InterSportball Euroleague 2020

At long last, football fever is here again! Come and join us on the Beans for the lowdown on this year’s best new last year’s footsporting tournament, the InterSportball Euroleague 2020!

How does it work?

All the countries in Europe, excluding some obviously European countries like Ireland and Luxembourg but inexplicably including several countries that are mostly in Asia like Russia and Turkey, are sending teams of footballists to a range of places in Europe and also some places outside Europe to go play footballs at each other.

Every single team of footballsters has about eleven men, and no women at all. The men are all good at kicking, running along doing little kicks to move the ball around without anyone else getting it, running at other men and doing kicks at just the right time to get the ball off them, and sliding along the grass on their knees. The point of the InterSportball Euroleague 2020 is to find out which team of footbollogists are the best ones.

What kind of footballs are being played?

All 24 teams are playing sportball according to the Queensbury Rules, which are:

It’s a game of two halves
No wrestling or hugging
A man hanging on the ropes in a helpless state, with his toes off the ground, shall be considered offside
The gloves to be fair sized boxing gloves of the best quality
No shoes or boots with springs allowed

At the start of the game both teams bring their favourite football to the sports arena and the referee chooses the one they like most to be used for the match. Most teams are bringing circular footballs with a black and white design on them, but England have chosen an orange one that reminds them of 1966, Wales are bringing an oval rugby egg and Germany have opted for a nice stripey beach ball.

Who is playing who?

Every team is playing every other team, making a total of 276 matches in the initial stage of the tournament. Three matches are played every day so this will go on until mid-September.

At the end, there will be the Grand Final, where all 24 teams play each other all at once, with 24 footballs on the pitch, at a specially built ground in Belgium that has 24 sides, 24 goals and a pitch that covers eight floors with escalators between them. The match will continue until one of the teams has scored a hundred goals.

The winners of the Grand Final will be declared the Best at Football and will pick up the Ian Botham Trophy for Best International Kicking.

Time to get out there and enjoy all the football! You can watch the football in every pub in the UK, all the time, or at home on the TV, and if you’re watching a game that’s being shown live from a hot country, don’t forget to wear sunscreen.

‘Void Bastards’ – mini review

When it comes to video games I am equally attracted to both the box art and the title itself. ‘Void Bastards’ immediately jumped on my radar when I was reading about it last year and recently I managed to pick it up in the sale for the reasonable cost of twenty sheets.

It’s available on Nintendo Switch (where I’ve been playing it), XBox One, PS4 and Steam so just about anyone can get their sweaty paws on it.

You play as one of an infinite supply of dehydrated prisoners who is brought back to life because the spaceship is on the fritz, stranded and floating in space. Your task is to use your widdle wocket to fly to derelict vessels in the area, steal everything that isn’t nailed down, hopefully find some useful item that you can use to smush together with something else to make a better item and, eventually, fly the fuck out of there.

Played from a first-person perspective, as you infiltrate the various spaceships you encounter enemies and other environmental hazards such as radiation, fire and oil which makes you slip everywhere. Sometimes the generator is down so you have to turn the electricity back on before you can start sniffing around for junk. Sometimes the lights are off and you have to peer through the darkness hoping not to trip any alarms. Each vessel is randomly generated, using the same series of rooms mixed up each time, so whilst it can be repetitive you can never guarantee what you will get every time.

Movement is responsive and fluid. The graphics are cartoony, cell-shaded and fits the feel of the game perfectly. Progression is measured by certain milestones broken down into smaller achievements such as making weapons, armour and other items. You need to keep your supplies of fuel and food topped up otherwise you’ll be stranded for good or die from starvation. Your time on each ship is limited due to the small supply of oxygen (usually less than ten minutes) granted so you have to be fast and you have to be precise.

