she ‘crimsoned’.

Agnes had talent and promise, and her downfall was loving a man who didn’t deserve it and wasn’t special. Big Shug is a taxi driver and thinks of himself as a ladies’ man. “She had loved him, and he needed to break her completely to leave her for good. Agnes Bain was too rare a thing to let someone else love. It wouldn’t do to leave pieces of her for another man to collect and repair later.” Perceptions come from multiple angles and all of them carry bitterness and resentment at unfulfilled dreams.

 

“To be thirty-nine and have her husband and her three children, two of them nearly grown, all crammed together in her mammy’s flat, gave her a feeling of failure. Him, her man, who when he shared her bed now seemed to lie on the very edge, made her feel angry with the littered promises of better things. Agnes wanted to put her foot through it all, or to scrape it back like it was spoilt wallpaper.”

 

The setting is the suburbs of Glasgow, where different worlds co-exist, and each pretends not to notice the other. “It was true that the ring of green around Glasgow held the new slums of the urban resettlement, these forgotten, remote housing schemes. It seemed cruel to Agnes that these green fields also held some of the fanciest hotels and private clubs she had ever seen. The two different worlds didn’t like to look on each other.” Promise is never realised and disappointment is always imminent. “These low houses looked like ants gathered around trees, or scraps made of the council breeze blocks left over from the high rises. What was once built to be new and healthful now looked sick with a poverty of hope. There was no grass and no greenery; every flat surface was concreted over or covered in large, smooth round boulders.”

 

It is grim and poor as people struggle to maintain their dignity in a pathetic fallacy. “Rain was the natural state of Glasgow. It kept the grass green and the people pale and bronchial.” Nothing good is without unpleasant consequences; even a break in the weather is not wholeheartedly celebrated. “That summer had been unusually hot, with a series of long, dry days all strung together and a clear sun that rewarded enthusiasm with the threat of heatstroke and blisters.” Some moments are almost comically dull and tragic, and the black comedy is evident.

 

“Agnes was worried about her whites. All that summer the news was about Chernobyl and the nuclear explosion that had happened there. It had been a sad but distant worry until a man on the news warned about a light nuclear rain that was falling over the west of Scotland as it headed on to Ireland. As Shuggie helped her bring in the washing from the back line she asked him whether nuclear fallout might actually help get out stubborn stains. The boy shook his head; no, it wouldn’t be like a bleach.”

 

At times it reads like a play script, and I’m reminded of Road by Jim Cartwright or Jerusalem by Jez Butterworth. Scenes are set with precision and echoes of failure and disillusionment abound. Christmas and Hogmanay are special events that are heartbreaking because Shuggie will not enjoy them with childhood innocence and wonder. “He took out the little red football book that Eugene had given him and began to memorize all the teams and results of every match of the previous year. He was penitent with these Hail Marys, going over and over the meaningless scores until he had committed them to memory. It would be a new year, a new chance.” He witnesses the world around him, full of the ghosts of previous prosperity.

 

“The miner’s tackety boots made sparks on the tarmac. The men slowly started drifting one by one along the empty road. There was no colliery whistle now; still the men were pushed along by the muscle memory of a dead routine, heading home at finishing time with nothing being finished, only a belly full of ale and a back cowed with worry. Their donkey jackets were clean and their boots were still shiny as they jerked along the road. Shuggie stepped back as they passed, their heads lowered like those of tired black mules. Without a word, each man collected a handful of thin children, who followed obediently, like reverential shadows.”

 

There is no romance or softness; merely a sense of desperation. At a girls’ night in, women get boisterous and buy underwear. Even their temporary release is laced with a prudish sense of disapproval – as if they were forced to confront their drunken actions when sober in the morning. “It was a certainty that the poor skinny husbands they kept at home would be suffocated later than night. The women, smelling of vinegar and stout, would go home and climb on top of them. Giggling and sweating, yet feeling for a moment like fifteen-year-olds again in their new bras.” This might sound like harmless fun if not for the sardonic follow-up. “They would strip to holey tights and unclasp their swinging tits. It would be drunk open mouths, hot red tongues, and heavy clumsy flesh. Pure Friday-night happiness.”

