God save me......
Blimey O’Reilly. Is it 30 all, deuce, advantage to them or set point to me? It’s been going on so long, I’ve lost count. I just feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall. Maybe I should start praying to St Jude - the patron saint for lost causes.
Alfie the little terrier is almost as sick as a parrot as he struggles to get any official answer from the blue blazer brigade at The Football Association. Whenever he tries to get them to talk – he gets blanked. They say sweet FA about anything.
When did the footy vendetta start?
About three years ago actually. A well meaning, but utterly ignorant TV commentator fanned Alfie’s glowing embers of irritation. Yes, Ron Cliché, ace TV anchor and interviewer of all things vegetable, summed up the scene. Becksy, StevieGeezie, Colesy, Scholesee, Riozee and the rest of the England footy team are all lined up on a corner of a far off foreign field. The opposition are belting out their own National Anthem, they are full of pride. Great gobs of glottal, are supersonically expressed to atmosphere as the high notes are hit – and the pride gets passionate.
Ron Cliché, chimes in. "Well, looks like the England boys are really going to show what real passion is all about as they proudly sing ‘God Save the Queen’ – the English National Anthem"…..
The cat got kicked.
The dinner got chucked.
The computer got plugged in.
I bang off an email to ron.cliché@rubbishtv.com…
I’m half way through, and then - I bin it. It’s not really Ron’s fault is it?
As far as he’s concerned, ‘God Save the Queen’ is the English National Anthem, because it’s always played before an English team event of virtually any sport you care to mention.
But why? It’s not England’s national anthem – it’s Great Britain’s. England doesn’t have one - but it should.
I felt a new cause coming on.
Better to target the blue blazers of the FA – to start off with.
My first email to FA HQ was fairly polite. So was the second.
By the time the sixth one was banged off, Alfie was losing his mind/marbles/mental faculties. All ignored. Consigned to the virtual bin labelled ‘Pain in the Bum, Barmpot’…..
Since then, every now and then, I have another go, renew the campaign to get the GStheQ CD chucked in the bin. A few weeks ago I thought, ‘bugger it, time to be a pain in the arse again’. Alfie is no longer playing with a straight bat. Alfie’s going to start diving in the area at the slightest of touches and writhing around like he’s just been shot with a sniper’s rifle. Alfie has declared war on the FA.
I log onto www.thefa.com
Oooooooohhh. The FA has gone all ‘customer luvee’. It’s all down to customer focus, in a customer-is-kingy kind of way. They’ve even got a hotline straight though to the grandly titled Customer Relations Unit on 0845 458 1966. I ring. Customer luvee interactivity hits the rocks. Because I’m not asking about David Beckham’s latest hair style, they cannot help me – but promise to get someone to email me…. No one does.
I trawl through the web site. The slick graphics seduce and mesmerise. David Beckham smiles at me from his virtual footy field, with his virtually footy foot resting on a virtual footy ball …… Is he saying "Look Alfie, don’t rock the boat, get behind the boys, none of them know the words anyway….. God Save the Queen – good. Fat old grumpy sod – bad, innit".
Becks gets deleted, I’ve no time for someone who names his kids Brooklyn, Romeo and Crud…….. I mean, isn’t Colin, Trevor and Cyril good enough then?…….
The current campaign is now a month old. It’s a two pronged attack, an email/phone strategy, every single day.
I’ve (rather helpfully I think) suggested some ready made English National Anthems that could be used. ‘I vow to thee my Country’, Jerusalem, etc, etc …… I’ve even volunteered to nip down to HMV to buy a few new cds as I understand the FA are a bit strapped for cash at the moment.
The trouble is that Jason, Steph, Tina and all the other luvees down at the ‘Customer Relations Unit’ do not want to know……
Just a warning to you, The FA.
Don’t think you can get away with it…..After all, it ain’t over till the fat lady sings (something else)….