The only real downside, other than the aforementioned repetition, is the humour. The game sadly isn’t as funny as it thinks it is. There’s an enemy called a ‘Janitor’ who walks around and when he hears you approaching he shouts, “Gary! Is that you?”. Smaller enemies called ‘Juves’ call you names such as twatface and dickwad in their nasal almost Mancunian accent. The AI on your spaceship tries desperately to ape the peerless deadpan narration of ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ with not great success. If you can get past this, you’ll find lots to enjoy. It’s a shame though because ‘Journey to the Savage Planet’, a similar game in structure and tone, is a lot funnier.

8 voids out of 10

Crossword answers

Everyone – and I mean everyone – has been waiting for this moment impatiently and, in some cases, violently. I am pleased to now be able to bring the impatience and the violence to an end, with the release of the answers to last month’s Pouring Beans crossword.

Back in early March, I stated very clearly that there were “no prizes”, but then shortly afterwards in the comments I appear to have also promised everyone prizes, so I suppose we’d better go ahead and analyse the entries that have been submitted.

Kev made a very good attempt in which he got all the answers right. His handwriting (or “handers writers”) was a bit messy but it would be churlish to deny him a prize on that basis, so a prize it is for him.

Ian made what I can only describe as an avant garde attempt at the crossword, getting only five of the twelve clues right, but redeeming himself with clear typography and also a very enjoyable drawing of a stickman with a ladder. On that basis I think he also has to get a prize.

So, with all the formalities out of the way, it just remains for me to offer my congratulations to the winners, whose prizes are now on the way, and to thank you all for taking part. Thank you. No, no, thank YOU.

Danger Run

Warning: this post contains gratuitous scenes of exercise. Viewer discretion is advised.

This boy has been running now, jogging now, a bit of a mix of the two since the start of the year. Rogging arounds wrong so let’s stick with junning. I’ve been junning since January. I have dabbled in it in the past however nothing substantial. I suppose with a lot of things collapsing in on itself it’s only fair that one tiny thing in my life prevails in a positive and optimistic fashion.

Cut to Thursday night though when shit got real.

I prefer junning at night because there are less people around to point fun at the tiny shorts I wear. The temperature is at a steady balance, much better than slogging through ice and snow anyway. I start my jun and headed off in the direction of my route. This route has been planned to perfection i.e. it features very little uphill bits and mostly flat or downhill bits.

There is a housing estate close to where I live that I do a couple of laps of to warm up. As I approach the edge of it I’m feeling the juice, I’m feeling the jun through my veins so I decide to speed up a bit. Down the first street, right at the end there is a footpath which curves round a corner down to the next street. Bounding like a chopper I go, I approach the curve and this is where it all goes wrong.

There was no slow motion here, no events slowing in my brain or anything like that. It was a short, sharp pinch in the eyes as far as my recollection of events goes. One moment I was junning away, the next I’m lying on the ground with scrape marks on my legs and blood staining the palms of my hands.

Some little dear had left their scooter in the middle of the path, something which you couldn’t see because it was round a blind corner. Unless I had leapt 2 or 3 feet in the air I was going to hit it every time. Not a full size scooter, no no, something someone just out of toddler-dom would use. I have no concern for myself, my god, I must check that my electronic life partner is still okay! The phone is nestled snugly in my jacket pocket, safe and sound. I stagger to my feet to assess the damage under a dimly-li lamppost.

Now this is exactly the kind of thing that I would do to myself; I am no stranger to injuring myself in unusual circumstances. What really sealed it as an ‘Ian’ moment though was just as I turned the corner and collided with the scooter a teenage boy was walking up the path from the opposite direction. He daren’t touch me, for obvious reasons (following Bovona guidelines to a tee) but asked if I was okay which was nice. As I stood up to brush myself down and turn to start running again he called for my attention. To my confusion and astonishment the boy brought over the tiny scooter. “You forgot this.” Luckily the violently sarcastic part of my brain was sleeping at the time.

