So, then, The Observer. National institution or financial dead duck? Ongoing liberal tradition or failing piece of press history? Last hope for decent Sunday newspapers or... well, you get the picture.
The problem is that many people don't. The news - or more appropriately, rumours - that Guardian-owned Sunday staple The Observer may be set to close has been greeted by cries of indignant outrage from the left and centre and cries of ugly derision from the right (i.e. almost every other newspaper).
No surprise there, perhaps, and it's good to see people coming out in force to condemn the proposed closure, oppose the Guardian Media Group's pessimistic murmurings and in some cases, call the whole thing a fascist coup. I'm one of them. I've joined a Facebook group and everything. AND I'm following 'savetheobserver' on Twitter. GMG, feel my web 2.0 wrath.
However, I feel the need to tar the rose-tinted Observer portrait with the brush of realism and bad metaphors. There's no smoke without fire, and in this case the fire is coming from an almost ritualistic burning of money from people bowing to a false idol of unerring tradition.
The Observer has not turned a profit in 16 years, ever since the Guardian bought it in 1993. Let's think about that. No profit in 16 years. And it's thought to have lost £10-£20 million every year in recent times. The Telegraph's business section has some more depressing statistics, although I must add that I don't condone the irrelevant comparison of the newspaper's losses with Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger's salary increase.
On Newsnight a former editor of The Observer, Donald Trelford, said the Sunday newspaper is being made scapegoat for The Guardian's losses. I don't agree. Once again, it hasn't made a profit in 16 years, and it's allegedly losing a million pounds a month.
Now I'm not a Godforsaken pennypincher, and I believe in political ideals ahead of profitable business, but can the GMG really afford for this to continue, and now of all times?
It's time, as ever, for a disclaimer.
I am a Guardian reader and an Observer reader. I detest almost every other newspaper from the Sun to the Mail - especially the Mail - for being irresponsible, reactionary and just a little bit racist. You may have noticed that my news links above took you to a story in the Times and the Torygraph, but only because, in spite of everything, they are at least trustworthy newspapers for getting their facts right. I just don't agree with anything they say, that's all.
So when I say we have to be realistic about The Observer, that doesn't mean I want it to die. I simply recognise that there may be no alternative.
But could it find some other way of saving money? Both The Guardian and The Observer have more staff each than the Chinese when they were building their Great Wall. If you were to walk past everyone who worked for these papers, you'd never reach the last one. There's just too many of them. The wage bill must be absolutely epic.
I don't want people working for The Big G or The Big O(we) to lose their jobs, though, partly because I know some of them. So could The Observer be smaller? It's a weekly so it's huge, naturally, but it could probably halve its page count before it had to halve its staff (uh, the number of staff, that is - I'm not suggesting it literally cuts its staff in half, despite the pleasant rhyming).
But if none of these cost-cutting measures are possible, what should the GMG do?
Shoot me for saying this but in times of dire need for a balanced world view, The Guardian must take precedence over The Observer.
The Tories are almost certain to win the next General Election (God help the delusioned sinners that vote for them), and we need The Guardian at its strongest to repel every right-wing newspaper out there. It's the guardian of liberal thinking and good journalism; it is not guardian of The Observer. And it can't afford to keep losing money.
Yes, I'm a bastard. But I do recognise The Observer's proud reputation and prouder history, which is why I think the proposal for it to become a midweek magazine is almost insulting. THAT would be the death of it. It's a 200-year-old newspaper, for goodness' sake. When World War One veterans are on their deathbed, do you cake them in gaudy make-up and call them Ruby? No. You let them die with dignity. I'd rather see The Observer close than see it become a midweek mag.
But just to make things clear, I don't want The Observer to close. If alternatives are lacking, however, we can't let blind brand loyalty get in the way of responsibility. Because if The Observer continues to print and continues to lose money, it could just bring The Guardian down with it.
