WHAT a week of talking points, and being a bit of a sports nut – pun soon to be revealed – can I start with a comment from my son, who is playing a season of cricket in Adelaide.
He took objection to England rugby prop forward Joe Marler giving Wales captain Alun Wynn Jones’s tackle a tickle, so to speak, last Saturday at Twickenham.
Son didn’t quite demand Marler’s castration for the outrage (he suggested a ban of 8-10 weeks) although I’m sure there were plenty of mortally offended people who want Marler placed on the sex offenders’ register.
What a load of … yes, it was only a matter of time … balls. Some people need to grow a pair. You could see from the smirk on Marler’s face he was only joshing, after a ‘brawl’ which in rugby terms was like watching Italian waiters having an arm-waving competition over a dish of spilled minestrone.
I so wished the Wales skipper had just laughed and blown Marler a kiss back, instead of pontificating that he hoped World Rugby would take a serious look at it. Good grief.
You only have to turn the telly on to see that we’re all supposed to take women’s rugby immensely seriously these days (no mention that coverage of it is cheap as chips, in order to fill airtime) let alone dare to say that it’s mostly dire fare.
At this rate, we’re emasculating the men’s game at a rate of knots. How long before shaking hands at the final whistle is replaced by a hug and a kiss on both cheeks? “Missing you already….” And if the gender equality brigade wants to give me a kicking over those comments, can I hastily add that men have no chance of ever being as good as women at giving birth, breast feeding, kissing children’s bumps and bruises better, plus a thousand other things that separates us as sexes.
And just don’t get me going on the inevitable place in a future Olympics for transgender rugby.
The way we’re going, it might be the only way Joe Marler gets another game. He’ll have to lose the beard though.
AND swiftly on to Trevor Phillips … forget Covid-19, you know how far madness has infected society when a black former chairman of the Equality and Human Rights Commission is metaphorically hung, drawn and quartered for daring to have a view on Britain’s Muslim community.
People like me can get away with it, mostly because after years of left-wing haters trying and failing to have me prosecuted for speaking unpalatable truths, they gave up. Trevor Phillips is fair game though, because he’s a seriously big beast and lots of people listen to him.
So when he says it’s disappointing that so few Muslims wear a poppy, why is he banged about the head with a reminder of how many brave Commonwealth Muslims gave their lives? He’s talking about now, not 1945, if anyone hadn’t noticed.
And to say many – not all – British Muslims have receded into a communal identity separate from the mainstream is not racist. It’s not even provocative. It’s true, as anyone familiar with towns like Dewsbury and Batley and their overwhelmingly separatist and self-governing communities will know.
If it actually is a criticism that Trevor Phillips is making, then surely anyone wanting an inclusive, one-nation future, would welcome the chance to debate it and explore ways of breaking down barriers. But no, instead we get the usual stooges from the Muslim Council of Britain pontificating from their high horses – and they’re the worst separatists by the way – before, predictably, along comes rent-a-gob Sayeeda Warsi with her three-pennorth.
Since being ostracised from mainstream British politics, Baroness Warsi of Dewsbury has set herself up as a sainted defender of the faith, which is both hilarious and hypocritical on every level.
But there’s no Muslim drum she won’t bang loud enough these days, when the left-wing media gives her a platform.
The only way the Phillips furore was raised to even more ridiculous levels was by it being the anti-semitic Labour Party chastising him.
Not got a view on that Sayeeda love?
GIVEN that she pockets £300-odd quid a day for signing into the House of Lords, plus various other corporate gigs, perhaps Lady Warsi (see story above) can dig deep and help out the cash-stricken Mount Cricket Club, at their fabulously titled ‘Field of Dreams’ cricket ground in Staincliffe.
After all, her family’s firm, Shire Beds, has been a prominent sponsor of Yorkshire CCC.
The Mount lads, who took over the club from what was Staincliffe CC, are reportedly hard up because they refuse to accept lottery funding, with it being a proceeds of gambling and they being a Muslim team.
Now hold your doggone horses a minute here, folks.
Firstly, Mount say they need £2 million to upgrade their facilities.
You could flatten and rebuild Staincliffe for that! Are they planning on signing Ben Stokes (not sure they’d appreciate Benny boy’s ability to chug a few lagers) or are they building a Lords-type stand butting up to Halifax Road?
Secondly, and really hold on a cotton-picking minute here – Muslims not accepting lottery money? Is someone having a giraffe?
A brief reminder here, that several years ago The Press exposed a whole series of fraudulent Lottery Fund claims all emanating from mostly fictitious community groups … based at the Taleem Training and Community Centre in Savile Town, Dewsbury. One grant even included a cricket club, but all of them were happy to pocket the dosh from ‘haram’ gotten-gains.
And just to cement the point that either the Mount CC are all literally holier than thou, or taking people for fools, I’ve just Googled lottery grants in Batley and Spen … and first up? A tidy little £10,000 to the Pakistan and Kashmir Welfare Association, followed by £9,980 to Muslim Women’s Aid.
I don’t know who’s trying to kid who here, but it’s a shame the Mount lads couldn’t have prevented their young Savile Town cousins from rendering the town’s premier cricket ground uninhabitable, before the impressive stand was burned down. That cricket ground was good enough for Yorkshire, once upon a much gentler time…