I went to a Scots school and I used to be proud of my maternal Scottish heritage - got gooseflesh when I heard the pipes, the whole atavistic bit. But after thirteen years of gross misrule by chippy Scots carpet-baggers, I feel a no less primitive revulsion. Maybe it's my paternal Viking heritage.
So, childish though it is, I will be cheering for anyone playing against that sour-faced git Andrew 'Anyone but England' Murray. To hell with him and all the rest of the resentful losers north of the border.
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Both my sons were 4th class bagpipers which enabled them, first and foremost, to drink beer with mates of legal age in Pennsylvania. But after the thousandth rendering of 'Scotland the brave,' it's hard to get up a goosebump even with Viagra.
ReplyDeleteAh weel recall the Scottish games in Philly in '79 when they dedicated a lament to 'dear auld Jock who has gone frae us.' The Lament was announced as "The Flowers of the Florist." My youngest son Laurence became hysterical.
If Murray can grow up on grass I am happy for him. My California stepbrothers used grass to forestall growing up. Wimbledon was not quite what they had in mind. More like Acapulco.