Let’s Suppose ...

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Let’s suppose that you’re a multibillionaire with lots of money to splash around, and decide that you would like to support your country and promote it by assembling one of the world’s national football teams and turn it into the very best.

You take advice and hire the best football players available in the country of your choice and make sure that their earnings are at a rate of at least £140,000 a week. You then find yourself the very best football manager in the world and take him on an annual salary of at least £6 millions. You hire also the best available assistants, trainers, sports-therapists and other experts in the game.

After an adequate period of training in first-class facilities, during which your players get used to each other, you sit back and consider what you have achieved so far. You have assembled one of the best football teams in the entire world, and you are so confident of their abilities that you decide to enter them in the World Cup. The game’s experts are highly impressed with what you have achieved and reward you by rating your team among the first ten in the world. You eagerly look forward to their first game.

But, after two disastrous games in the first round, in which your team is roundly and humiliatingly beaten by teams reckoned to be easily beatable, you sit back once again and consider where you are now.

You discover that, thanks to their fat wage packets and extravagant life-styles, you have assembled a group of grumpy, half-interested men who are just not hungry to the point where they will do anything to win a match. You discover also that it takes more than just money to instil a proper team spirit in your players.

All is not yet lost though. There is one more match to play in which your team might qualify for the next round. You keep your fingers crossed that the manager and the players can get their act together in time for this. You might give them a couple of pep-talks and remind them what the purpose of the game and the competition is.

You night ponder upon the impact this exercise has had on your wallet so far and wonder whether it has been worth it when you might have done better by going out and recruiting a bunch of athletic school-leavers who might have done a better job at a lot less cost.

You mention all of this to one of your chums and ask for his view. His reply astonishes you.

‘Thank God, the taxpayer hasn’t had to fork out for this shambles!’
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Out Of Control?

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I always thought that ‘proms’, the non-musical sort I mean, were the end-of-term dances held by American high school students.

I was used to seeing the students in California clothed in their best or hired attire and often riding to their celebration dances in the stretched limos that our American cousins are so fond of. So I was not surprised when the idea of end-of-school proms as well as stretched limos spread to this country. The proms mark in celebratory fashion the transition from school to university or to work and, possibly, the move to adulthood. And why not celebrate in this way? I am enthusiastically all for it.

But it was a bit of a surprise to learn the other day that the idea of proms has spread to children to mark their move from primary to secondary schools. I feel this is more than a little over the top.

My surprise was heightened when I read that parents are trying to outdo each other by providing the fanciest or outlandish way of getting their little darlings to their celebrations. Indeed, East Renfrewshire Council has recently said ‘No!’ to one parent’s request to transport their 11-year-old child to the school prom in a helicopter. Dismissing the request on grounds of health and safety and the effort involved in providing a safe landing space, a council official added that it had ‘no educational benefits’. They got that right!

Another person who spoke sensibly was the spokesman for One Parent Families Scotland who pointed out that end-of-term parties put pressure on parents who may not have the resources for their children to emulate those whose parents are better off.

High or secondary school parties seem a great idea to me. But end-of-term parties for pampered eleven-year-olds? Definitely, not!
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Worth A Pound!

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Today is the 19th which, for reasons which will become clearer, made me think of the Colosseum, that monstrous first-century amphitheatre which was the scene of so much tragedy, torture and death in ancient Rome and which apparently kept the public’s mind happily off the troubles and politics of the day.

A few years ago I used to visit Rome from time to time and got much pleasure in my off-duty hours from quietly wandering around some of its ancient sites. There were occasions when I had time on my hands and would to take a closer look at the Colosseum, originally the Flavian Amphitheatre, in the days when, for a small tip to one of the guardians, you could pretty much go where you wanted in the place. I explored much of the building and was astonished by its construction.

I learned, for example, that the amphitheatre could seat over 50,000 spectators which could be seated or evacuated quickly in much the same way as modern stadiums. There were eighty entrances, four of which were reserved for the nobility and other members of the elite, that were numbered, and spectators gained entrance by means of pottery ‘tickets’ that directed them to their appropriate section, tier and seat. Those entrances, and the passages and stairways that led from them, were of such a design that those moving up from or down to one entrance would not meet others entering from or leaving the next. Each staircase led to a passage to the appropriate tier quite separate from the other passages.

Chatting to the guides and the guardians, I heard among other things that the Colosseum was constructed with a series of elevators that lifted animals and those unfortunate enough to be killed either in brutal gladiatorial contest or executed in a variety of cruel and dreadful ways into the area itself. Beneath was a two-tier series of tunnels off which were holding cages, cells and other spaces. The arena was used to stage mock land battles and dramas, and could even be quickly flooded to enable mock naval battles to be staged as well.

One has to be in the Colosseum to appreciate the immensity and complexity of the place, and it is good that some of the underground passages that were once barred to the public have now been opened for inspection so as to give visitors a better idea as to how intricately and very efficiently the place was organised. The movie ‘Gladiator’ gives a very good idea of this level of organisation and how the games and contests were choreographed.

On one of my visits to Rome I took a colleague to see the Colosseum and, as we walked round the outer wall, I asked him what the Roman numeral for nine was. ‘XIV’, he responded. I bet him a pound note that he was wrong and he took the bet. As we continued our walk, I showed him one of the numbered entrances, I forget now which, which showed very clearly that in the first century, the Romans designated nine as VIIII.

So today could be numbered XVIIII. Thus, you also have now accumulated a useless piece of knowledge which that particular day earned me a pound note!
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24 Years?

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Barring a last-minute reprieve, this morning Ronnie Lee Gardner, a convicted murderer, will be strapped into a chair in the Utah State Prison in Draper. He will be hooded, have a target placed over his heart and, after he has said his last words, shot to death by five unidentified law enforcement officers. One of the .30-calibre rifles used will have a blank inserted instead of a bullet, thus allowing each of the executioners to feel that their shot may not have been a real one.

