Odd thoughts #1- The Moth

The Moth! An austerity superhero. Lives in the sock draw and renders villains ridiculous by making holes in their underwear.

Not sure the movie pitch will make me enough to retire on.

Not entirely sure why I wrote this down, probably something to with having shellfish for dinner. Or not.

For the avoidance of doubt

For those confused in this complex world here is a handy guide to wearing our nations flag and shouting.
Standing around on Mt Ventoux during the TdF wrapped in the Union Jack and Shouting = Being British Cycling Fan= Ok (mostly)
Standing around in Croydon on a Saturday afternoon wrapped in the Union Jack and Shouting= Being an EVF Nazi= Not ok (under any circumstances)

Tweet of Shame

As far as feminist campaigns go, Caroline Criado-Perez pushing for Jane Austen to appear on our banknotes was a pretty modest one. The fallout has been astonishing. Criado-Perez has been subjected to a sustained barrage of threats and abuse via social media. I find it completely incomprehensible why because of what she has  said any man would threaten  rape. I cannot begin to guess what is going on in these guys heads, the poison and hate that must live there. But maybe I now have a better insight into  what misogyny looks like. Nasty stuff. 

A Women's Tour de France

I hope that Brian Cookson's public support for a Women's Tour is not just part of his campaign to be President of the UCI. Somebody of his stature throwing their weight behind it after the Tour's rather sniffy response could be a breakthrough. On the track, representing their countries Women riders have made huge leaps in recent years, and when given equal billing on the road, like at the Olympics deliver the goods. In Bejing Nicole Cooke delivered a win in a thrilling race, while in London Armisted only came up short to Vos, a true great.

But when it comes to professional road racing Women riders are getting a lousy deal, and as a result the fans are missing out. The shameful disparity in the incomes of riders was revealed when Cooke highlighted that as Olympic and World Champion she was earning £50k a year.

If you want to watch Women's road racing on TV well fat chance. Oddly because of ITV's coverage of the Johnson Healthtec series you have a better chance of seeing women riders in this slightly low rent domestic races than competing in the big World Cup events. ITV4 and Eurosport show little interest in covering these races, but at least there is a Women's Tour of Flanders. When it comes to the most famous and most prestigious cycling event in the world, nothing.

It was probably a bit rude door stepping Christian Prudomme on this issue when he came here to promote next years Grand Depart in Yorkshire. But his response, basically its all to hard, was weak. The sport has a duty to tackle this inequality, a duty most have shirked so far.  

Our Tour de France - Away with the OPCC

I have recently come back from an Old Ports trip to France to follow the tour. It is events like this that remind me about the benefit of being part of a cycling club. Now there a plenty who don’t like the club thing for whatever reason, but for me it has opened up worlds that there is no way I would have accessed otherwise. There are places I have been and things I have experienced in the last seven years that I will enjoy forever, which I would never have experienced if I had not rocked up to a Saturday club run one January morning.

The kind of trip we have just enjoyed would have cost a fortune if one had tried to book it commercially. But Iain did the bulk of the organising for the love of the sport and Cloudie and Kev backed up on the driving. Ok we were subject to Iain’s frugal hotel choices and rooming arrangements. (Lesson, bring your own partner otherwise you never know who will be in the bed next to you.)

There are a couple of things that always leap out at me when I go back to France. Firstly, though clichéd there are parts of Provence that are a Garden of Eden, some of the most beautiful landscapes one could ever hope to ride through. Secondly, how accessible and friendly France can be. Sitting by the river in Ile en de Sorgue on Bastille Day enjoying a lovely meal in the company of friends, absolutely brilliant. Some of the food was mind blowing, even a day’s climbing could not give Julian the appetite to finish one of his steaks, lovely has it was. Three of us had a go and there was still meat on the bone.

I love riding the road the tour goes over. It just builds ones admiration for the riders. Anyone who a descended Col de Sarenne knows just what a tricky bugger that is. To ride it eyeball out as the pros did – full on respect. The return to the world of work was not easy.

National Pride - Oh no not here as well

I am no stranger to national allegiance in sport. In my teens I would even troop off to Wembley to watch Ron Greenwood or Bobby Robson’s England Teams draw or lose to the likes of Greece and Denmark. I would watch in wrapped agony on TV as Viv Richards humbled the English Bowling before the Windies bowlers put our batsmen to the sword. I sat through every Olympics since Brendan Foster fell short in 1976 rooting for our girls and boys. With tear filled eyes turning and asking that question 'Father, is there a sport we aren't completely crap at?'

It was the Tour de France when Lance was set to break the record number of wins that I got interested in cycle sport.  I had just bought a Ridgeback Hybrid and was congratulating myself on completing a 16 mile ride to Bromley and back. Feeling like a proper cyclist I bought a copy of Cycling Weekly. It was the pre Tour Edition full of the stories of the previous riders who had managed five wins, and a review of the teams.

