The Leisure Review: Row Z

Row Z edition 81; dateline 5 November 2013

Stephen, it was really nothing much
At Row Z we bow to almost everyone in our appreciation of Morrissey as a self-anointed cultural and moral bellwether so the news that the Manchester miserablist had demanded that his memoirs appear as part of the Penguin Classics imprint, and that such a suggestion had not only been entertained but enacted, came as no surprise. However, even Sideliner has had to concede that some of the items highlighted by speed-reading Smithophiles have prompted a little chin-stroking and even the occasional raised eyebrow. For example, while it seems that the reading public has been mercifully spared any lengthy discussion of Morrissey’s sexuality, there may well be too little about his relationship with the bicycle. “Girls remained a mystery to me,” sayeth the Moz. “…Far more exciting were the array of stylish racing bikes my father would bring home.” Follow this with reluctant tales of medals won at school athletics events and you have a tome that might even be shifted from its drain-circling orbit to head towards The Leisure Review’s celebrated feature, The Leisure Manager’s Library. Luckily for our colleagues down the corridor, Stephen returns quickly to form, explaining that the Krays were unfairly targeted by the forces of law and order on the grounds of their working-class origins and for being “far too formidable”. And thus, with a flush and gurgle, the latest Penguin ‘classic’ disappears, leaving space on the shelf marked “Manchester life” for something a little more edifying.

Meme immortality for Manchester bike master
Another resident of Manchester with a working knowledge of stylish cycles, Dave Brailsford, has been accorded an honour which makes his knighthood seem like a meaningless bauble handed down only to make the hander – David Cameron’s morally bankrupt governing cabal – seem worthy by association. One hopes Sir David will bank the stipend that goes with the gong and pay it little further attention but he will be unable to ignore the accolade afforded him by his close neighbours in Coronation Street. Close followers of the Salford-based soap will have noticed one of Brailsford’s favourite phrases being uttered by crippled bar owner Nick Tilsley, who, when invited to dissect the causes of his current difficulties by former cage dancer and general gadabout turned dutiful and wronged wife, Kylie Platt, came over all British Cycling. “We are where we are,” he muttered. Now that’s what we call recognition.

Seconds out, round 32
Anyone who spends any time whatsoever NGB-watching will recognise the current furore in the sport of boxing as a classic of the genre. Were it a horror film it would be set on Elm Street. Were it a romantic novel with an unlikely plot and poor characterisation it would have been written by Daphne Du Maurier. Were it a bad idea dreamt up to line the pockets of the prime minister’s mates it would be HS2. The exact sequence of events is too arcane to warrant expiation here but the headlines include the resignation of Richard Caborn from the post of chairman (and naturally a sport which involves nothing more than people hitting each other eschews the gender-neutral “chair”), a call for rent-a-nutter Kate Hoey to take on the job and a series of EGMs with constitutional jiggery pokery, allegations aplenty and claim and counter claim about the meaning of votes which may or may not have been correctly enacted. The latest news – and we must thank our friends at Inside the Games for keeping track of the tomfoolery – is that another EGM has been called for the end of November. Apparently the outcome of the meeting is in doubt despite the fact that if an amended constitution is not adopted a number of things – most of them looking to be what an outsider might term ‘bad’ -- will happen. We quote Inside the Games, which suggests that, “This would include the AIBA [the international governing body] re-opening disciplinary proceedings against the ABAE [the local NGB], leading to the suspension of England from all international competition” and on top of that “Sport England, which has committed to invest over £5 million ($8 million/€6 million) in grassroots boxing over the next four years, would end its funding.” Whether tickets are on sale for the latest EGM goes unrecorded.

Hugh who? Helen what? Who cares?
The habitués of the Westminster village and those very many “strategic leaders” in the sport, leisure and culture industry who insist we venerate absolutely anyone who puts Right Honourable in front of their given name might like to take note of a recent poll conducted among a completely unrepresentative sample of committed and aware sporting people which indicates just how little the huffing and puffing on the north bank of the Thames matters to what we must learn to call “the grassroots of sport”. In a brief technical interlude in a recent Coaching Insight seminar the facilitator used the time to ask everyone in the room to stand and then asked everyone who could not name the outgoing minster for sport in the recent government reshuffle as Hugh Robertson to sit down. Of the 30 or more coaches, coach managers and coach educators present – all of whom almost certainly kept other hats at home, from club secretary to regional chair – only five remained standing and all of them worked for either a district council or county sports partnership or were the editor of The Leisure Review. Of those, only two could name the latest incumbent of what we like to think of as Dennis Howell’s old job and even the director of the local county sports partnership did not realise that Helen Grant – for it is she – had seen the job downgraded from “minister” to “under-secretary” and had “equalities” added to its portfolio. It seems the Olympic legacy has not included neither an increase in the political importance of sport nor a recognition that this matters out in the boondocks.

Not all Tories are bastards – shock
While many of us believe that Conservative MPs are, to a man and woman, venal, dishonest and dedicated to serving their own and their rich mates’ interests it must be acknowledged that, in among the chinless scions of monied families whose closest brush with the real world is having their butler watch Eastenders and report back, there is the odd bloke and blokette who you might let buy you a beer; in a pinch. One such is serial rebel and MP for the constituency in which The Leisure Review’s Mick Owen lays his grizzled head, Andrew Bingham. Not only was Bingham born and bred in the constituency he represents, he also worked there for decades before being elected to the mother of all gravy trains – sorry, parliaments. His voting record has earned him the “serial rebel” tag with his latest dalliance from the party line being over the Syrian question – his answer being, “No, lets not invade another bloody foreign country, eh?” The best thing about Bingham, though, at least according to our local source, is that he likes a pint, understands the whole pubco debate and is actually prepared to do something – he may say “summat” – about it. It seems a rather handsome public house in the Peak District village of Bamford – a favourite part of the world for fat men in Team Sky cycling uniforms to block the Queen’s highway on sunny Sunday mornings – has been slated for closure with its owners, Admiral Taverns, set to sell it for “development” or “housing” if you prefer the honest use of language. The MP sought a meeting, there was a “full and frank exchange of views” and a local community group is looking to buy The Angler’s Rest and keep the beer flowing. So, well played, Mr Bingham. Now, how are you fixed on resisting the sell off of the NHS to the carpet-baggers?

Sideliner