Gardner was convicted in 1985 of the murder of a barman. He was on trial for this in Salt Lake City when he tried to escape from the courthouse and, in so attempting, shot and killed his defence lawyer and a bailiff who died later from his injuries.

If the execution goes ahead, it will be the first in Utah for over a decade and only the third time since the death penalty was restored in 1976. Utah is now the only US state to use the firing squad for executions which Gardner selected after he was given the opportunity of death by lethal injection.

It is not Gardner’s story or the fact that he has chosen death by firing squad. What is interesting is that it has taken 24 years for him to arrive at this point having been sentenced to death in 1985 and gone through a lengthy series of appeals.

Surely, a man who has been on Death Row for so long has already endured his own punishment of sorts? And doesn’t that qualify for him to be kept in prison for the rest of his life and not shot?
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‘Uncanny’? Not!

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You do read some tosh in the newspapers sometimes.

Take, for example, the one-inch copper badge of England, thought to have been part of a 13th-century horse harness, that was recently found in a medieval stone wall in Coventry. The badge features the three lions of England which also forms the England football team’s logo.

A spokesman for the Football Association said the resemblance of the badge to the England logo was ‘uncanny’.

Doesn’t he know that the three lions passant have been used in the royal coat of arms since the time of Henry II in the 12th century?
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A Wonderful Day Nonetheless!

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Yesterday marked the start of Royal Ascot, that annual racing event that puts aside the woes of the day and brings out the toffs attired in top hats and tails with their ladies modelling stunning dresses and impossible hats (sometimes in impossible dresses and stunning hats!). Of course, we plebs do not have to dress formally, though it is nice to do so now and again if only to give our partners a chance to shine in their own new clothes.

I and some of my colleagues were invited to Ascot by a wealthy contact a couple of times a few years ago. He had a box and so we all had to troop round to Moss Bros. and get ourselves correctly kitted out. Our wives were invited on the first occasion and went off to buy themselves lovely dresses and hats. We all had a wonderful time sipping champagne and enjoying the appetisers and lunch and, when we remembered to look, the races themselves. Afterwards, we went to a posh hotel somewhere and had a splendid slap-up dinner complete with yet more champagne.

The second year, I forget which it was though doubtless someone with racing knowledge will let me know, six of us were invited without our wives. Again we poodled round to Moss Bros. for our suits and hats and, once again, we enjoyed all the good things in life in the box that our contact had hired as well as dinner in a hotel afterwards.

That particular year, we impoverished shipping executives decided that we would have a ‘kitty’ from which we would make our bets so that we would equally share the winnings we would undoubtedly receive. If anything, that £20 sub from each of us focussed our minds on the actual races.

The first race was the Queen Anne Stakes and we placed three bets on the three horses we figured between us might come in first. To back up our guesses, we also made three place bets, so ensuring that, even if one of our horses came within the first three, we would make a little money. If one of our horses came in first, then that would be wonderful.

As it happened, all three horses we picked were the first three to cross the line and we were cock-a-hoop with excitement as we tried to work out how much we had won. Around us, disappointed punters threw their useless tickets on the ground.

But then there was an announcement that there was a stewards’ inquiry into the race and, instantly and suddenly, well-tutored young boys hoovered up all of those discarded race tickets and, in half a minute before anyone could react, they disappeared. After an anxious wait, all of our three horses were disqualified, for the jockeys’ use of the whip I seem to recall, and we were added to those who were bitterly disappointed by the result. Among us were frustrated punters who had lost the opportunity to recover their tickets and so make a profit on the day.

It was the year when all three winners of the Queen Anne Stakes were disqualified. It was a day when we didn’t make a fortune, but then we hadn’t spent one either.

But we had a wonderful day nonetheless!
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Sealed Today

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Today is a momentous one in our history for it was on this day in 1215 that King John put his seal on the Magna Carta, the Great Charter, in a meadow at Runnymede.

It was not signed as many believe, nor did it bear the seals of the barons who forced the king to accept that he and his subjects would always in future be bound by the rule of law.

The Charter was the most important influence on the development of law in England and later many other countries around the world. Since 1215 there have been a number of versions of the Charter, and it is the 1297 version which contains three of its 37 clauses which are still on our statute book. Since then various governments have tinkered with it.

The first tinkering was a repeal of clause 26 in 1829. At that point, the perceived protected status of the Charter was broken for ever and over the next 150 years virtually the whole of it was repealed leaving only clauses 1, 9 and 29 still in force:

I FIRST, We have granted to God, and by this our present Charter have confirmed, for Us and our Heirs for ever, that the Church of England shall be free, and shall have all her whole Rights and Liberties inviolable. We have granted also, and given to all the Freemen of our Realm, for Us and our Heirs for ever, these Liberties under-written, to have and to hold to them and their Heirs, of Us and our Heirs for ever.

IX THE City of London shall have all the old Liberties and Customs which it hath been used to have. Moreover We will and grant, that all other Cities, Boroughs, Towns, and the Barons of the Five Ports, as with all other Ports, shall have all their Liberties and free Customs.

XXIX NO Freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or be disseised of his Freehold, or Liberties, or free Customs, or be outlawed, or exiled, or any other wise destroyed; nor will We not pass upon him, nor condemn him, but by lawful judgment of his Peers, or by the Law of the land. We will sell to no man, we will not deny or defer to any man either Justice or Right.

Magna Carta was unquestionably the foundation for our law - despite subsequent tinkering - but, sadly, according to a poll carried out by YouGov in 2008, 45% of the British public do not know what it is.

Nonetheless, today is one on which a very important anniversary should be remembered.
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