 

Mostly, it is the women that provide support and advice, even as they are ostensibly competing for male attention. It is the women of the estate who explain to Agnes that she will have to live on disability benefits rather than the dole. “They’ll take one look at yer address and give it to you easy. Look at this place… It’s no like there are any new jobs coming here. Disability is the only club we’ve got, and Monday is club day.” The men are much less sympathetic.

 

“Grey men stood around the mouth of the Miners Club, drinking their lager in the weak sun. Even though the weather was muggy and close, they all wore the thick black donkey jackets they had worn under the ground. As she passed, they turned in to one another like shy penguins, talking in hushed tones. She heard her name whispered, heard her legends discussed. The bolder of the men watched her with hungry eyes over their pints of amber. She knew they only wanted to degrade her, bring her to a new low. She knew a handful of them who had taken her comforts in exchange for a bag of carry-out. When they were done, they all went home again to their scrawny wives and their mismatched bedding. It was all too small, too pitiful to care about any more.”

 

When she enters a high noon shoot out with fake guns in a desperate attempt to regain her dignity and sobriety, Agnes assumes the stage name, Phoenix Rising, which symbolises her unfounded optimism that she can control her addiction. Men try to get Agnes to have a drink when she is trying to stay sober. When she asks why, she is told, “Because it’s what normal people do. Look, just have a sip. To be social like. Ye’ll be fine… You’re a different woman now.” Is it because they don’t understand alcoholism or because they enjoy the feeling of control over her? Her optimism is partly shared by her son, who tries to believe she is not an alcoholic. “Shuggie always rooted for it [sobriety]. But the drink rarely lost. It was like a bully who gave Agnes that running start in the grinning confidence he would catch her easily, and she’d be battered again when they benefit book was cashed again the following Monday. Still, Shuggie always fell for it.”

 

Tragically, they have to face facts and terminate their relationship with its toxic repercussions. After a brief, disastrous visit from his father, Big Shug, Shuggie returns to the house and his mother. “He went inside and found her there, sat on the edge of his single bed. The covers were rumpled beside her, and at her feet sat a bag full of Special Brew. They looked at each other with the same dazed look, like they had both woken up from the same peaceful nap, like it would be a while before they felt like they had the will to form words and speak.” When Shuggie leaves, Agnes watches him go. “She nodded smugly that she had been right, they she had always known he would leave her, like they all did. She watched him climb into the waiting taxi, and she knew then that she had lost him.”

One of the ‘aunties’ says to Shuggie, while reflecting on his mother, “Ah think the more ye love someone the more they take the piss out of that. They will do less and less of what ye want and more and more of just as they fuckin’ please.” This is, however, their attitude towards men and all relationships. It is enormously depressing and pessimistic, and yet there is a glimmer of something that makes me determined to read the sequel. I can’t help but hope for a brighter future for both Shuggie and Agnes.

