Written by Dr Jon
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Topics: Golf, UK, Sport, Snooker, Darts, Angling

Friday, 1 July 2011

image for Britain Bestrides the World - In Slacks
Hard at training, then.

The nation consoled itself today in the face of mounting sporting setbacks by proudly acknowledging the one area of sport where British dominance is unchecked.

Recent evidence that the nations footballers, tennis players, rugby players, track athletes and swimmers are utter pish should be weighed against the incontrovertible fact that if a game can be played by a fat bloke in comfortable nylon trousers, the champion is guaranteed always to be from the United Kingdom.

While at some major sports, Basketball for example, the nation is so fucking crap that the game isn't even mentioned in public, in many disciplines the recognized colossus is a Briton, who, pausing only to squeeze his sweaty cheeks into a pair of brown man made strides, has stamped his authority at the head of the pack.

"It's not just Darts" says Dougie Donnelly, genial host of BBC2 sports magazine programme 'Oh Good Some Sport, Fuck it's Bowls' "we dominate Angling as well. And Snooker, though of course, in Snooker, the kecks by tradition have to be part of a cheap three piece that make you look like a Hypnotist playing a working men's club."

Commentators also point out that for all Golf can try with fancy sunglasses and wank adverts about bloody Titanium, it is clearly played by badly dressed tubby guys who never break into a sweat, and thus it is no surprise that a bloke from Northern Ireland is now the best at it.

"The fundamental test," I was told by Geoff Clagg, sports editor of 'The Cleckheaton and Brighouse Bugle' "is can you have a fag and still do it? If the answer is yes, I'll find a lad for you down the Allotments who could win you money. Tens of pounds even."

America has cried "Foul" citing dominance in Ten-Pin bowling, and claim the loudness of the breeks, the frequency of the pornstar moustaches and the ropiness of the mullets in that sport out-muscle anything the Brits have to offer.

Anyone even a teeny bit Spanish, meanwhile, is winning everything going, has the body of a god, is knocking off a model and is frankly laughing up his sleeve.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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