Last night Anthony Joshua obliterated unbeaten Charles Martin to become the IBF Heavyweight champ. Martin came to London as one of the least known heavyweight champions of all time, having won the belt earlier this year. It was indeed, this un knowing which made Martin a tricky opponent to estimate, bearing in mind he had been unbeaten in all of his 24 professional fights. However, just looking at the two in plain sight credited the bookies forecast of AJ being the odds-on winner.
Joshua stood 6’6, body chiselled as if from stone by the God’s of the Olympia. Martin stood 6’5, body flabby like the doorman at O’Neills. Even the Brit’s body art was of a higher calibre, a memento of his London 2012 gold medal at the top of his back as Martin’s belly proclaimed “above the law”.
To give Martin his due, he seemed humbled in defeat. In fact, although outclassed by Joshua, I’m sure he’ll continue fighting at the top level.
The most shocking thing however from the whole evening, as I have found in all boxing arenas, are the Fan-boys.
This is pandemic in Britain if not around the world. I’m referring of course to the punters in the crowd who stand up and can be seen shadow-boxing throughout. I imagine the state of the men’s at these events, the ledge of the roll holder encrusted an inch thick with a paste of cocaine-residue and steamed piss.
I feel the same cringe worthy-ness as the shadow boxers when I see a fan pose with a boxer in a photo, fists raised in the default “boxers pose”. Ditto for the people who hang miniature boxing gloves from their car mirror, as if to say, I box therefore I am hard.
As boxing appears to be getting back to its best with a credible heavyweight who will, in the not too distant future, unify the heavyweight division, the Fan-boys are apparent more so than ever before.
We all love boxing, but there’s a reason they’re in the ring and you’re not. So when you feel the surge of electrodes impulsing you to raise your hands and clench your fists, remember, don’t be a fan-boy – because that will make you a tool.
So it’s grand national day today and everyone’s looking for the insider knowledge as to who’s worth a punt in the biggest race of the calendar. Unfortunately you won’t find any insider knowledge here, although, even the experts rarely can call such a race as the national. It’s a 4 mile steeplechase with the horses jumping 30 fences over 2 laps. Which in lay-terms means it’s a bastard of a race where form fades into insignificance.
I’ve taken a punt on a few horses this year with the approach of name-association. I’ve also scatter gunned the selection, which is probably poor betting form as I need an out and out winner to actually make any money.
The two I’ve gone for to win are shutthefrontdoor and Boston Bob. You heard it here folks, but don’t put your house on it, however if you do, don’t forget to shut the front door.
You have to be a dinosaur to not be using Netflix these days. The novelty of having the easy streaming of a ton of movies and most importantly, seasons of the most popular TV shows may have worn off, but Netflix has kept itself interesting. What Netflix has managed to do in recent years is step over its competitors in online screening and start to produce some its own ‘original’ series, many of which are actually pretty good.
You may have heard of Orange Is the New Black and House of Cards, both of which were early shows commissioned by and distributed solely on Netflix and garnered critical acclaim. Likewise everybody’s talking about Narcos, which tells the story of infamous coke kingpin Pablo Escobar, again widely garnering a fan base. But one show, is a must, especially if you enjoy a certain quirky humour.
Season 1 of Love is new to 2016. Produced by none other than film funny man Judd Apatow, it premises over a couple of thirty-somethings who although miss-matched in every way spark a friendship. Like Apatow’s films Love has a true blend of geeky innocence and radical no-fucks-given-ness which, above all else keeps you wanting more story and keeps giving the awkwardness laughs throughout. The star is Gillian Jacobs who plays Mickey, the troubled and troublesome female lead. Her male counterpart is Paul Rust, as Gus, the typical awkward geek who somehow finds himself knee-deep in pussy all of a sudden.
What I like about Love is its quirky and carefree. What I love about Love is it has Paul Rust(by the way he’s also producer and co-writer) scoring tail way beyond his capabilities. In a similar vein to Rogen in Knocked-Up its the triumph of the underdog, except Mickey is kind-of fucked up herself, so the swing of power is a little more even. Watch out in the early episodes for Mickeys boyfriend (soon to be ex) who looks like KG from Tenacious D – miscast much? Also shout out to Andy Dick who’s hilarious in one the episodes, notably in one scene where he’s high A F on the metro.