Going Down

“I’D like to thank Robert Kilroy-Silk for being an inspiration, my mum and dad for buying me a Satsuma for my sixteenth birthday, the team at the Fake Bake salon and…”

And there it ended. Just as Michaela Henderson-Thynne was accepting her award for the Orangest tan in Germany, seeing off the challenge of Carly Zuker, Victoria Beckham and that little fat guy from the Tango ads, England were out.

Monday was a dark day. And while the Wags and their footballers looked forward to spending more time with their hair, we realised it was time to move on.

Pausing only to accept the Sun’s invitation to fire a dart into the head of Portugal’s Ronaldo, we struggled forward in the manner of Owen Hargreaves and his team-mates.

But it was hard. Even Jordan was down. On Tuesday we heard the model say in the Sun that she was too “busy and knackered” to have sex with Peter Andre.

Such were the pressures of raising children, conducting magazine interviews and writing a book, that barely a year after marrying the signing acorn, love had given way to drudgery.

Problem was that Jordan wanted more children. “I spoke with someone last night,” said she. “They’re going to look out for me – the way Angelina Jolie gets them.”

No, not by shagging Brad Pitt but by jetting off to Asia and Africa and picking up children. Jordan might adopt. It is a terrific plan – and so much less arduous than having sex with Pete.

Things were looking up. And the sun had come out. As the Star said: “IT’S HOTTER THAN RIO.” Over here temperatures had soared to 91.4 degrees Fahrenheit, while Rio de Janeiro could only mange a “paltry” 71 degrees.

The Brazilians might well have argued that it was their winter time, but their excuses fell on British ears blocked up with sand, sea and suncream.

So hot was it that many of us contemplated stripping off our anoraks and summerweight cagoules and going for a paddle. Sure England had failed, but we could still make use of a fountain.

And we had no fear of drowning because David Hasselhoff was in town. Last time Dave was in London, no-one drowned in the fountain in Trafalgar Square, nor the fountain that sits so splendidly in the Brent Cross shopping centre. Fact.

Moves to have the lifesaver permanently stationed on the spare plinth that sits empty on one corner of Trafalgar Square should be hurried along. Do we need an accident before something is done?

Until then, David was killing time by taking in the sights. And the Mail spotted him at Wimbledon.

But something was wrong. Maybe it was something in the water, but David was “steaming drunk”.

The paper looked on as the actor argued with security guards at Centre Court. He had no ticket and they would not let him pass. He then tried to get another drink but was banned from doing so.

“You should let me in,” he said. “Do you know who I am? I am the Hoff.”

Or was he? Sure there is only one Hoff but there are many impostors who think nothing of popping on a pair of too-tight red swimming briefs and puffing out their chest in a manly fashion.

Might it have been that this Hoff was not as he claimed, that he was a man who liked to pretend to be a superhero? Could this Hoff have been a member of the campaign group Fathers 4 Justice?

On Thursday, the Sun spotted two F4J dads invading Centre Court for a knockabout. That both campaigners, Simon Wright and Alan Jamieson, were British was not to be overlooked – any domestic involvement at so late a stage in the tournament was appreciated. But it could never last and the pair were hauled away by the police.

But just as we thought British involvement with a summer of sport was at an end, we spotted Theo Walcott. Back from his summer holidays with the Team England holiday camp, young Theo was in a Brazil kit.

Well, with England on fire and so much ferocious competition for places, it was probably the lad’s best chance of getting a game…

Posted: 8th, July 2006 | In: Broadsheets Comment | TrackBack | Permalink