We said good-bye to Kona yesterday. The cancer, which first presented in his right front shoulder and had made one leg nearly useless, had quickly spread to his rear leg and his abdomen. Trying to get around on three legs is hard enough, moving around on two was nearly impossible. The painkillers had ceased to help much, if at all. The last few nights he was moaning all night, even though we had tripled the dosage. Truly, no way to live.
We decided yesterday morning that it was time and called the vet. They said to come in at 3:30. I took off from early from work. After the girls got home from school, we explained what was happening and spent about an hour with him... just petting him, giving him some of his favorite foods. Then we drove to the vet and said our final goodbyes. We all held him as they gave him the medication and let him go. ____
My wife and I got Kona seven and half years ago, right after we returned from our honeymoon. The day we picked him up, he was all of 8 weeks old and weighed 13 lbs. He sat on Kelly's lap on the ride home.
As it turned out, I wasn't working those first couple months and we spent our days together while Kelly was at work. I taught him to sit, stand and shake hands. Heeling was never his strong suit through... he always had a mind of his own, but I didn't mind. We took up a near permanent residence at the local dog park and explored the trails near our house. He never did like to play fetch though, every time we tried, he looked at me as if to say, "I guess you didn't want that tennis ball, huh?"
He was always our protector... when Kelly was pregnant and when the kids were babies, he always stood guard around them, giving any new dogs a thorough sniff-test to make sure he could trust them. And he never strayed too far, just in case. On business trips, I never worried about the safety of the house. A big, strong 125 lb dog with a huge bark is the best alarm system money can buy. He particularly hated Jehovah's Witnesses when they came to the door. I always loved that about him.
He never wanted much... just to be around us. No matter what room of the house was occupied, he had to be there too. Even after the cancer, he would hobble around just to be close to us. He had his favorite spots in every room. In front of the fireplace in the living room. Next to my desk chair in my office. In his dog bed in our bedroom. Between the girls' chairs in the dining room... pretty smart actually, this doubled his chances of getting food. On the patio in the backyard. Whenever I was home, the sound of his breathing was a constant, gentle reminder that he was there next to me.
Now it's too quiet. Thanks for seven great years, Kona. We'll miss you.
First, thanks to James for snapping this pic and sending it over.
On to the race report...
It was a tough week leading up to the race, I was in Charleston, SC for a business trip all week and my training sucked. Between a completely packed schedule of early morning breakfast meetings, a full day of presentations and other meetings, group dinners and cocktails with my co-workers... I think I averaged about 5 hours of sleep per night. Not ideal preparation. I did manage a few short runs, but for the first time since October, I had two consecutive days with no training.
In retrospect though, it ended up being an unintentional taper. I got some good rest on Friday and Saturday, so by race morning on Sunday, I actually felt pretty good and ready to race.
My goal, just like at the Orange County Half Marathon two weeks ago, was to get under the 1:20 barrier... run smart and controlled for five miles, try to lift the pace for 5 miles, than blow it out for the final 5K.
It was cold out, high 30's at the start. I elected to go with long sleeves, though I ended up regretting this decision.
Since San Diego is such a hotbed of triathlon talent, there were the usual number of big names at the start. I was lined up toward the front and a bit to my right were Michellie Jones, Heather Fuhr, Jim Vance... also in the race were ITU pro Matt Reed and Joanna Zieger. Pretty cool.
At 7:30 the race went off... I made a real effort to hold back and just ease into a solid pace. 13.1 miles is long way, no need blowing myself up in the first mile! I ended up running next to Heather Fuhr up until Mile 4 or so... pretty cool to keep pace with an Ironman world champ!
Once I got to the seven mile mark, I still felt comfortable, so I sucked down 1/2 a Gu, and tried to lift the pace a bit... I ended up with 3 miles right at 6 min pace to get to 10 miles in 1:00:23... average 6:02 pace. Miles 11 and 12 really hurt, I lost a bit of speed here... than I took advantage of the downhill at the beginning of Mile 13 to bring it home in sub 6 pace.