With the help of ITV2’s coverage, always nicely aimed at the uninitiated, for the first time I started to understand how the race worked. How the teams worked, that is was not just a mob of blokes hammering up the road seeing who could get to the end first. Well it is and it isn’t.  I started to understand the difference between the GC contenders and the Sprinters. Lance was an easy pantomime villain, Tommy Voeckler battling away, Jan Ullrich sliding away. All wonderfully free from any national pride issues. There were no British riders. Not even a humble domestique. There was no British hope, I was completely free to get behind the riders I liked and wish ill up those I did not.

It was Cav who started spoiling this, but it was easy enough, Cav is the kind of rider I would have enjoyed even if he was Belgian, Spanish or French. The flamboyance in Victory and defeat. Still there was no threat to the GC, Millar and Wiggo were visible but not contenders, the sharp end of the race was in the hands of others. Then it wasn’t. Wiggo came 4^th. Then Sky appear, planning to win with a Brit. It started to feel like every other fucking sport again. My ability to enjoy the simple beauty of the racing being undermined by national sympathies.  Then Wiggo wins, then Froome is the favourite and I’m standing on Mount Ventoux holding a flag.

I had always found the throng of nationalities on the mountains part of the thrill, those strange Basque flags, the Lion of Flanders. While I suspect those regional flags probably have some political significance I am not required to acknowledge this. Its just part of the spectacle.

But standing on Alp d’Huez I found myself opposite a man wearing a bikini because he had lost a bet. Wearing in a Union Jack like a Sarong he wiggled his arse around while his girlfriend, in a Ginger Spice dress asked the men in Orange where they were from.  Their friends enthusiastically engaged with (harassed, annoyed, intimidated) anyone passing while tackling bottles of beer and red wine. A club mate suggested we should have pretended to be German.  I concluded that national allegiance is much more appealing in a language one does not understand.

Lukewarm response to Froome's TdF win

With the dust settling on both the Tour de France and the Old Portlians own mini tour this is a good chance to share some thoughts.

I would say that despite a fair bit of coverage last weekend by today the Chris Froome’s Tour win has safely sunk below the surface of media attention. Even in the immediate aftermath of his win a good few commentators were asking why in comparison to Wiggo last year, Froome had not captured the public imagination.

On one level this does seem odd; the manner of Froome’s win was at least as deserving. This was a far tougher parcour. Wiggo’s make time in the TT’s and defend in the mountains tactic would have been wretchedly exposed this time. And in 2012 the Sky team worked like clockwork throughout while this time they often looked brittle, Froome on several occasions is left to fend for himself. Beyond this Froome rode an attacking race, making time in the TT’s but also taking his opponent on in the high mountains in the process claiming some fantastic stage wins. To win a stage at the top of the Ventoux while in yellow in itself a huge achievement.

But then why the slightly downbeat reception.  Well, being the second to win is never quite the same as being the first, but it was the 100^th edition so special in other ways. Some have pointed to Froome’s ‘Britishness.’ Born in Kenya and educated in South Africa he doesn’t sound like he comes from Kilburn. While Wiggo was born abroad, he did grow up here and cut his teeth racing in Kent.  But to be fair we have learnt to love plenty of ‘English’ Cricketers who have more than a hint of somewhere else in their accent.

Others have suggested it is because he lacks Wiggo’s charisma. Now, I have to say I am something of an agnostic when it comes to Wiggo’s charm. A taste for Dadrock, Britpop swearing and sideburns does not maketh a personality. While some seem to appreciate his geezerish banter, it often seems crass to me.  Froome’s measured poignant and humble victory speech was appropriate to the occasion, when Wiggo’s raffle ticket ramblings fell a long way short. That said cool headed professionalism is not always a short cut to the nations hearts. David Beckham could become golden balls not just because he took descent free kicks. Disgrace, allowed him to seek redemption. A far more fetching story.

But for me another factor is surround success. For those old enough to remember, it was amazing how the British public could learn to care about ice skating when Robin Cousins or Torvill and Dean were our only medal prospect in the winter Olympics. On the Ventoux and Alp d’Huez there was no shortage of British fans, and cycling is a sport on the rise. But that is from a tiny niche base. We have few if any ancient grudges in cycling, there are no old rivalries that make defeat sting and victory sing. It is important to remember that last summer the Tour finished before the Olympics but after yet another disappointing England performance in football and yet another Wimbledon where our guy did not quite make it. This year it has arrive like the small chocolate with the bill in a curry house. Massive wins for the Lions, some dominant showings in the Ashes and that so long yearned for victory in Tennis has given the wider sporting public plenty to fear on. No need to dwell too long on something a little bit foreign. If the Aussies has sent the Lions packing, and England were following on in the Test, and Murray was once again rueing what might have been maybe we would have clung more passionately to this victory.