I'd remained sceptical about the forthcoming London Olympics for a number of reasons. I think the astronomical cost of all the new infrastructure and other amenities will far outweigh the tourism and sponsorship booms that may result from it. The fact that we're still relying on Indonesian children sewing our Olympic merchandise, when there are children in Leeds ripe for exploitation shows how we are still to heavily dependent on pinching pennies. In all seriousness, that an American company was chosen to print all the Olympic tickets over the multitude of printing businesses on our own shores shows how the organisers could care less about boosting the British economy.
Oh, and that shirt in the picture gave me a blister while I was playing volleyball! The child labourers of the grim North would never have let something as serious as jogger's nipple past their screening.
The Olympics isn't supposed to be about money, it's about the athletes. Anyone can be an achieve their goals if they really set their mind to it, especially in the Western World, where AIDS, starvation and an eight year old with an AK-47 won't ruin a good training montage.
With this in mind, I approached the board of Olympics with an offer they could not refuse (spoiler alert: they did).
To which I received what I feel was a very prompt and warm reply from the British Olympics Association.
Note the very sincere 'best of luck' quote.
Not to be perturbed I sent the same email to the Football Association and after waiting for ages they sent me this very curt message.
Hm... it's a bit corporate and doesn't really explain how Andy Carroll made the Euro squad but at least they offered some critical advice which I undoubtedly took and replied with this.
Only to receive this reply.
I mean come on, the miserable bastards. You would of thought the FA could take a joke, after all, just look at their recent spending strategy with Capello.
After this break away I didn't respond. I felt let down by my own nation and felt the Olympics would be better off without me. Maybe I wasn't ever meant to show the world my unbelievable tekkers. The dreams of a nation may have fallen on one man's shoulders, a true underdog story, played out over 90 minutes. Instead they were cruelly cast aside by the big boy bullies at the FA.
Still, I'll only be 29 when the next Olympics come around, the prime for a footballer, so will try again then and hopefully have an Olympic gold medal to show to strangers on the bus and put above the fireplace between the Technology Award I won in year 6 (and never gave back) and the photo of me and Bepe from Eastenders.
