As a general rule I avoid watching any sport on TV that doesn't involve an internal combustion engine, but every four years I decide to make an exception to that rule by watching the odd match of the world cup.
It has to be said though, that apart from the Spain vs Netherlands match which was fantastic, the other bits I've seen have been spectacularly awful.
I'm writing this with the Brazil vs Mexico game going on in front of me and it is this that is causing me to feel the need to vent. With all the blatant diving going on it's only a matter of time before a football match breaks out.
I could easily believe that a mandatory part of professional football training must be to spend countless hours in a gym full of crash mats perfecting diving techniques in front of a mirror, with extra style points awarded for the number of rolls involved and for having a facial expression of intense agony.
I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that these overpaid pussies have made it into their national team by having a worse sense of balance than an inebriated toddler, not to mention my surprise that they should be doing such things for fear of putting their immaculately coiffed hairdos out of place.
These teams just don't seem to able to get it right. If they're not throwing themselves on the floor writhing in the pain from an opponent coming within six inches of them and invading their personal space, they're fannying about passing the ball about (usually in the wrong direction) and generally wasting time in such a way that sometimes I think I'm watching the Chuckle Brothers - "To me", "To you", "To me", "To you".....
England are usually one of the worst offenders for this, but even Italy managed to outdo them when they played each other the other day.
If this wasn't bad enough, as I appear to have gained a few extra pounds recently I'm having to endure all this without the usual accompaniment of biscuits, crisps and chocolate. With a noticeable increase in custard cream consumption of late, the midriff has been showing an unfortunate tendency to bulge out over my belt and as far as I'm concerned that is unacceptable behaviour. The only hangover I will endure is the type induced by excessive alcohol consumption (fortunately a rare occurrence these days), so for the last week I've been carefully counting the calories. It wouldn't be unheard of for me to polish off an entire packet of custard creams in one evening, but having now worked out that this constitutes about 2000 calories (with sod all nutritional benefit) I think it's time to reel myself in a bit.
Sitting on the sofa watching telly is the time when the munching habit really kicks in, so as we've now reached the end of the new series of 'Orange is the new black' perhaps it will make it easier on me if I don't sit on the sofa and instead spend the time doing something more constructive to take my mind off not being able to snack. The poor battered YBR125 is now in complete kit form with the parts awaiting a good clean and polish before being photographed and put on ebay, so perhaps concentrating my efforts on that little project will help with my addiction.
In the meantime, half time has just come to an end, with Brazil and Mexico coming out for another 45 minutes of world championship diving, and I'm wondering if I have enough calories left from my daily allowance for me to allow myself to extract a cold can of Budweiser from the fridge.