Friday Five: Light and Dark Theatre Productions

1. The 39 Steps - N.U.T.S., Ralph Wilson Theatre: Exactly what one might expect of a student production; their friends and family will love it, and everyone involved will be thoroughly pleased with themselves. For someone without connection to the participants it drags, despite some of the delivery being too shrill and fast to be intelligible, and some of the performances tip into self-indulgence. There are too many unearned pauses and lack of comedic understanding. James Seymour in the lead role of Richard Hannay is the only one who looks like they know what they are doing - basically trying to entertain an audience and further a plot - despite the lack of direction and focus-pulling from the rest of the cast. Extensive breaks for set changes between scenes are unnecessary and lose the frenetic energy the piece should have, making it instead an exercise in drama school self-satisfaction. The famous hat scene was chaotic and not in a good way. I agree with the line, 'Just get on with it'.
2. Helios - Wright and Grainger, The Courtyard: The collaboration of Alex Wright (words) and Phil Grainger (music) brings modern interpretations of Greek myth to a global audience, via Yorkshire. Helios and Selene played on alternate nights and back-to-back and, with each show calling in at about an hour, you can experience them both in an evening, which is what I did, starting with Helios. The myth, attributed to Euripides, concerns Helios, whose winged-horse chariot draws the sun across the sky each day, and his son, Phaeton, who insists he be allowed a go, only to find his abilities do not match his bravado, as he loses control of the steeds and the chariot threatens to plunge to earth. Of course, Zeus intervenes and strikes Phaeton down with a lightning bolt. Here, one man, Alexander Wright himself, commands the stage, standing in a sacred circle of lightbulbs and connecting with the audience as he tells us his story. It is as simple as that, and yet an incredibly enriching experience. He weaves a narrative of fast cars and teenagers, boasts, dares and risk, loss of concentration, and blinding sunrises on bridges. The bond between a busy father and a stroppy son is all too real and utterly heartbreaking. As he literally invites the listeners into his tale (handing out printed sheets for them to read when he needs another voice for a character), he proves that storytelling is an art and, when done well, it is absolutely spellbinding.
3. Selene - Wright and Grainger, The Courtyard: And as night follows day, we come to Selene, the sibling show. It is gloriously calm and strong, described as 'a story about the goddess and the dark side of the moon'. As in the previous show, it focuses more on the offspring than the titular god, in this case, Pandida (known in her youth as Panda), the daughter of Zeus and the moon goddess, Selene. Her coming-of-age tale involves scholastic arguments with boys, a profound interest in the moon landings, midnight moonlight swims, night clubbing raves, and the majesty of an eclipse. Megan Drury is the performer who guides and supports us through this story, with warmth and compassion in what is a deeply tender and transformative experience. 
4. Playback (Or, a Play About But Not Starring a Famous Politician) - The Street Presents (Resident Street Program), Street 2: In childhood development, 'playback' refers to how children process, practice, and replicate experiences through play. This cycle allows them to make sense of the world by reenacting real-life scenarios, testing rules, and consolidating their cognitive, linguistic and social skills. In theatre terms, playback refers to an interactive style of improvisational theatre in which audience members share real-life personal stories and watch actors enact them on the spot. This play draws on the playwright's (Tom Glassey) experience working in the Canberra press gallery and explores how media framing, editing, soundbites and deconstruction of truth shape modern politics. Blending traditional stage elements, live-video projections and screen editing, the production captures the media landscape in a totally engrossing manner. Deborah Grant who was 'aged out' of broadcast television now hosts the Proper Gander podcast and has the opportunity to interview Scott Morrison. She has painstakingly prepared and has questions she is determined he will not evade. She is assisted by a Young Man who turns up wanting to be an intern but with no apparently relevant skills and who threatens to be more hindrance than help. Casting Andrea Close as Deborah is a stroke of genius - as well as being a fantastic actor, she was also a journalist and presenter for the ABC for a decade and subsequently a media and communications manager for several high-level organisations. Her understanding of the inherent manipulations and machinations is confident and captivating, bringing both pathos and humour to the role that reveals the personal face of federal politics. Meanwhile, Tyker Jenkins is a quick-witted foil to her anguish, his improvisation skills perfectly suited to the chameleon character of the unprincipled ambitious apprentice, or the many faces of the former PM. Criag Alexander's direction is as tight and slick as the videography which highlights and supplements the on-stage action to deliver a resoundingly good play. Full disclosure: I was involved in an initial workshop of this play back in December 2024, so it is fascinating to see how far it has grown.
5. The Good Boy Game - Q the locals, The Q: An interesting play, but the production lacked any cohesion or vision with certain style elements (mainly sound) prioritised over substance (acting and theatrical unity). A young man, James (Alastair McKenzie) writes in his diary that he wishes to kill his classmates, so his parents, Mary-Beth (Giuliana Baggoley) and Sam (Bruce Hardie) lock him in the loft and try to de-radicalise his teenage urges. Meanwhile, Mary-Beth is seeing a counsellor, Judith (Elaine Noon), who suggests she try a points-based reward system - the Good Boy Game of the title - to encourage James to more acceptable behaviour. Apparently, this is a world premiere of a new work by Petrick Vermillion, so the overwhelming similarities with Bartek Bartosik and Naqqash Khalid's script for the film, Good Boy must be entirely coincidental. Baggoley and Hardie have limited rapport and barely seem to be listening to the other actors; McKenzie is suitably entitled and whiny (albeit with diction and projection issues) but lacking in strength, anger and threat, and Noon has an intelligence and commitment to the character which is in such contrast to the others that she seems to be in a different play. The set delineates the spaces well although much of the decisive action is at the back of the stage, and garage/ grunge intros to scenes are highlighted with projections of time and place. Unfortunately, it smacks of enfant-terrible-directing (Caitlin Baker); wanting to be provocative but unable to translate into a clear vision. There are too many disparate elements to make a harmonious production. Reading the play opens up many avenues of enquiry – this production doesn’t follow any of them through.