Unreasonable reaction: WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, LAD? DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT F*CKING SCOOTER IS MINE? F*CK ME, I COULD BARELY GET ONE OF MY TOENAILS ON THERE LET ALONE A FULL F*CKING FOOT. I’M WEARING SHORTS, I’M OUT JOGGING. WHY THE F*CK DO YOU THINK A F*CKING 37 YEAR OLD MAN IS SCOOTERING AROUND AT 9PM ON A THURSDAY F*CKING NIGHT? DOES THAT SOUND SH*TTING PLAUSIBLE TO YOU?

Panting through the stinging in my hands, I merely said that it wasn’t mine and thanked him for his concern. There I was, stumbling in front of a member of the public only for him to believe that the situation was that much worse because I had embarrassed myself by failing to use a scooter properly. Remarkably my legs were fine, a gash on one knee and nothing more, so I carried on with my jun.

This is getting too long. I did consider that perhaps this was some kind of cosmic karma for something else. A balance had to be made by me making a tit of myself. The day after I was in agony. Some bruising to my right side meant breathing, coughing, you know, any kind of movement caused a little jolt of pain to explode under my ribs. I am on the mend after a few days of rest and hope to be back junning later on this week.

Eternal (not the pop group)

How will you be remembered? What will be your legacy?

What small nugget of nonsense will you leave the world so they know that you were once here, plugging away through all of life’s shambles like everyone else? Most people think it’s easy enough to pop out of a couple of kids and job done, right?

While my legacy is currently encroaching on my status as ‘tallest person in my family’ and ruffling through cupboards looking for chocolate cereal, there is another way that I will be “fondly” (?) remembered for years to come.

My nieces have all collectively lost their minds, which is nice when you think about it; they could have lost them one by one but they chose to do it all at the same time like sisters. together as a family. Adorable. I’m so proud of them. They then decided to write a song, which is clearly inspired by me, and John sent me a video of them performing it. The internet doesn’t deserve that but what I will do is show you the lyrics to this timeless masterpiece. It’s so poignant that if that rumoured Papples reunion ever happens they may have to croon a cover of it.

Now all I need is someone to paint my beautiful visage next to a newly-commissioned big-chinned, bollock-necked MaGee with the lyrics surrounding me in a halo of light and my voyage to immortality will be complete.

Wrong Lectures – Chairs

Hello and welcome to a new series where we invite guest speakers to come into the hallowed halls of Beandom to talk about interesting and varied topics. We hope that by doing so it will create a rich slunge of conversation between all members and denizens of the public.

Today’s guest needs no introduction but thankfully I have prepared one anyway because I like the sound of my own voice. Please welcome to the stage to stand at the beautiful lectern I made with my own small man hands, noted customarian and three times winner of the sexiest man in Cross Gates, Pop Giegel.

“I was ten when I first sat down on a chair and, boy, I can tell you that was a day to remember. The way you didn’t have to stand anymore, it was a massive eye-opener. Shortly afterwards I told my friend, Jill, and she said that she had been sitting on chairs for most of her life which made me embrace a deep melancholia because there had been so much chair-sitting that had been absent from my life, so many hours passed without sitting.

The chair was invented in 1842 by Grandalf Miscus, an Austrian professor who had grown tired of the choices of standing up or lying down. He theorised that there must be some kind of go-between and set about looking for that alternative. After ten years of research he finally built the prototype chair, the Oxi, which is still on display at the Hofburg museum in Vienna. It may look crude by today’s standards however without it you would not be able to sit and watch television, sit and read a book, sit and flick through nondescript advertisements on overbearing websites.

Grandalf’s “chair” or mikrowellenpizza in his native language revolutionised the world and how we approach it. He saw through the mire and decided that perhaps standing and drinking a cappuccino is not as relaxing as it first sounds, and perhaps there is something a little cushier available. There have been many other variations of this such as the leg chair, the head chair, sofa maze, office chair, waiting room bench chair and the still popular Halloween mask chair.

Since my first life-changing sitting experience I have spent most of my adult life sitting or trying to sit down. When I went to see U2 at the 3Arena in Dublin a few years ago, standing room only, I let off fireworks until someone brought me a chair to watch the concert from. If I have to get on a crowded train I have a travel chair or Schnursenkel which I keep with me at all times. It is also useful when waiting for the bus or if there is a long queue for the Oblivion at Alton Towers.

