Thrashing and Thumping

I’ve noticed that when four or more goals are scored in a football match against a team, the words ‘thrashed’ or ‘thumped’ are used in report headlines to describe the outcome of the match. For example, Brighton beating Coventry City 5-0, Chelsea beating Bournemouth 5-1, Coventry City beating Newcastle United 4-1, this season. There are many more examples over the years. But there seems to be some limitation to the use of these words in that they are rarely applied if the defeated team gets more than one goal in response. So, ‘thrashed’ or ‘thumped’ are poised to go once the four goal threshold is achieved, but are quickly withdrawn from reports if the opposition manages a couple of goals in reply. In a recent Irish Premier League match between Shelbourne and St Patrick’s Athletic they ‘thrashed’ each other, or perhaps ‘thumped’ one another, in a 4-4 draw. But, of course, as it was a draw the four goals each team scored cancelled 'thrashing' and 'thumping' out.

So, in men’s professional football where you rarely get extremely high scoring games the benchmark for ‘thrashed’ and ‘thumped’ is set quite low. Surely double figures should be the starting point in the modern game?

Personally, I still use Arbroath’s 36-0 win over Bon Accord in September 1885 as the benchmark for a ‘thrashing.’ I’m much too young to have watched it live, but anyone placing a pre-match wager on Bon Accord to nick a 1-0 win would have considered their bet misjudged when the half-time score showed that Bon Accord were losing 15-0! The chances of Bon Accord scoring perhaps ten or more goals and keeping a clean sheet (for non-football people, that’s not conceding any goals) in the second half and thus avoiding being ‘thumped,’ seemed unlikely given their first half defensive performance. 

Of course a savvy punter could have hedged their bets by placing a side wager on Aberdeen Rovers to win against Dundee Harp in another game that same day just down the road. However, the hapless punter would have ended their day sucking on a lone Hamlet cigar when the result of that match came through and they realised Aberdeen had been thrashed 35-0! 

Having seen some old black and white footage of that game, I’m still convinced that if VAR had been invented sooner, at least seventeen of Dundee Harp’s goals would have been ‘chalked off.’ As it was, Aberdeen Rovers did give away several ‘soft’ goals. A draw would have been a more realistic result except for the fact that Rovers failed to score any goals at all. 

Who would have thought that two games on the same day would have had such hefty score lines - 36-0 and 35-0? If any games warranted a ‘thrashed’ or ‘thumped’ description, those two most certainly did.

Loyalty

I bought something in a shop. The sales assistant began the payment transaction and immediately a bizarre conversation started.

“Do you have a loyalty card?” she asked.
“Uh, no …” It was the word ‘loyalty.’ It felt odd to reply negatively to that word. So, I tried to qualify my lack of loyalty.
“No. Sorry. I don’t. Erm … not that I’m not loyal. I am … uh, you know … usually.”
She smiled. “Usually?”
“Uh, no … I mean, mostly. Mostly loyal.”
She raised an eyebrow. I felt I was being judged. Her next sentence seemed to confirm that. “I see, so sometimes you’re not loyal? Would you like a bag?”
The switch threw me. “A bag? Uh, yeah … please. No, I meant that I am loyal, uh, all the time, just not to this …” I stopped. I couldn’t say ‘shop.’ She worked there. It was her livelihood. And what with shops closing in high streets … “Err, I mean I’m loyal where it matters.”
Her expression grew serious. Clearly she considered that I thought her shop didn’t matter. I felt guilty, so I said, “But I’d quite like a loyalty card, if you have one.”
Her smile beamed back on. “Excellent. I’ll just take your details, sir. Each time you shop you will receive points and be eligible for certain discounts. Now, can I take your email address?”
Great, I thought. I'll get emails every two days trying to sell me stuff I don't want. I only go in that shop about once every ten years! Oh, well, another loyalty card gathering dust in a drawer.

Either I’m a mug or she’s a great salesperson … or both!

Call Waiting

Call waiting. Yes, you know, that period when you are waiting to speak with someone after you get through the AI barrier that takes you around in circles back to your original question, and then finally you reach a human who doesn't know what the f**k the answer is so they say, "I'm just going to put you on hold while I speak with my manager." 

So, I'm wondering why aren’t people just straight? You know, just tell it like it is. There are options that would at least make you feel like you're important. How about...

1. “Okay, If you’d like to hold, I’ll just check that for you, sir. In the meantime, I’m going to play some really shit music that you didn’t request, probably don’t want to hear and at a volume that really should require you to wear ear defenders. I should warn you this is some crap electronic music from the eighties 'cos everybody seems to be into eighties music for some reason, but if you're not then ... tough. Roll with it.”