Friday Five: Books Read in June

1. The Morningside by Téa Obreht (Weidenfeld & Nicolson) - The Morningside is an apartment building in a future dystopian world in an unnamed country where rising sea levels have flooded much of the land. Silvia is an eleven-year-old child whose mother manages the apartment. They are refugees who have arrived as part of a humanitarian scheme which sends children to school but offers little else in the way of welfare. She encounters another girl, Mila, who seems to have much more privilege, and they have adventures which are hauntingly unpleasant. The world created is sketchy as seen through a veil of imagination and terrifying fairy tales (Silvia's aunt Ena tells her magical folktales) and the young person narration shifts the reader’s focus. This is true magical realism in which the reader should go with the flow rather than swim against the (rising) tide. 
2. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown (Vintage) - Written as social anthropology, this book studies each Native American tribe's relation to and treatment by the American government. The litany of lies, deceptions, broken promises and massacres are overwhelming as the settlers keep pushing West, plundering resources and dispossessing the Indigenous population of their land and livelihood. We know the names of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Red Cloud and Geronimo, and this fills in their stories with ever-depressing detail. It has an elegiac tone as it focuses on defeat and victimisation. "Their musical names remained forever fixedon the American land, but their bones were forgotten in a thousand burned villages or lost in forests fast disappearing before the axes of twenty million invaders." While this book, first published in 1970, undoubtedly changed the way Native Americans were viewed (savages and brutal warriors), the narrative maintains a tragic death of their culture rather than propounding the vibrancy of their survival. 
3. Psykhe by Kate Forsythe (Vintage) - This begins as an interesting history then rapidly descends to teen-fantasy quest using the myth as a narrative structure. Natalie Haynes, Kamila Shamsie and Madeline Miller are all doing interesting things with myth – Kate Forsythe is not. She tells the story of Eros and Psyche as a template for the Beauty and the Beast fairytale, set in the fifth century BC. Her focus on Estruscan life draws unfavourable parallels with Ursula Le Guin's Lavinia, as she offers up recognisable history without contemporary interest, and the fantastic descriptions of lavish settings are strangely underwhelming, like those of biblical tales. She then attempts to retrofit feminism with passages about the lack of self-determination for women, but succumbs to a conventional narrative in which the supposed passion and desire present more like coercive control. "He had never let me see his face; he had come and left in darkness, he would not let me know his name. I had been kept locked in, forbidden to see or speak to anyone else.” It is rather perfunctory and lifeless and adds little to the ever-increasing canon of mythical revisionism.
4. The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden (Penguin) - Living in a colonised country, one notes strong parallels with the themes in this novel of contested ownership and possession. Isabel lives in the family house in the Netherlands with no real understanding of its origin or how they came by it. She and her younger brother, Hendrik, mockingly discuss their older sibling, Louis, knowing that he will inherit the home when he marries, and that Isabel merely inhabits it on suffrance until that time comes. When Louis, dumps his graceless girlfriend, Eva, on her doorstep, Isabel is initially repulsed by and later drawn into a relationship with her, which is almost Chekovian in its repressed passion and unspoken trauma. There is aching loneliness and explosive sexuality in this stifling millieu of 1960s middle Europe with a focus on atmosphere and undercurrents rather than superficial storytelling.

Friday Five (on a Saturday): World Cup Wonderings Week Three

Herewith, the latest instalment:

1. The stars are out to play. Mbappe and Haaland may be taking over from Messi and Rondaldo as the newer generation of super strikers. Goals galore are also expected from the likes of Kai Havertz and Vinicius Junior, while I am quietly keeping an eye on Harry Kane and Jude Bellingham. it was also noted that Mo Salah scored his first World Cup goal helping Egypt to win their first World Cup match (3-1 v NZ). How have they not done this before now? They are now in the round of 32: let's hope their successful run continues.
2. Meanwhile, other so-called celebrities are less illuminating. Those from the realm of music and film are recognisable: Mick Jagger; Matt Damon; Penelope Cruz; Javier Bardem; Tom Cruise; Billy Bob Thornton; Rob Lowe; Owen Wilson; Sofia Vergara; Alanis Morisette; Ryan Reynolds, to name but several. There are also plenty of former footballers out and about, notably David Beckham, Roberto Carlos, Ronaldo, Alexia Putellas, Zinedine Zidane, and Luis Suarez. The VIP lounges are full of champagne and prawn sandwiches, but the English commentators hilariously fail to recognise any 'stars' of American sports. The cameras pan to the supposed superstar who has no interest in the match and is purely there to be seen and dead air ensues while the commentator is clearly being told who that might be, before they announce it is of course some legend from letters (NFL; NBA; MLB). Until last week I had never heard of Patrick Mahomes, Marshawn Lynch, Jalen Brunson, Dirk Nowitzki, or Aaron Judge, I'm pretty sure many of the UK commentators hadn't either. Welcome to Corporate America.
3. Staying with transatlantic travesties, what are they trying to do to our language? When did transition become a footballing term? I know what it means, as a team tries to play out from the back through the midfield towards the opposition goal, but of course Americans need a new way to explain moving from DEEfence to OFFfence. While we're here, it is nil not zero, pitch not field, shirt not jersey, clean sheet not shut out, boots not cleats, manager not coach; striker not forward; squad not roster, and definitely club not franchise. Franchises have no place in sport. And teams are plural. You may be You Ess Eh? But We Are England.

4. On the subject of FIFA faffing, it never rains but it pours. We are now all aware of the sporting rain and weather protocols: we learned that U.S. sporting protocol requires a mandatory wait time of thirty minutes after the last observed lightning strike or thunder before play can resume. Every time a new lightning strike occurs within the designated danger radius (typically 8 miles or 13 km), the 30-minute countdown clock resets completely. So, after the start of the Mexico v Ecuador game was delayed by an hour, we were all expecting that there would be no hydration break, especially because FIFA announced that there wouldn't be. However, as the temperatures plummeted to 14 degrees, everyone was adequately cool and refreshed, and the momentum of the match was cracking along exceptionally energetically, Fox must have called FIFA and reminded them of the money they were making through the ads, and so we were 'treated' to one after all. What an absolute shower.
5. The super-subs: Over 20% of goals scored have been by substitutes, and many of these within mere moments of the sub coming off the bench. There are plenty of reasons for this, namely, it's only the second World Cup that has allowed teams to make five substitutions, and also, the fatigue of the existing players means the fresh legs are particularly valuable. It's hot, it's humid, some stadiums are at altitude, and this combination of factors causes players' performances to drop off towards the end of the match. It makes thing interesting if nothing else. Mattias Svanberg scored in the 84th minute for Sweden in their 5-1 victory over Tunisia, 18 seconds after stepping onto the pitch and with his very first touch in a set piece. Romelu Lukaku made a near-instant impact for Belgium in the 66th minute against Egypt. A mere 22 seconds after his introduction, his powerful run forced an Egyptian defender to turn the ball into his own net, rescuing a 1–1 draw. Coming on as a late tactical change in the 90+5 minute against Algeria, the Austrian Saša Kalajdžić met a crossed ball with his first touch to power home an equalizer just 61 seconds later. The dramatic finish meant that Iran were knocked out of the tournament as a 3rd place getter with insufficient points. When Switzerland played Bosnia and Herzegovina in their group-stage match, four of the five goals were scored by subs. As always, fans are often disappointed when their favourites are subbed off, but when it works, the manager is considered a tactical genius. Conversely, Australian manager Tony Popovic subbed on experienced captain, Matthew Ryan in the 119th minute of extra time to replace starting goalkeeper Patrick Beach for the penalty shootout against Egypt. The high-stakes strategic gamble ultimately backfired, as Ryan was unable to save any of Egypt's four penalties, resulting in elimination for the Socceroos in the round of 32.

Friday Five: World Cup Wonderings Week Two

Carrying on where we left off last week - I've not actually left off at all to be honest - here are some more musings from the highest echelons of the beautiful game.