Changes in life, however small, can make you think quite deeply. New purchases can help us to take on fresh challenges, do new things and achieve our dreams. They can draw a line in the sand between the old and the new; the past and the present; the present and the future. They can represent a new you, or help you to develop the old one.
And I can write this on my new laptop in half the time it usually takes because Microsoft Word isn't crashing every few sentences.
An Impolite Police (Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love To Rant) Bye Bye Beijing - Time for a Whole Lotta London Here Comes the Science Tories and YouTubers in 'Sense of Humour Failure' Shocker Picture Puzzle: Another Prick In The Wall
An Impolite Police (Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love To Rant)
Forgive me while I go a bit Daily Express "It's a bloody outrage" on you, but I find myself increasingly disturbed upon hearing about policemen and women abusing their authority. I'm not talking about inside men on bank heists or anything – this isn't The Bill – but minor violations of the law committed for no reason. They show there are a lot of officers who feel that because they wear a police badge they can do whatever the hell they want.
This week I read that a man was arrested for taking a photo of a policeman who had driven through a 'no entry' sign (well, not literally, but you know what I mean). Andrew Carter generously pointed out the officer's mistake, to which PC Aqil Farooq responded, "F*ck off, this is police business." Carter took a photo of the van and its driver, and Farooq, suddenly abandoning whatever business he had in the Bristol chip shop that was so important he could ignore road signs, ran out and knocked the camera from his hand. He then arrested Carter for being drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest and assaulting an officer of the law (none of which happened). Carter was handcuffed, had his fingerprints taken, was forced to give a DNA sample and spent five hours in gaol before being released on bail.
Somewhat defeating the object of opinion-writing journalism, I don't have much to say about this story, except that it makes me very angry. Yes, I know that most police officers aren’t like Farooq and that it's just an isolated incident blown up by a self-righteous alarmist press etc. etc., but I'm firmly of the opinion that anyone in a responsible public position – be they a politician or a lowly policeman – should have to pay the consequences for any deliberate misdeeds made on duty. Everyone makes mistakes, sure, but this wasn't a mistake. It was deliberate false arrest and wrongful imprisonment. Farooq showed that he was making a mockery of his job and, quite simply, should have been sacked.
Instead, he was made to apologise in person to Andrew Carter. Well, that’s all right then. Let bygones be bygones, let water pass under the bridge and let Farooq do it again to some other poor unsuspecting sod. Because he hasn't learnt his lesson. Why would he have done?
I've never liked the idea of having to apologise to someone being a punishment. When you're a child, maybe. But when you're an adult committing a professional crime, it's not quite enough, somehow. Farooq's boss also said, "he acknowledged what he did was wrong", which is taken straight out of the mouth of a chiding parent.
Pathetic. Sorry, is that not tabloid enough? It sickens me to the very core. That's better.
Bye Bye Beijing - Time for a Whole Lotta London
It's not often I agree with an idea suggested in a letter to The Daily Telegraph. I do enjoy reading them, usually for the terrified paranoia that Britain is going to be invaded by immigrant criminals at the behest of port-swilling Brussels bureaucrats (or the glum acceptance that it's already happened), but rarely do I agree with anything they're saying.
But one reader proposed that, if the British Government is so desperate for London 2012 Olympics money (and it is), it should make use of the fervour currently sweeping the nation and ask for voluntary donations to the fund. Good idea.
The public will have to put up some money anyway, and possibly for a long time afterward: Montreal hosted the Olympics in 1976, and Quebecian taxpayers were still paying for the main stadium, 'The Big O(we)', in December 2006 – more than 30 years later. Since no one likes taxes, raising them nearer the time to pay for the Olympics will make whomsoever is running the country by then very unpopular. It makes sense to ask for some of that money now, rather than demand it later. You may mock, but people have got carried away in the excitement of it all, especially since this British success has come as such a surprise (doesn't it always?). Ask the public to put its money where its mouth is and while it's still agape with shock, cash should come flowing out. Well, some will anyway; I'm not expecting millions to miraculously materialise overnight. But you never know.