2. "Your call is not that important to us, even though we say it is. In fact parting you from your money is way more important. Oh, and our time is much more valuable than yours, so we'll just keep you waiting for as long as it suits us. Plus it gives me time to finish texting my friends about where we're going tonight."

3. "I'm just going to put you on hold while I speak with my manager because I don't have a clue what you're talking about. Yeah, I know I work here and, okay, maybe I should know something about our products, but, to be honest, I couldn't give a toss about the shit we sell so I've never bothered learning about it. And 'cos I work for a shit company, I've not been trained in customer service neither. So if you just hold on I'll come back with some bullshit that suits us but not you. Okay?" 

As soon as you hear the hold music, kill the frigging call!

Upselling

I went into a petrol station shop the other day to buy a sandwich and some water as I’d had no lunch. I approached the till counter with my choices, a BLT and a bottle of sparkling water.
The cashier gentleman behind the counter looked at my purchases and said, “No fuel.”
I wondered what that had to do with me as I am not responsible for ordering the company’s fuel stock, but then I realised he was actually asking if I had bought any fuel for my vehicle.
“No,” I said, “just these.”
He then scanned the items and said, “That’s five pounds twenty-four.”
I pulled out my debit card to pay but then he said, “If you get a meal deal it’s cheaper.”
“Okay. What’s a meal deal?” I asked.
“You can add a bag of crisps or a bar of chocolate.”
“I don’t eat crisps,” I replied. “But, uh … the chocolate … what, any chocolate at all?”
The cashier extended a finger indicating a nearby selection of chocolate products. “Just from them two rows,” he said.
Fair enough, I thought. Sounds like a bargain. I scanned the rows and picked out a Mars Bar which I placed on the counter next to the sandwich and the bottle of water.”
The cashier scanned it and said, “That’s five pounds forty-nine.”
I looked at him. “Sorry?”
“Five pounds forty-nine,” he said again, only a little louder as if I was hard of hearing.
“Sorry, I meant that’s twenty-five pence more. You said the meal deal was cheaper.”
“It is,” he said.
“No, it’s not cheaper. It’s twenty-five pence more expensive.”
“It’s a better deal. You get a Mars Bar with this deal,” the cashier said, as if I was stupid."
“This deal? But we weren’t doing a deal in the first place. I came in to buy a sandwich and bottle of water. I didn’t look for, nor ask for, a Mars Bar. So the purchases I actually wanted were less expensive than what they now are with a Mars Bar. So, therefore your meal deal is not flipping cheaper at all. Definitely not cheaper than the two items I was going to pay for originally.”
“But the meal deal is better,” the cashier said.
“Better than what?” I queried, but without waiting for a response continued, “It’s not better for me because I wasn’t looking to buy a Mars Bar in the first place. Granted it might be better labelled a ‘Meal Deal’ than if I bought all three items individually, but I wasn’t doing that so it ain’t cheaper. And anyway you never said, the meal deal was better. You said 'cheaper' which, because it costs me more money, like five pounds forty-nine pence instead of five pounds and twenty-five pence, it is clearly not the case. That's simple maths. You with me?”
A queue was forming. The cashier looked past me and then focussed on my purchases. “So you don’t want the Mars Bar?” he said.
I watched as he moved it to one side. I hesitated and then said, “Yes. I do.” I was invested in it now. I like chocolate. It wasn’t about the cost - it was only twenty-five pence. “I’ll take it. But it isn’t cheaper.”
The cashier shrugged and scanned the additional item. “You wanna receipt?”
No! I don’t want a bloody receipt was my immediate thought, but I just said, “No, thank you.”

SOLD! 

Used Cars

I was looking at the moon last night. It was a clear night in sunny Gloucestershire (although the sun was not out at the same time) and I got to thinking, you know, about life out there in space. We’re always thinking, are we alone or is there life out there, perhaps in some distant galaxy zillions of light years away. Well maybe we should be looking closer to home… to the places we've already been and where we've left our mark. It won't have gone unnoticed if there is life out there!

“What d’you reckon, Zhertan?”
“About what? That car over there?”
“No, dork. They coming back?”
“Who?"

"You know, them jumpy things with the big bubble heads what left the car?”
“Oh, right, yeah. Uh, I dunno. It’s been over fifty of their planet years and nobody’s been back since. I mean, if they were gonna come you might have thought it'd be to get their motor back?”
“You’re not wrong. I mean they kept coming for four years, then nothing. You'da thought they’d be back for the car at least. And maybe them golf balls what one of them was hitting?”

"Don't be stoopid. Nobody's comin' all the way back to the moon looking for friggin' golf balls. I mean, you ever played golf and hit a ball out there?"

"Can't say I have. I ain't got no clubs, for starters. I wouldn't even know where to get 'em."

