Dragging a dead pun up a hill: The Introduction

Let’s start with a bold claim. This is the year and this is the tournament that we will all learn to love Clive Tyldesley. Oh yes brothers, oh yes. In the same way that we learnt to live in this big scary world without a parental hand constantly by our side, the same way we will learn to tolerate, enjoy even, a match commentary without Martin Tyler watching over us. And Clive will play a big part in this. Because, you see, we’ve been listening to him all wrong. Sure his prose is more purple than Sir Alex’s conk, more clunky and cloying and clichéd than a sixth-form literary magazine, more frantically insistent on upholding the quality and ambiance of the occasion than Abigail and her party and more hopeful that the star players shine through than the big boy Sepp. But. But. We need to embrace all these flaws, my brothers, because there is room to love them. There is no way to love Jonathan Pearce, no amount of ironic enjoyment, wry-eyed understanding or smirking acceptance at his negatives that could transform his soggy pastry parlance into something palatable. But we can learn to love Clive, and with one simple phrase. ‘Oh Clive’. That’s all it will take, those two simple words. Because I have come to realise that Clive is really a good man, a decent sort of chap who only wants the best for us, only wants us to have a good time and a memorable experience. Because Clive’s the kind of guy that says ‘there’s plenty more fish in the sea’ twenty-four hours after the love of your life shits on your soul. You want to scream in his face and piss on his vocal chords, but god, the man just means so well. So all we need say from now is ‘oh, Clive’. A big florid introduction as ITV’s first game gets underway? Oh Clive. Five minutes of waxing lyrical as Messi/Torres/Kaka/Rooney/Ronaldo complete a pass? Oh Clive. The short, smug burst of ‘well of course they just scored, who else?’ air as one of said players scores a goal? Oh Clive. Oh Clive. You old rascal, you. Think ruffling of hair, not slapping of face. Let’s embrace Clive and make this World Cup an easier, and better, viewing experience as a result.

Because let’s not underestimate the impact that punditry will have on our enjoyment of this tournament. Imagine it as a road trip. You might be visiting the most awe-inspiring, enthralling, picturesque environment imaginable, but if the car facilitating your journey screeches and splutters and surrenders amidst the constant noise of egregious cunts in the backseat, a shit time will be had. But it can also make a time. One of the greatest World Cup moments in all history came in 1998 when Martin O’Neil gave Robbie Williams the most backhanded of all compliments live in the BBC studio. (‘Y’know, when you left Take That, I thought…you can’t sing, you can’t dance, you’re not very good looking, you walk funny, your hair is a state, your quite overweight, your probably lacking in the personal hygiene department, I didn’t think much of your last girlfriend, your mum makes a horrible roast dinner, I think I just heard one of the production team say that your dog has been run over…but that Angels song, oh boy’). Or what about the retrospective hilarity of listening to Kevin ‘the oracle’ Keegan being asked to hurriedly guess whether David Batty will score his pivotal penalty against Argentina in 98.

‘Quickly, will he score?’

‘Yes’

Readers, he did not score.

As Martin Kelner states, ‘one man who will be under almost as much scrutiny in South Africa as Fabio Capello is ITV’s Adrian Chiles’. So never underestimate the importance of the punditry and let’s embrace our transport and travelling companions for the next few weeks in the hope that they can enhance the journey and not take too much away. I’ll be writing regular ‘dragging a dead pun up a hill’ updates on how things pan out media-wise and eventually coming up with a winner out of Auntie and ITV. And don’t forget. You’ll learn to love him with an ‘oh Clive’*.

(*Erm…maybe…I mean, don’t…don’t hold me to that or anything, ok? If that fails there’s always the hope that his trite observations will be drowned out by a comparatively blissful wall of vuvuzela noise. Or failing even that, there is always the chance that James Cordon will conspire to make ol' Clive sound like Peter fucking Ustinov. And don’t forget John Champion and Peter Drury. Spread the hate, my brothers)

Squads:
ITV
Adrian Chiles, Matt Smith, Marcel Desailly, Lucas Radebe, Edgar Davids, Gareth Southgate, Kevin Keegan, Andy Townsend, Robbie Earle, Clive Tyldesley, Peter Drury, John Champion, Jim Beglin, Craig Burley,

BBC
Gary Lineker, Colin Murray, Alan Hansen, Alan Shearer, Lee Dixon, John Motson, Jurgen Klinsmann, Emmanuel Adebayor, Calrence Seedorf, Johnathan Pearce, Steve Wilson, Guy Mowbray, Simon Brotherton, Steve Bower, Mark Lawrenson, Mark Bright, Mick McCarthy, Martin Keown

Michael Wheeler