1. The individuals - Yes, it's a team game. But the golden boot competition is for single strikers, and it's alive and kicking. Of course we have to mention Lionel Messi. At 39 years old he is leading the race, scoring a hat-trick in Argentina's opener against Algeria. He went on to bag a brace against Austria, leaving his team top of their group and breaking a whole heap of records in the process, some of the most eye-catching being: the most goals scored at a men's World Cup; the oldest player to score a hat trick in World Cup History; the most World Cup matches played by a single player. It seems it is almost impossible to chat about Messi without bringing up Cristiano Ronaldo - the two have been pushing each other (in the media's headlines if not their own minds) for as long as they've been playing. Ronaldo also knocked in a couple in Portugal's second game making him equal with Messi in scoring at six different World Cups. He's two years older than Messi so has got the better of him on that front. A quick Google comparison indicates that Messi is the leader in many statistics, "most notably leading in goals, assists, total goal contributions, and by winning the World Cup trophy in 2022." While that last statistic may be the one that counts the most, what really interests me is that Messi has four times the number of assists and more than double the 'goal contributions'. One of these players knows it is not all about them.
2. The defenders - as a former right back, one of the things that annoys me a bit about the media and the punditry is the focus on the attackers. A goalless draw can be fascinating if one appreciates the art of a good block or an off-the-line-clearance. I know there is also a golden glove contest for the keepers, but most of the time folk bemoan the lack of goals as if they're the only consideration. It's like watching cricket and ignoring the bowlers' skill, claiming a match is only interesting if there are lots of runs, without acknowledging the wickets taken. True, a lot of the challenges are tough and it's not always pretty, but it is crucial. Unfortunately, we saw the worst of it when the tackle from Qatar's Assim Madibo resulted in a broken leg for Canada's Ismael Kone, and a red card and five-match ban for the guilty midfielder. However, I maintain that if France win the World Cup (and they are my favourites to do so), it will be largely due to their impeccable defence.
3. The managers - There's always a bit of debate about who controls the team - the manager, the captain, the talisman player, the bloke who's good for the dressing room (which appears to be the reason Jordan Henderson is in the England squad), or the media darling (see Cristiano Ronaldo). Tunisia thought the manager had pre-eminence and sacked Sabri Lamouchi after their first-round 5-1 defeat by Sweden. It didn't do them much good, however, as they finished bottom of their group with no points and a goal difference of -10. They have form at this, having previously sacked their manager, Henryk Kasperczak, two games into the World Cup in 1998, from whence they proceeded to also finish last in their group. Meanwhile Didier Deschamps will miss the largely exhibition match between France and Norway as he flies home for his mother's funeral. The team will show their support and undoubtedly play their finest football in respect. And the manager of Ecuador, Sebastian Beccacece, acts as if his country's victory against Germany is all due to him as he prances up and down the touchline, hugging his entourage in the crowd, tennis-style, and drawing all attention to his antics before finally congratulating his players, basically carrying on like a pork chop, as they say in these parts. 

4. The new rules - FIFA enjoys faffing about with the rules of the game just before big tournaments (silver goal, anyone?). The changes are usually introduced to make things more 'exciting', to give more impetus to the attackers and to speed up the run of play. This time round the new rules largely relate to time wasting and affect tardy throw-ins, substitutions and VAR decisions over off-sides and corner kicks. As mentioned in the previous post, the referees are being relatively consistent and, despite the three red cards in the first game of the tournament (Mexico v South Africa), are letting the games flow. One new rule which has has immediate dramatic results, however, is the one about covering the mouth in a confrontational situation. In a Champion's League game, a Benfica player was accused of making discriminatory remarks to Real Madrid’s Vinícius Júnior, but because he covered his mouth, lip-readers (who are employed for exactly this sort of thing) could not verify the accusation and so it went unpunished. Paraguay’s Miguel Almirón was the first to fall foul of this new regulation as he was sent off in his team's group match against Türkiye. We may not know what he said, but he knows he shouldn't have said it, and he definitely shouldn't have tried to hide it. He can't say he wasn't warned.
5. The commentators - Most of them are knowledgeable and informative, guiding the viewer through the games with helpful understanding. Andy Townsend is, of course, my favourite and has been ever since I met him at a book signing in 1994, and Peter Drury is particularly solid with his mix of enthusiasm and expertise. And then we have the Americans. Brad Friedel has experience despite a complete lack of apparent personality, but he is infinitely preferrable to John Easton who blurts out bullsh*t at an incredible rate. The epitome of someone who has never been told that if he hasn't got anything interesting to say, he should remain quiet, he barely listens to his fellow commentators, and just repeats what they might have said more loudly and more crassly. It was actually a relief when someone killed the sound during the Netherlands v Sweden match so we could concentrate on the football rather than the banal yahooing. At least we are spared the Fox fiasco, in which Alexi Lalas has apparently managed to ghast the flabber of even the most insouciant Henry with his verbose vapidity. It is painfully embarrassing to all in the studio and at home what a glaring division there is between the 'soccer' sycophants and the rest of the world.