"Alright, alright. That ain't the point is it? What I mean is, you hit them little golf balls out here on the moon, what with the gravity thing, they're gonna go bleedin' miles. On top of that, all the surface here is nearly the same colour as yer golf balls so you ain't never gonna find 'em. No, they ain't comin' back to look for golf balls, trust me. But the car, well, maybe. That makes more sense. Might be worth a bit still."

“Dunno 'bout that. Some of the lads tried to get it going last week but no luck. They got jump leads but nothing to give it a jump!”
“Must be some way we can get it started. It’s ours now, ain’t it?”
“Dead right it is. And look at it this way, whether it starts or not, it’s a classic motor now. So, yeah, maybe you're right, it could be worth a bit. We get it going we could sell it, make a few bob on it.”
“Sell it? Who to? Nobody here’s gonna buy it. But we get it working it’d be a nice little run around for a while. Maybe do some trips, a little taxi business or something. Lunar Uber.”
“Lunar Uber? Ain’t she a singer?”
“Nah, you’re getting confused, mate. That’s Luna Abba.”
“Oh yeah. But I like your idea. Maybe shoot down the beach at the Sea of Tranquility now and then.”

“Yeah. And I fancy a little trip to the dark side, too, catch a few rays. Never been there.”
“Blinding. Tell you what, Zhertan, mate, why don’t we try contacting that Apollo lot see if they can send us some spare parts and maybe a manual?”
“I like it. Got a contact?”
“Yeah. Bloke called Houston, I think.”

Fun in the Sun!

I guess when it comes to holidays people take a variety of views. Understandable. We don't all think in the same way. Personally, I don't get the default holiday that a lot of people choose - the beach holiday.

What's the point of the beach holiday where people lie in the sun all day exposing their skin to electromagnetic, ultra violet energy in an attempt to turn it a colour that it cannot possibly sustain (well, certainly not sustainable f you possess northern hemisphere genes) for more than a week; a holiday where you lie down all day long telling yourself that you are relaxing when in fact you are actually just about tolerating the effort it takes to keep smothering your body in oily chemicals and removing sand from places it shouldn't be (there are hospital patients who have to lie down all day and would give their eye teeth to be mobile); a holiday where you put on weight, following a sustained effort pre trip to actually lose it, so that you will look good on the beach in swim wear – look good, that is, whilst resembling someone who has just been rescued from an oil slick; a holiday where you don't really sleep at night because, having been singed severely by our nearest star, you feel the need to go out until the early hours with as few clothes on (usually in white) as you can get away with without breaking public decency laws, so you can show off just how tanned (burnt) you are to everyone else who is doing precisely the same thing - wouldn't it be a bit different to go out looking paler than Miss Havisham, thus confounding everyone's great expectations? At least you'd stand out as different; a holiday where you are surrounded by people you wouldn't otherwise give the time of day to (e.g. blokes with tattoos dressed like toddlers) but find yourself joining them, clapping yet another stupid fire-eating act. 

Anyway, it's a view (that's the equivalent of 'just saying', a popular social media phrase).

What's the alternative?

Go skiing! You'll be fast asleep at 9:45pm, and wake up the same colour as when you went to bed – that's proper relaxing! 😏

Oh, and you won't need to spend a small fortune on skin products post trip in a desperate attempt to hang on to that tan that actually starts to fade the moment you exit customs. 

Partner in Crime

It said she was seeking a ‘partner in crime.’ Better than the usual ‘soul mate’ tag, I thought, or ‘sole mate’ as the illiterate and those who live by the sea tend to put.

So I showed up on the date. You never know what to expect, and when I’d asked if she had anything in mind for the evening, she’d simply said, “Perhaps I’ll surprise you.”
I wasn’t quite prepared for the actual surprise. I’d just delivered two glasses of the finest Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010 to the wine bar table and had barely had a sip, when she pulled out a mask, a black and white striped t-shirt and a bag with the letters ‘SWAG’ emblazoned across it.
“Put these on,” she said, pushing the mask and shirt across the table.
I stared at the items and, lost for words, I took a swig of my wine (I note now, some while after this episode, that experts say one should never ‘swig’ a Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010, but, rather, should sip it gently in order to appreciate its aromatic deep cherry, liquorice tones, hints of leather and spice, and thus savour its rich, sweet fruit, vibrant acidity, and long finish.)
Fortified by my ‘swig’ I tried to hide my surprise. “You’re taking this ‘partner in crime’ thing a bit far,” I said. “What we robbing?”
“Robbing?” she queried, her right eyebrow arched as if she had deliberately chosen to add additional emphasis to her question. “I’ve been invited to a fancy dress bash this evening. I thought you might like to accompany me.”

I necked the remainder of the Chianti Classico Il Grigio Gran Selezione 2010. Who cares what the critics think?! 🍷