Television
Sports and games
Clive Gammon
Now what's to be said about that Cup Final, straight out of the Hotspur or the Wizard? I knew that' Leeds had had it midway through the first half when David Coleman applied the kiss of death, telling us how they were just getting into their stride, what a long time there was to go and so on. He had struck his Wembley form even before the kick-off. As the teams came out, "The noise of the crowd," he told us, pausing to seek out le mot juste, "is. • . deafening!"
Cliff Morgan, another master of the bathetic pause, scored with a beauty earlier this year, at the England-France rugby inter
he tator M national. "Many of these 12 e;reln9703 he tator M national. "Many of these 12 e;reln9703
Spec fans," he announced, "have . crossed the Channel." Nice one. Cliff, but you still have a long waY to go to reach Coleman's con' sistency.
To my bitter regret, I wasn't, able to check the Dreadea Wembley Cramp total this year 8 matter in the past for small wagers in my circle. This was he' cause I had to put up with vision only in the second half since the room was filled with twenty-odd small children playing birthclaY, party games. So the number times attention was drawn to thls phenomenon is unknown to rne; On past form, though, I'd say couldn't have been less than fon; Yes, I think I would have backs four. As you'll notice, these things, seem to overshadow the actuin game where I'm concerned. Like everyone outside Yorkshire I Was gratified that Sunderland won, ' and the double save by Mont' gomery from Cherry and Lorimer was worth all the action replaYs that were run. The trouble is, we're going to go on hearing about it, aren't we? At Sunda?: lunchtime in the local, a sMa" anonymous man I've often no' ticed sitting silently in a corner was up at the bar basking in reflected glory because he carne from South Shields, for heavens sake. ' Sunday Night Theatre,' fro' Yorkshire TV, had Leo McKern 10 An Afternoon at the Festival and in spite of the fact that it isn t often you see a naked whore plaYing the 'cello it failed to stir rilY interest greatly. It used similar trendy figures to those in so manY other Sunday-night plays WO contemporary hero-occupations like film director, actress, public' ity man, and also some adept cutting between a feature film that Leo McKern as Leo the directof. had made and a film festival where it was to be shown.
It was the 'cello-playing whore., I suppose, who cut the cables oi my suspended disbelief. I could accept that she was on the game . just for the sake of working her
way through music academy — I knew a German who fought as a mercenary in the Congo for 0 similar reason, though his subject was geology — but not that she would return, idyllically, at the end to play the 'cello again in the garden, thus proving that there was life in old Leo yet, that he wasn't finished as a director. A small tribute, finally, to mark the last in the present series of Call My Bluff (BBC 2) which ta,. me is easily the most acceptable of television parlour games. I'm !I Patrick Campbell fan myself so it was good to hear that his team. over the series, were ahead of Frank Muir's. Nothing gratifies me more than when an esoteric word comes up that I actuallY know, It doesn't happen often — I recall spatchcocked ' and ' muskellunge,' both of which re-connected with fishing, which Is cheating a bit, I suppose — but when it does I feel — well, almost as good as Ian Porterfield when he scored that Sunderland goal.
Previous page
