TV VIEW:WELL, THAT was a weekend and a half. The only event in a rather dazzling schedule that hadn't, to be honest about it, the remote control all a-buzz was the boat race, but even that proved to be quite lively, thanks largely to the intervention of Trenton "elitism leads to tyranny" Oldfield.
“This is a new one,” said Matthew Pinsent, who was fairly certain he’d seen it all until Trenton nigh on had himself decapitated by Oxford’s oars after diving into the Thames.
The boat people weren’t too happy about this, not least Oxford old boy Andrew Triggs Hodge – who was not, lest you wondered, named after Roy Keane’s dog. Andrew was born in 1979 – we checked – long before Triggs became an international celebrity.
Triggs – the Oxford old boy, not the labrador – was a bit incensed by Trenton’s carry-on, telling the BBC he was nothing more than a “stupid swimmer”. But if you read Trenton’s online manifesto you’d know there’s more to him.
The best bit, perhaps, is where he calls for workers to employ “guerrilla tactics” against the elite – eg: “If you are a taxi driver, can you take the passenger the slowest possible and most expensive route?” Trenton is either a wag, or he’s never been chauffeured from, say, Croke Park to the GPO via Rosslare.
Some might argue that Peter Alliss is out of touch too, and certainly his failure to recognise Bubba Watson’s all-white sartorial elegance in Saturday’s third round of the Masters – “he looks like a painter and decorator” – suggested as much, as did his response to Rory McIlroy and Sergio Garcia’s manly hug at the 12th. “You don’t see many footballers hugging each other like that,” he said, unaware the soccer riffraff have practically been making group-huddle-love after a goal has been registered for much of the last few decades.
Still, Alliss is hard to resist – and some of us try hard – particularly when the alternative is Monty on Sky Sports. As Bubba wandered up the fairway towards the 18th on Saturday, Monty most probably regaled his viewers with two dozen anecdotes about him taking that walk. For Alliss, though, it called to mind Psalm 119: “Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight.” Incomparable, you have to concede.
Speaking of incomparable: “Easter Monday is famous in Ireland for a lot of things, it always amazes me to think the Irish Grand National was going on here and 17 miles up the road inside in O’Connell Street fellas were shooting themselves and the fellas here didn’t even know it was going on. It’s amazing, isn’t it? No Twitters that day.” Need it be said? Ted Walsh.
“Which year was that Ted,” asked Robert Hall, with a grin you could only describe as divilish. “1916,” Ted reminded him, pointing out that it was “our side” against “your side”.
That proclamation had Robert raising a white flag, as Tracy Piggott was tempted to do while trying to get Peter Casey to behave while they had a chat.
Peter, trainer of Flemenstar, became a worldwide star when he shared with Tracy his steamy celebration plans after his horse romped home at Leopardstown a while back. “I even got a call from New Zealand, or some place like that,” he told her yesterday.
“When I saw you I thought of sex, then I was away, that’s why I said I’d have to have it that night,” he said, explaining his, well, openness about his nocturnal ambitions. “If he wins today we’ll have a rare night.” And he won, Flemenstar barely past the post when the camera switched to Peter lustily embracing Tracy.
“What can you say – and be careful,” said Tracy, but Peter was very nearly lost for words, possibly even more tongue-tied when he heard Flemenstar was now just 8/1 for next year’s Gold Cup at Cheltenham.
So what could you do but rush away to put your negative equity house on the fella? Good move Ted? “You’d want your head examined,” he replied. “Anyone who backs him at 8/1 for the Gold Cup wants to go in to a mental institution.” “But he’s won five of his six starts,” Robert argued.
“I don’t give a damn if he’s won 35 or 46. For God’s sake. Be serious,” he said, asking Robert if he was intent on contributing to a bookmakers’ benevolent fund.
Well, that buoyed us almost as much as the Sky man’s parting words did for Paul O’Connell after Munster’s defeat by the shower from up north. “No consolation, but it was a great occasion and thanks for being part of it.”
“Cheers,” said O’Connell, like he’d just been congratulated for giving his taxi driver a tip after being driven from Thomond Park to Ravenhill via San Francisco.