The Beijing Olympics have, after all, provided an incredible spectacle. It takes some effort to sweep human rights abuses and some of the highest levels of air pollution in the developed world under the red carpet but by gum, they managed it (Chinese efficiency, you see). The opening ceremony stunned everyone into silence – even nine-year-old Lin Miaoke, who was meant to be singing – and the athletes did their bit too. I can even forgive Usain Bolt for being only two months older than me, because he's my kind of athlete. It's been a literally marvellous showcase of sport and athletics performed by competitors at the peak of their powers – exactly how the Olympics should be.
And most importantly for Britain in these crucial Games, we've done pretty well. 47 medals including 19 golds, placing Team GB 4th in the medals table, has shown that we'll be ready even if our stadiums won't. Cycling, sailing, rowing: it just goes to show that if we plucky Brits put our mind to it, we can be worldbeaters... as long as we're allowed to sit down.
And the British people want a great London Olympics. They're feeling inspired, but in all likelihood, most of them are too lazy to go down the gym or get the bike out of the garage; why not exploit their nationalistic euphoria by relieving them of their money and make them feel like they're contributing?
(Since you ask: no, I won't be paying anything.)
I did find it interesting, though, to hear that Led Zeppelin had to change the lyrics to Whole Lotta Love, which was performed at the handover ceremony on Sunday. Apparently "I'm gonna give you every inch of my love" is a bit risqué. It makes sense, perhaps, to change the line to "every bit of my love" – especially since Leona Lewis was singing it and, well, being a woman she doesn't have any inches to speak of – but it did remind me a bit of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' appearance on The Simpsons:
"The network has a problem with some of your lyrics. Do you mind changing them for the show?"
"Our lyrics are like our children, man – no way."
"OK, but here where it says, 'What I got you gotta get and put it in ya', how about just, 'What I'd like is I'd like to hug and kiss ya'?"
"Wow, that's much better. Everyone can enjoy that."
Personally, I find it ironic that in a celebration of Britain's emerging young talent, the music was provided by aged rockers reforming after nearly 30 years. Still, at least they're brilliant. It could so easily have been Take That.
Here Comes the Science
One of my bête noirs – the one that isn't pretentious use of French – is scientists coming up with utterly useless discoveries.
Sometimes they're already obvious, sometimes they're just completely inapplicable to anything and sometimes they're both, but they happen all the time. If it's not a geneticist declaring that black parents have black children, it's a behavioural analyst claiming that people who had a happy childhood are more socially able than those who spent their formative years crying in a box. One case that irritated me last year was a study erroneously and irresponsibly claiming that pupils born later in the school year do "significantly worse" than those born up to a year earlier. My vitriol on that report has already been spent here.
Now Dr Will Brown has 'discovered' that men find "shorter, slimmer females with long slender legs, a curvy figure and larger breasts" most physically attractive. Well... obviously.
What is the point in dedicating time and money to this study? Even if the report has a scientific revelation somewhere (and I'm not sure it does), surely there is little merit in its results because everybody already knew them. It's so stupid. You get the feeling, too, that he would have found this out a lot quicker just by observing life had he not spent his in the lab.
The study also found that people prefer symmetry in a face, defusing the argument that "Everyone loves a face with character" (a character with a face, that's what you want). Again, we know this. And what exactly can you do as a result of these findings anyway? Get a face transplant? New body dimensions? Why would a scientist bother wasting his intelligence on investigating such a pointless issue?
It's not easy to make this argument as someone who wants to write for a living. After all, what am I doing to change the world? Would it be fair for me to say that anyone who commits themselves to a life of research should make sure it's cancer-related? No. But their research could at least be useful. And I personally don't believe that, when he was studying, Dr Will Brown dreamt he could one day blow apart the myth that most men are physically attracted to tall women with broad shoulders and no breasts. All we can do is hope that these people look inside themselves and use their experience more responsibly.
