Same Crap, Different Bucket
An Englishman's adventure in the land that Chocolate Digestives forgot.

Golf umbrellas

So, Swindon Town lost the play-off final. In truth, the 1-0 defeat was a fair result. Millwall were the better team and thoroughly deserved their victory. Swindon’s only chance of note fell to Charlie Austin, but he was unable to find the target, as the ball bobbled off the Wembley turf a split second before he connected. It would be erroneous though to blame the state of the pitch for the defeat. I’m already over it and looking forward to next season. I’m not going to mention another word on the subject. Instead, with meteorologists forecasting a week of heavy rain for Sydney, I’m going to talk about golf umbrellas.

I think you can broadly divide people into two categories: those who are happy to keep their heads dry under a conventional umbrella, and those who prefer to brandish something the size of a wedding marquee. As soon as it starts to rain, walking through Sydney’s Central Business District becomes a perilous exercise. Those not quick enough to flex their bodies out of the way, Matrix-style, run the risk of having the pupils plucked from their eyes by wayward metallic tips. I mean, you’d think that when you were spending hundreds of millions of pounds on building a football stadium, you’d at least give some consideration to laying a pitch that didn’t resemble the bottom of a fucking quarry. 

Um, sorry; lost my flow a bit there. Golf umbrellas, yes. How much of a surface area do these people need to keep dry? I can understand their desire to protect their head from the elements, and I agree that it’s unpleasant to be sat in the office in wet clothes, but is it really necessary to keep the area one metre around you dry too? It’s probably already wet anyway. I do accept though that there are some surfaces that it’s important to protect from inclement weather. Surfaces like sports pitches, for example. Sports pitches in the middle of obscenely expensive stadiums. Sport stadiums that are marketed as being the best in the world. Sports stadiums that you are led to believe are so mind-blowingly awesome that upon passing through the turnstiles, you expect to be ushered to your seat by the re-animated corpse of a fallen sports hero, who will then gently cup your balls and whisper sweet melodies in your ear. Sports stadiums where they charge you a fiver for a pie that tastes like it’s fallen out of a otter’s cancerous arsehole but where apparently there isn’t the spare cash to invest in a roller to flatten the fucking pitch. 

Do people who carry golf umbrellas actually play golf? Some must, obviously. I bet most don’t though. What’s your handicap? Oh, being a selfish, inconsiderate tit, I see. Most walkways are undercover in Australia anyway. Who cares if your hair gets a bit wet, it looks rubbish anyway. What is that, a perm? Jesus.

 

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