A Cheese by any Other Name

An apology for my recent outburst. I am truly sorry I called the block of cheese a useless lump of fucking Cheddar this morning. Okay, I wanted Wensleydale (nothing else goes properly with rich fruit cake) and I had to make do with Cheddar. They're both cheeses, but they're different types of cheese and rather than recognise this I went off on one and in a moment of hot-headedness I called the Cheddar a "fucking Cheddar"!

I have to make a confession. I'm not a massive cheese lover. I rarely have any in the house. Abroad, in the various cheeselands of the continent, I am happy to immerse myself in the caseuculture of the region but I rarely eulogise about curdled milk protein to the extent that, say, Americans do - even though they have never actually tasted real cheese!

While I'm in the confessional, I don't like fat people, thick people, arrogant people - I really have a negative vibe for Beemerwankers - and I refuse to have a dishwasher in the house; what's the point? I'm anti kids, religion, waste, bad science and anything that starts with the word 'alternative'. Does that all make me a bad person? Well it might, but let's leave that aside for a moment.

I have my opinions but I don't set out to hurt anybody, neither am I quick to take offence. The world isn't perfect and people don't necessarily rub along as well as they might, especially when in serious competition. One of the reasons we have sport is to limit the bloodshed which would otherwise occur. All of which is why I'm a little perplexed at the current big issue in football.

I really dislike Anton Ferdinand, Patrice Evra and Stan Collymore - because they are footballers. In the heat of battle a bit of taunting must surely come with the territory? Is it racism? Really? Or is it just an easy way to get a rise; to rattle an opponent. If this was a heavyweight boxing bout the advantage would already be with the taunter - Yo' mama, she so faaat!

But boy was offence taken and once taken and made public isn't it hard to put it back in the box? We're talking about thick footballers here. The so-called beautiful game is played by thuggish louts of all hues who would otherwise be in factories or in the trenches. Or in jail. Few of them have the intellectual prowess to negotiate the complex and ever-so-delicate machinations of the race-relations industry. As soon as you get the lawyers involved you've lost the war.

That's why football matches have referees. Break it up lads, play on and play nice.