But I'm not hopeful. "In his next study, Dr Brown plans to prove how attractively tall men with short legs are able to dance."
WHY?
Tories and YouTubers in 'Sense of Humour Failure' Shocker
You can, of course, take the 'time and money' argument too far, as the Conservative Party did this week. I don't know if it was them personally or the Official Opposition line that has to be taken on things like this, but it did not endear me to Cameron & Co. in the slightest.
The Government recently released a short video response to the online petition asking for Jeremy Clarkson to become Prime Minister. Watch it here. It's less than a minute long and seems to have been made with a handheld video camera and Microsoft PowerPoint. No10 themselves admitted, "A member of staff put it together in a spare half-hour."
And what's the Tories' response? "While the British public is having to tighten its belt the Government is spending taxpayers' money on a completely frivolous project. This shows how detached the Labour Party has become from the concerns of the British people."
They're not alone. Some of the many angry YouTube comments include "waste of tax money" and "why are they using my money to make youtube videos?"
Surely this is some sort of joke? How much money can that video have cost? And isn't it good that the Government should try to cheer up a despondent public in the middle of a recession? Even if you'd rather politicians stuck to business, it would be insane to claim this is betraying the taxpayer. But that's what the Conservative Party is doing.
Grow up and get a sense of humour.
Picture Puzzle: Another Prick In The Wall
A fantastic action photo from England's 2-2 draw with the Czech Republic prompted me to think about its deeper meaning. Look closely at the England players in a wall and see what you can learn from their reactions to the free kick being taken. You may see more than you think.
(With thanks to Action Images, WNSL and The Daily Telegraph)
From right to left:
Beckham - distant from the rest, he looks on with barely feigned interest from his safe spot in America/at the far end of the wall. Also stupid enough not to know where his balls are.
Barry - trying hard but looks uneasy not in the middle and has Lampard and Gerrard standing in the way of a link-up with Rooney.
Lampard - wrestling for space with Gerrard and Barry. Higher than the rest but for how long?
Gerrard - holding his breath. So are we, Stevie.
Rooney - ugly bastard.
Ashley Cole - not the face. Or the balls - I need those for, uh, Cheryl. Jump? What do you mean, jump?
We've already had the discussion – well, my excuses – about why this blog sometimes reaches extreme length, so I won't go into it again. Suffice to say that it's fairly long again today. But I did find, in writing the opening piece about Tory sleaze, that sometimes you don't need to say much to convey a point. Readers are generally bright enough to work out a lot for themselves. I will have to bear this in mind in future. It'll save us all a bit of time.
Same Old (S)Tory Strictly Come Goosestepping 'Arry Spurs on Tottenham The leopard changes his spots Police warned of race concerns
Same Old (S)Tory
Some things never change in politics. At this stage of a post I would normally say that the fall-out of the situation involving George Osborne and Russian businessmen has been interesting, but it hasn't, really, because we've seen it all before.
i) Accusations of Tory sleaze
ii) Labour attacking them for said accusations of Tory sleaze, with appropriate response
iii) The Tories swiftly changing the subject (and, in a fitting tribute to the everlasting stasis of British politics, changing it to the matter of bureaucracy and excess in the civil service – Yes Minister lives on)
iv) A question of right-wing media bias (why would The Daily Telegraph print and drag out this complete non-story of Osborne using a budget airline other than to make him look better?)
v) The public calling for the offender's head...
vi)... and only getting a piece of it
Stop me if you've heard this one before.
Strictly Come Goosestepping
The BBC has been 'rocked' by complaints from, uh, people on its messageboard saying that Strictly Come Dancing's public vote is racist.
It's PC gone mad, I tell ye!*
The BBC claims it has not received any formal complaints about the programme, but the Olympic sprinter (and part-time spokesman for the black community, it would seem) John Regis has spoken out after Heather Small, singer in M People, and Don Warrington, star of Rising Damp and a personal hero of mine, came bottom in the vote, and Warrington was voted off the programme. "It is not like sport, when it's down to performance," said Regis. "Other factors come into play. Strictly is a middle-class kind of show and that possibly could be the area where racism still festers. I feel sorry for Don" (but not Heather Small, apparently – maybe she just really can't dance).
