Quote of yesterday's TV football commentary:

But, unfortunately, he was completely covered by Kaka.

Yes, yes: Very juvenile. Get off your cloud.

Media approaches to the World Cup

It's been interesting to note the similarities and contrasts between the BBC's coverage and ITV's.

Both channels have stuck with the "one 'professional commentator' plus one 'media-comfortable ex-footballer'" formula for in-game burbling. Both have also stuck with the "panel of assorted gobshites plus anchorperson" for the pre-game warm-up, half-time inanity and post-game "analysis" slots — these consisting of exactly the same content, marginally adjusted to reflect actual events. This similarity of M.O. is hardly surprising; they've been doing it the same way for thirty-odd years now, and it's hardly likely to change.

The first, and most obvious, difference between the two channels is where they've located the "pundits" for these playless, deathless periods. ITV have gone with the tried and trusted methodology of bagging a media booth at the ground where the game is being played. The BBC, conversely, have persisted with their "find one excellent location and stay there" strategy.

In blank-slate terms, each of these strategies has its pros and cons: The ITV teams have to lug their kit from stadium to stadium, but get to actually "be there"; the BBC have one, centralized Base Camp, but one wonders whether they may as well be doing it from a flat in Tooting. In "real-world Germany" terms, the BBC's practices are kicking ITV's arse on every level possible.

Whereas, during UEFA-zone games, there must be plenty of media space to go around, leaving everyone with large spacious studios overlooking the pitch, ITV have clearly forgotten that this is the World Cup, and there are far more media outlets with needs to be satisfied. As a result, the ITV teams seem to have been jemmied into spaces no larger than a broom cupboard. When you then have to squeeze "Big" Sam Allardyce, Terry "Fuck the salad" Venables and Andy "More pie? Don't mind if I do" Townsend into the same space together with Jim "the Quiche" Rosenthal, you're asking for trouble: It's like watching a packet of Wall's sausages.

The BBC, on the other hand, have grabbed a pretty tasty spot: Almost an entire floor situated above the Jüdisches Museum, overlooking the Brandenburg gate, the Reichstag and the Olympic Stadium. While Stuart Pearce is asking Terry Venables if he can have just a little bit more of the blanket please, Alan Hansen and Gary Lineker are sitting on recliners and whispering their bland nothings via megaphones.

One-nil to the BBC.

This situation offers a slight return late at night. The BBC have decided to do their highlights show from the balcony of their Bohemian flop-house on the Pariser Platz, whereas ITV have decided to do their highlights show from a good, old-fashioned studio (possibly in Tooting).

As you can imagine: In the centre of Berlin, in the middle of the World Cup, at approximately midnight, the Pariser Platz is full of celebrating football fans; singing, dancing and fighting the night away.

This has led to one of my highlights of the world cup coverage so far: Ray Stubbs trying to keep his temper while gangs of revellers below steal his on-screen thunder. Most of the commentary, analysis and punditry has hitherto consisted of the most tedious and obvious observations (there are more perceptive judges on HuSi), but Ray controlling his temper is a beautiful thing to behold.

For those who don't know Ray, he is one of the few surviving relics from a style of sports commentary long passed. One part Alan Partridge, one part regional hack, one part undistinguished footballer, he is the third- or fourth-choice anchorman for the BBC's football coverage. He would have long-ago been put out to pasture but for the fact he is so young. There is nothing so inane that Ray won't say it; nothing so obvious that it isn't worth pointing out again. One of his signature tricks is picking up on a mildly new angle introduced by a pundit and then asking a question in such a way as to demand that the same point be repeated. We're forever waiting for one of the pundits to say, "Yes, Ray: That's exactly what I just said.". The audience isn't naive enough to fail to see that Ray is just killing 'live' screen time – we notice when all the anchor-persons do it – but Ray is particularly poor at papering over the cracks.

The beautiful thing about Ray is that you can see the audible revelry getting to him on a physical level. His eyes glaze over and he develops a somewhat psychopathic stare while he pretends to be asking a question or listening to an answer when in fact you can see "Those fucking singers!" written all over his face. He wants to snap. He wants to go. He is incapable of perceiving that his professional television programme may actually be worth less than anything else, let along two hundred singing Dutchmen.

The other night, he almost went. "Those chanters are going to get it IN A MINUTE!", he roared, on-camera, before regaining some control of himself. The prospect of seeing Ray Stubbs single-handedly "dealing with" two hundred drunk Germans was a powerfully enticing image but, alas, never materialized.

This monster is growing. In a natural and beautiful feedback cycle, the revellers are now well aware that the BBC highlights are broadcast from the penthouse balcony and seem to be targeting that time-spot, knowing the irritation they cause and the extent of Ray's impotence. Two nights ago, they started singing the theme music from 'Match Of The Day' (the BBC's flagship football programme) to let everyone know that they knew. Ray's eyes lit up like Nagasaki and a vein began to throb. Something is going to give. Within two weeks, Ray's "going postal" unless something changes within the set-up.

The final piece of garnish is that the revellers are not interrupting the broadcast at all. We can hear all the contributions perfectly. In Ray's head, though, it's Bedlam.

Cider

Like many, I haven't drunk a terrific amount of cider since my mid-teens. However, last night I had a particularly awesome tipple, so am passing the recommendation along.

Westons Strong Organic Cider is a magnificently fine brew, especially when served chilled. It has the same wheat-y, yeasty aftertaste as Franziskaner Weissbier and is not at all sickly-sweet. Ooooh-Aarrr.

WFC

Terrific stuff. Enjoyed reading all of them.