Urreeeeeeaarrrggghhh: The Memory Strikes Back
Moments in my quiz career that make me spasm and seize uncontrollably, whilst making nincompoop sounds, in the unexpected remembering
Fifteen-to-One Grand Final 2002
Report Card grade: C- "Could have done better"
How very kind of someone to put it up on YouTube. How very very very kind. Kindness spilling everywhere like a breached dam.
PS. Six years ago? Six years. Six. Blimey.
PPS Rewatching it in a kind of lovely, gibberish-punctured agony and I am reminded of my youthful sluggishness and that old 'why didn't I buzz right there at that crucial moment, you lily-livered scaredy-pants shark-finhaired twonk?' feeling. That's what television was invented for wasn't it? To make people feel like right shitclowns when a clip or two pops up during a time far in the future. In fact, if I had a time machine I would go back in time and bludgeon myself in the back of the head with a blunt instrument, just to get the young brain working. Even if it didn't, brain damage would provide an effective excuse. And to keep the utterly fantastical element going, I would of course, be wearing a cloaking device. And have a 2000-2050 Sports Almanac tucked in my back pocket.
PPS Rewatched all of it now: GOD. God, and deary me. I would hit myself in the face with a horse-whip right now if I thought it would do me any good. Lucky I don't own any horse-whips. Or whips. Or S&M paraphernalia. Otherwise, I would have a very welty, Sheffield United kind of visage.
PPPS Naturally, I don't like hitting myself in the face or head at all. But how else to react to bits and pieces of repressed memory? With logic and goodwill? NAH. Hands over ears: "I am at Disneyland. I AM AT DISNEYLAND..."
Fifteen-to-One Grand Final 2002
Report Card grade: C- "Could have done better"
How very kind of someone to put it up on YouTube. How very very very kind. Kindness spilling everywhere like a breached dam.
PS. Six years ago? Six years. Six. Blimey.
PPS Rewatching it in a kind of lovely, gibberish-punctured agony and I am reminded of my youthful sluggishness and that old 'why didn't I buzz right there at that crucial moment, you lily-livered scaredy-pants shark-finhaired twonk?' feeling. That's what television was invented for wasn't it? To make people feel like right shitclowns when a clip or two pops up during a time far in the future. In fact, if I had a time machine I would go back in time and bludgeon myself in the back of the head with a blunt instrument, just to get the young brain working. Even if it didn't, brain damage would provide an effective excuse. And to keep the utterly fantastical element going, I would of course, be wearing a cloaking device. And have a 2000-2050 Sports Almanac tucked in my back pocket.
PPS Rewatched all of it now: GOD. God, and deary me. I would hit myself in the face with a horse-whip right now if I thought it would do me any good. Lucky I don't own any horse-whips. Or whips. Or S&M paraphernalia. Otherwise, I would have a very welty, Sheffield United kind of visage.
PPPS Naturally, I don't like hitting myself in the face or head at all. But how else to react to bits and pieces of repressed memory? With logic and goodwill? NAH. Hands over ears: "I am at Disneyland. I AM AT DISNEYLAND..."
posted by That Quiz Guy at 6:18 AM
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