I personally have the impression that Don Warrington would be an excellent ballroom dancer, if only because he has that aristocratic air about him in his acting. Say what you like about actors – they do have natural rhythm.
Whether most of the kind of people who vote on Strictly Come Dancing are racist is a matter known only to God and themselves (and, worryingly, usually not even themselves). One thing is for sure, though: the claim made by John Regis and others is possibly the hardest thing in the world to prove. People's motives aren't questioned on phone-in votes, and if they were I don't think it would help. It's hard enough to get right-wing Texan hillbillies to admit they hate Barack Obama because he's black; try getting an admission of racism from middle-class coffin-dodgers with a paranoid sense of victimhood.
Also, there are no analytical means of measuring this wrongful dismissal, such as it is. Supposedly the show's judges decided Warrington and Small's separate performances were better than those of the three white celebrities competing against them, but is that really enough to accuse the public of racism? Colin Jackson was runner-up a few years ago, and last year's winner Alesha Dixon is mixed-race. This vote could just be a coincidence, or a crap idea of what constitutes good dancing. Who knows? And given that it's Strictly Come Dancing, who even cares?
Actually, I care. Racism is bad. But good luck proving this is an example of it.
*Please, please realise I'm joking. I would never use this phrase with any kind of sincerity.
'Arry Spurs on Tottenham
So, Juande Ramos is gone – and Gus Poyet, and Marcos Alvarez, and Damien Comolli – and Harry Redknapp is in charge of Tottenham Hotspur FC. It's perhaps a bit late for his wheeler-dealer antics to be of much help now, at least until the transfer window reopens, but Spurs will be desperate for anything at the moment, and in 'Arry, they've not gone far wrong.
His appointment's worked already, with Spurs claiming a 2-0 victory over Bolton – their first win of the season, and one that brings the team more points than they
got from the past eight games. Admittedly this wasn't really anything directly to do with Redknapp, since the team was picked by development squad coach Clive Allen, but the catalyst was there for a team knowing now that there's a future. That goes for the fans, too: Redknapp received a fantastic reception.
Tottenham's decline has been nothing short of incredible. Just look at the change in forwards. It takes some effort to move in a couple of years from a choice of Berbatov, Defoe, Robbie Keane and an on-form Mido to having a tired and unsettled Pavlyuchenko, 21-year-old Fraizer Campbell on loan from Manchester United as compensation for the Berbatov transfer (appalling business sense from Spurs) and, well, Darren Bent. It's been tragedy for the fans; comedy for everyone else.
Even so, though, I wasn't sure about The Guardian's coverage of the club's decline – printing an entire page of jokes at Spurs' expense. One or two in a box, maybe, or even a mini-feature in a side bar, but a whole page on Page 3 of the Sport section dedicated to jokes? A tad lazy in my view.
The Redknapp era should bring prosperity for Tottenham, but the task for now is clearly to avoid relegation. I think it will happen, and with a degree of ease (I predict 15th). But I am left wondering why he took the job on. He has said it's an opportunity to manage a big club before retirement, but Portsmouth are a big club – thanks to him. He's taken Pompey from the old Division 1 to being regular candidates for the top 6 and FA Cup winners. Why go to Spurs?
I guess he needs a new challenge. He's definitely found one.
The leopard changes his spots
People are often surprised by my opposition towards tattoos – not towards people having them, but the idea of having one myself. I don't know why they're surprised: maybe with my long hair and beard, I look like the kind of guy who should have questionable life codes inked into his arm. But I don't, and, like many, I simply do not understand what would bring someone to do this to him- or herself. What is wrong with these people?