Friday Five: World Cup Wonderings Week One

The World Cup has kicked off and there is plenty to think about. I will not venture into the tactics of teams or specific match reports in these posts, and I will do my best to stay away from the politics of the Resident Evil. But there is plenty of other chat around the grounds.

Three lions in the crowd

1. Ad breaks - call them what they are. The totally unnecessary, momentum-killing, three-minute intervals midway through the halves give the Americans what they have always wanted: a game of quarters for their attention-deficit, commercial-forward nation. They were understandable in Qatar (the fact that the World Cup was held there at all is a totally different proposition), but everyone knows they are not really for hydration here. The rest of the world despises them (the breaks; not the nation - we save that contempt for their president), and the fact the crowds at every game are boo-ing them is testament to their unpopularity. Maybe FIFA will take note of this, but probably not.
2. National anthems - Scotland win, and I don't mean with Yes, Sir, I Can Boogie. I'm not a great fan of bagpipes, but they certainly make a noise. And I have to concede that when played well, they are a damn sight/ sound better than vuvuzelas. To be fair, those blowing and squeezing out Flower of Scotland in Boston are generally superb. Uruguay are a close second with a jolly, rousing number that makes one want to party. The New Zealand cry-for-help in song is a two-header. Everyone thinks it's finished after the Māori version and then are surprised when the English version kicks in - people might know the words to this bit, but they're bored by the end of it. New Zealand are the lowest ranked team in the tournament, so we're unlikely to hear it too often.
3. The refs - Ref cam is fascinating. We can watch the match officials try to keep up with the game while staying out of the way, which doesn't look easy - they have to read the game to know where they expect the ball to go and then be near it but not in its path. The view shows what they see of the action and explains why they sometimes need to refer to VAR because their vision is blocked of a potential infringement. It's early days, but I think they're doing a good job, refusing to be swayed by histrionics and giving free kicks for obvious shirt pulls and trippings. 
4. Tiny teams - The extended format of this tournament isn't to everyone's liking (I have questions, including why do some group winners play the second-placed finishers in the next round, while others get an apparently easier route against the best-placed losers?) but it does introduce new countries and their fans to the world stage - namely Cape Verde, Curaçao, Jordan and Uzbekistan. Curaçao (a nation with a population the size of Toowoomba) scored their first ever world cup goal against Germany, and one of the biggest talking points of Week One was when Cape Verde kicked off their first ever World Cup campaign with a point from a scoreless draw against fifth-ranked Portugal. And what's not to love about that?
5. The crowds - Scotland (again), who have embarked upon a full-frontal love affair with Boston in which they have drunk the city dry, the mayor wants to twin town with Glasgow, and no traffic cones are safe. The colours are a riot - and perhaps fearing this, England fans have been told they cannot hang theirs at stadiums because they might - heaven forbid - cover up the advertising hoardings. See point one about the money-making-morality of this tournament. Apparently images depicting weapons are also not allowed (because we all know how strict Americans are about 'actual' gun control...) so a submarine on a Barrow AFC flag is forbidden entry. The flag of Haiti, however, bristling with six rifles, two axes, two cannons and two piles of cannonballs, is absolutely fine. If you haven't got a flag to wave, you can always hold a baby aloft. We only a week into this tournament and it appears that babies are the new must-have accessory as many folk seem to be thrusting at the cameras for air-time. No, sir/madam, I have no interest in your spawn; I would far rather watch the Norwegian team sitting down on the pitch to celebrate their victory by joining the fans in a Viking row. 

Fiday Five: More Cats

Because they are endlessly entertaining. And absolutely bonkers.