I hope you all do not underappreciate the long-standing effect and influence that the chair has had on the human race. In fact, it’s influence cannot be understated. Wars have been fought over the positioning of chairs in the dining room. Religious leaders have publicly spoken to millions of people from chairs, possibly. Imagine trying to eat an omelette with one hand because your other hand is holding the plate or, maybe even worse, having to bend down to the table to reach your omelette because there is no other way of eating it. Tragic.

Praise the chairs.”

Lending a Paw

If you’re going to do something nice you best do it standing like a titan.

After helping the doggos earlier on this year with my walk around my flat, which sounds about as strenuous as a trip to Waitrose, I have decided to further the cause and lend a paw to someone who needs my help.

This is Sunshine and he is a star in waiting.

For a blind breed of unknown origin, he has a whole lot of charisma at his disposal. Sunshine or “the Moose” as he has affectionately come to be known (nobody can remember who gave him the nickname although I am still adamant that it was me) claims to not be able to see out of either eye, a fact that still has not been proven. I have asked him several times and he refuses to answer the question.

With all this potential it seemed like a waste to let him hide in the shadows of obscurity so despite handing the task to Reuben over the summer holidays, the task of raising his social media profile has been passed to me. I have begun this with his own Twitter account for “hilarious” posts about doggo things and photos of him looking like a dog, something the internet goes CRAZY for I am reliably informed.

Comments such as, “you really need to get a girlfriend, Ian” and, “what are you doing with photos of my dog?” have been ignored because currently only I can see the greatness that has been under everyone’s noses.

I also feel obliged because, in a way, the Moose is my spirit animal in that he eats just as fast as I do and is forever looking for more things to eat. Who am I to ignore a fellow gluttonous brother? I have promised to myself not to let any of my horrendous toxic masculinity leak into his cheery disposition, nor any of the wonderful photos of his viso/volto. Trying to keep it under wraps has been very difficult especially with the sheer volume of packets of sugar that I keep downing all at the same time.

I gave him a swish Twitter handle and Twitter responded by giving us a pretty generic name. You can follow Sunshine at @TheMoos90645566 for all the moosing around you (that’s YOU) can handle.

‘Snakes and Lads’

You know what’s wrong with board games these days? They’re not tough enough. Whilst they are entertaining and enjoyable, informative and fun, maddening and frustrating at times there is nothing about them that gives the impression of tough.

Courtesy of my toxic masculinity, I have come with a new take on an existing idea that will blow all you soft willows out of the water and into the gutters. It will remove your eyes and replace them with hot coals of pain.

‘Snakes and Lads’ follows the same basic formula as its predecessor, ‘Snakes and Ladders’; you have a board with one hundred squares and the object is to get from the bottom to the top first.

You play as Tony, a right hard lad who whilst out drinking with his mates decides that they should place a little wager on who can get to the kebab shop first. His best mate, Tony, who has been sh*t-faced since 7pm is of course well up for this. His cousin, Tony, never says no to a bet and the same goes for Tony, Tony and his dad, Tony (I should mention that you don’t necessarily need six players in total but it does help).

So, as one of the Tonys, you wander through the streets trying to get to the kebab shop. If you land on a snake, you strangle it like the piece of savage meat you are. This however does mean that the time you spend boshing that sod into the next week causes you to fall behind and you go back down to the corresponding square below. If you land on a lad, you go right in for a fight with that sucker. You roll the dice and if you get an even number, you smash ‘im down. If you happen to roll an odd number he gets in a cheeky punch and you stay where you are.

The first to reach ‘The Quilted Slosh’ gets to call all the other players whoopsies and collects a tenner from each of them.

Extra points for those who sit on a steak whilst playing and eat a whole bag of sugar all at the same time.

I have never been more convinced of my genius until this idea.