Anyway, bottom on that list is the Leopard Man of Skye, previously the most tattooed man in the world, and he's moving house. No big story there, you might feel, but this is a man who hasn't really lived in a house for quite some time. He has spent the last 20 years living in a makeshift cabin with plastic sheeting for a roof, no electricity or furniture and requiring a three-mile canoe trip for his shopping. But at the age of 73, he has decided he is "getting too old for that kind of life" and has moved into a one-bed house.
Clearly he's not THAT much of a nutter then. But it is interesting that he has managed to afford this house. He must have had money stashed away during his days of being a hermit
A solution to surviving the recession, perhaps?
Police warned of race concerns
... and the Award for the Most Misleading Headline of the Week, which I should really make a regular feature, goes to the BBC. When I read the above headline, and found it was one of the most popular stories on the news site, I was expecting it to have more to do with accusations of racism levelled against Ian Blair or whoever his successor is.
But no, it's about the Original Mountain Marathon in the Lake District, which saw hundreds of people stranded by flooding and torrential rain. Which is a completely different story. Never mind.
(If you're wondering, the best misleading headline ever was in The Metro just last month. When Helen Mirren admitted to having done drugs in the past, the London paper led with THE QUEEN: I DID COCAINE. Now, that's just not true, is it? Attention-grabbing, though, I must admit.)
Another two weeks have passed since my last post... dang, time is flying by. My first big race of the year, Oceanside 70.3, is this Saturday. I'm ready to have a good day... I've put a lot of work in... certainly more cycling than I've ever done along with a good amount of running. Hopefully, those miles will serve me well.
Last week I was in New York City on a business trip. I was fortunate enough to stay in midtown, only about 1/2 mile from Central Park. So, I availed myself of the opportunity to run the outer loop. It's a perfect 10K circuit, very scenic and quite rolling. It's a beautiful place to run, the juxtaposition of the hills and trees with the skyscrapers in the background is quite striking, especially in the early morning light.
Here are some pics from one of the days I was out there. That's it for now... I'll have a lot to report after this weekend.
Bad news for Team GB: eight sports have had their funding slashed ahead of the 2012 London Olympics.
They're all relatively minor sports, but the cuts are major enough: water polo is losing half of its budget and shooting will be forced to scale down from 46 funded athletes to 10. Several teams, including water polo, may be forced to pull out of the 2012 Olympics, scuppering the Government's plans to field athletes in every... field.
Well, that's not good, is it? Especially after Britain's success in the Beijing Olympics last year. I can see a lot of people being disappointed with this - and not just the athletes. The British public has fallen in love with the idea of hosting the Olympics, and knowing their own country won't be able to compete in some events will be a major blow to morale. Also, the UK was given the Olympics on the basis it would be cheap - much cheaper than Beijing. I don't think withdrawing their own team was the idea they had in mind.
It's easy to say this kind of disappointment is inevitable in a recession, and to an extent it is, but that's not the direct reason for this. No - it's a £50m funding shortfall. Yeah. OK, enough beating around the bush: the Government failed to raise ANY MONEY AT ALL from the private sector. Not a single penny. Nothing. At. All.
So yes, indirectly the economy's general downward spiralling motion is arguably to blame because private companies aren't happy to be chucking about money at the moment, and certainly not into the training of younger athletes, contributing in turn to national success (much better to invest in Iceland, eh?).
But ultimately, the Government itself must take some responsibility for failing to marshal the private sector into investing in Britain's sporting future. I don't know quite what its level of campaigning was, but clearly it wasn't enough.
I know one thing, though:
taxpayers will not be happy. Reading The Metro tomorrow morning on the bus to work, I can see them choking on their Nutri-Grains reading about how private business has let them down once again. "Why should we pay the money if they don't?", they'll ask. I don't think taxes will rise as a result of the funding shortfall - too unpopular, even with the excitement over the Games - but it's not going to help public attitudes towards companies that many see as having helped to land Britain in this economic mess in the first place. Class war, here we come: public vs. private sector. Now that's sport.
