The Beestonian Olympics was a manifesto promise I outlined a few months ago, thus:
Its seems that London, always a bit rubbish at stuff and now with that bumbling fool in charge, is spending tons of money on the Olympics in an already spoiled, overcrowded, smoggy, frankly rubbish city full of people with quite awful accents and a penchant for eating eels. Not right.
My solution, in light of the East Midlands domination of the Beijing Olympiad, is to divert the funds up North to Beeston, the brilliant suburb of Nottingham which could do with the bit of lovely cash.
We already have superb facilities, an International Tennis Centre, a river for water sports (indeed a National WaterSports Centre across the river in West Bridgford) . The centre of the town is dominated by a huge patch of wasteland that Tesco seems to have forgot to build on…this looks perfect to fit a stadium on. A stadium shaped liked a giant Bee’s Nest, in-keeping with the general theme.
The Olympic Village can be catered for with ease on the nearby Notts Uni campus. Shooting events could be held in The Meadows and St Anns without anyone really noticing the difference. The Marathon could incorporate the infamous Beeston Pub Crawl, Paula Radcliffe’s wee-in-the-street technique being repeated en masse. With three bike shops cycling events could be catered for and the combined effects of the Retail Park’s TKMaxx, SportsWorld and Next Clearance would provide adequate sporting apparel to the hordes of sportspeople. Gold for the medals could be sourced from the mountain of tat and sovereign rings in Cash Converter’s Windows, and if we can’t find any bronze they can have a Gameboy Advance instead. Boots Pharmaceuticals is based here, so any athletes wishing to enhance their performance will be well provided for. Even dodgier substances can be found in any of the pubs.
So people of Facebook, rise up as one, and lets make Britain proud by moving the Olympics from the heartland of Chas and Dave, idiots worshiping gangsters and Pearly Fucking Queens and put it in the home of sport, Beeston.
But above all, it’ll really annoy Seb Coe, and thats worth BILLIONS.
I put it up on Facebook as a group, and at one point this worthy yet controversial cause attracted around 700 supporters, who all agreed it was the best idea they ever thought of, and definately didnt just join cos they joined every group they were asked to join, even if it did include campaigns to canonise Myra Hindley and stop animal testing when there were the homeless and orphans to muck around with, oh no. They were serious, and they came out in their droves (which are little protest cars) to demand that we have it moved to the heart of this country, the soon to be Republic of Beestonia.
On the news tonight, was a report on how well the silly project in London is going, as it will be opening in three years with a ceremony involving 2012 pairs of Chas and Dave impersonaters banging out tunes on 2012 ‘joannas’, as fireworks explode over the crowds, showering them in jellied eels, over-priced beer and good-ole fashioned Cockney bigotry. It will be the shittest thing ever, and I went to the Millenium Dome.
So how is it doing? Its massively, to the tune of many, many billions, over budget, and an audit carried out earlier this month discovered a £100,000,000 hole in the accounts. Thats enough to fund 7 whole MPs expenses for a year. My estimate on Beeston? I’t would have paid for itself, just through taxes levied on extra sales in The Last Post. Its other promised ‘drip-down effect’ (an insidious phrase, bandied around by the still-not-dead Thatcher in defense of privatisation, which fails to take in account that the rich dont like drips, and are very adept at sealing any leaks) is that it would ‘encourage more people to take up sports. Excuse me, I need a moment.
No it doesn’t, no it wont. You’d be mad, or desperate, to suggest it.It might inspire people to take up jobs in construction, so desperate will they be in the final months to get it finished a brickie will be earning more than his weight in mortar for a days work, but sport? Your average obese kid isn’t going to think ‘Well, if I can get training now, I might be in with a chance at the pole vault in three years’. The only ‘sport’ to have seen an increase in uptake is table-tennis, and thats only cos its the closest you can get to playing on a Wii and still count it as exercise. No, the Olympics will have the opposite effect. I’ll explain.
When I was a child, much like other children, I liked to play football. I was never really into football, I never idolised a team or any players, but I came to realise a perfectly agreeable way to spend a few hours in the outdoors was to kick a ball around a field and, hopefully, between two piles of coats. It was simple, fun and kept us all from exhibiting the excesses of our crisp and pies-heavy diet. But should a team arrive on the same pitch who were evidently better than us; if they were wearing a proper strip, had meaty thighs or a ball that wasnt bought from a newsagent and was made of plastic so thin and taut if you kicked it hard enough it would sail into the jet stream before dropping down in Japan, then intimidation would set in, and we’d decide a session on the rec swings was a better option. Even today, whilst being competant at tennis, if a pair come onto the courts next to us who can truly play, with proper swings, forearms, backhands and lighning serves, then I lose all real desire, and tootle off to the pub.
Bring the Olympics to London, and put it in the hands of Boris Johnson and Seb Coe, a pair who in any other sane universe would only exist in the sexual fantasies of the most twisted right-wingers wet dreams as perfect partners in a menage-a trois, and Britain will once again slip into the title of World’s Most Laughed At Country. All the wonderful art, music and literature we have knocked out over the years will be usurped by the image of a upper-class blithering fool and his dead-eyed evil henchman, who was, and I apologise for putting this image in your minds, was once William Hague’s judo teacher.
I also see that recruited into the ranks of 2012 PR is that teenage diver who failed at the Olympics due to his head growing so fast in a week it queered his technique, Tom Daley. He is now being groomed to be the ‘young face’ of the push to promote the games, and expect more of him soon. Why on earth should we listen to him? His whole life is about falling in water on demand. We had people like that at school who we would meet up Stapleford canal. They were called ‘idiots’.
The only hope lies in a last minute intervention. Tesco has yet to be built, and there is still time to build the stadium. My cousins a builder, and reckons its a piece of piss, with a few corners cut (sod field events, they can be just simulated on my mates iPhone). We have the spirit. But we dont have Chas and fucking Dave, ‘BoJo’ and that slime they call Seb Coe. RISE UP!