THIS is an age in which much is made of image and how important it is to present a good one. It seems strange, therefore, that so many people give the impression that they couldn't care less about how they come across and, stranger still, why so few of the rest of us seem to mind. The rugby match between Bath and Saracens at the weekend, for example, was fairly nasty from start to finish, the collective behaviour of the teams ranging from high tackles to full-scale riot,
yet there appeared to be scarcely a raised eyebrow among those looking on.
Rugby, of course, has always been a hearty business, with inevitable outbreaks of ill-feeling – the odd ear has been chewed off and so forth – but somehow things seem to b
e acquiring a new edge, which is possibly something to do with modern players growing to massive proportions and moving about the field like so many jet-propelled roadblocks. Saturday's match was watched by a well-behaved crowd and if the spectators had any reservations about the way play was conducted, it wasn't particularly apparent. There were the usual cheers and groans, but nothing more dramatic and no-one called the police.
This cheery acceptance of sporting mayhem might have something to do with a steady coarsening of the national nature. After all, television provides a steady diet of gratuitous violence, bad language and exploitation of the more vulnerable members of society. It seems that it is impossible these days to have a cookery programme without people being abused by manic chefs and collapsing in tears. Given that this sort of thing is taking place in such an innocuous context, it's probably to be expected that a spot of carnage on the rugby field will be accepted with little more than an indulgent smile.
The situation hasn't been eased by the high-tech which is creeping like a blight over the sporting scene. Not content with bringing us the action in close-up and glorious colour, everybody involved in televised events seems to run around wired for sound so that every last gasp and grunt can be relayed to a slavering public. During Saturday's rugby match, the commentators had to apologise for remarks picked up by the roving microphones when a vast player made a point to the referee in terms which were scarcely diplomatic.
No-one who knows anything about sport – particularly top-level team sport – expects the participants to converse with the officials in cut-glass accents, but to introduce microphones anywhere near them in their moments of trial is asking for trouble. We've all got a pretty good idea of what they're saying anyway, so spare us the colour and let them get on with it. In football of the Association variety, there used to be an offence called "violence of the tongue," but that seems to have gone by the board long since. If it still applied, most players would never make it to the interval.
Golf was quickly on the scene when it came to picking up various on-course sounds. The powers-that-be were perhaps encouraged by the comparative quiet which exists on a golf course in the normal run of things. It works well enough, but I've often felt that the practice was putting undue pressure on players who are trying to make a living by coping with a game which can do terrible things to those who meddle with it. There are times when players would have to be superhuman to express themselves within the limits of decent language without causing serious damage to the nervous system.
The fact that professional golfers rarely utter a word out of place, even when under the most severe strain, is tribute to their powers of self-control. It might, of course, have something to do with the game itself, for if there's no control, there's no game and professionals know that. Unfortunately, many club golfers don't know it or, if they do, take little heed of it. After all, it's not natural to be calm and collected when you're really hot and bothered, but then golf is not a natural game. What is natural, unfortunately, is letting off steam and many do that very well. The mercy is that club golfers are not wired for sound. If they ever were, the results would be appalling. There are certain depths best left unplumbed.
A hint of what can happen when microphones are let loose in problem areas was given some years ago when a sports club situated in a refined part of Edinburgh engaged a popular comedian to address their annual dinner. The microphone he was to use was linked into the tannoy system which served the playing fields outside and it had not been unlinked. As the comedian got into his stride, residents in nearby homes suddenly found themselves regaled by his fairly salty fare which was being relayed at a good volume and was carrying to all parts of the house, as it were.
According to usually reliable sources, the police were summoned and descended on the club, intent on restoring some order to the proceedings, which they duly did, though not before the unsuspecting and appreciative audience had accorded the artiste a loud and prolonged ovation.
The full article contains 896 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
