 I wrote some days ago at my disappointment in German TV’s coverage of Brazil’s opening fixture against Croatia.
As I said at the time – and call me an old sexist – there was a distinct lack of coverage of the beautiful game’s most beautiful supporters. Well Fritz and Helmut at Germany’s equivalent of Broadcasting House must have been listening that’s all I can say.
During last night’s encounter with Australia we were treated to tens if not dozens of crowd shots covering the mostly uncovered bodies of a whole host of delightful Amazonians as they swayed to the sound of the samba. Not only that, they then cut live to Rio after the game! Surrounded by more of the same, the breathless reporter (who looked unpleasantly sweaty) interviewed any maiden with the merest smattering of German.
Still ignorant in the Fatherland’s native tongue, I was unable to make out what they were saying. But it struck me that most was along the lines of “Strike a light love they’re not bad your lot – they might even win this don’t you reckon? And whilst we’re at it do you fancy a quick half once I’ve knocked this rubbish on the head?”
It also struck me that if it works on the Copacabana it could also work in other parts of the world – in England say. Assuming we beat the Swedes tomorrow night, and I know I’m getting ahead of myself, wouldn’t it be entirely valid to cut to a crowd seen in dear old Blighty? In somewhere like Rotherham for instance?
With a crowd of tanked up young men in the background singing about there being an ever decreasing number of German bombers in the air, reporter Jurgen someone or other (because that would be his name) could interview a bevy of British beauties. Something along the lines of: “Well Dietmar, you join me outside the Bigot and Bulldog in sunny South Yorkshire where they’re really getting into the party mood. As you can see, if the camera pans back for a moment, they’ve already ripped the wing mirrors of a number of Saabs and Volvos and beaten up a Norwegian who they thought was from Stockholm.”
A thoroughly inebriated teenage girl could then wander into shot in a pair of hipsters advertising her endless acres of belly fat and one of those awful lower back tattoos. Depending on her mood, or the level of inebriation, she could then belch into the microphone or be sick on it.
No? Oh, I thought it was a great idea…
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