There Are No Tits Here. Hazel Irvine’s Or Otherwise.

A few weeks ago I reported that this blog had been laid siege to by a deviant of the worst order. Some diabolical pest has typed in “Hazel Irvine tits” into a search engine, one would have to presume to ogle at images of the diminutive Scottish sportscaster’s breasts.

I am sad to relay that affairs have darkened since. The fiend has visited again, three times. Firstly he or she landed following the query “Hazel Irvine sex tits”. I may be naive but I don’t know what a “sex tit” is. I’m pretty sure it’s bad though. And again today, two more hits: “snooker Hazel Irvine sex tits” and “snooker Hazel Irvine sex titss” reveals some sickening fetish for Hazel Irvine in sexy bar game situations. As well as negligent spelling.

I urge this person to reveal themselves, figuratively speaking obviously, and perhaps some kind of support can be sought. There are people who can treat you, injections they can give you. I know a good surgeon if necessary.

The Easy Rider

The Easy Rider: chilling out by his lock-up

I’ve always loved Steve Rider a little bit. He is a consummate man with the look of a well-coiffed barn owl. He has gravitas coming out of his anus. His unflappable understated professionalism makes me feel safe.  “Well played Southend” he pipes at half-time with the ingenuous enthusiasm of a mum.

For that is where he is tonight. Peering through the January mists at Roots Hall in the heart of the Essex Riviera, helming ITV‘s coverage of Southend’s FA Cup replay with Chelsea.

Steve deserves better than this. A mere few years ago he was supping Long Island Iced Teas in the rare surroundings of the Butler Cabin at Augusta managing the BBC Masters coverage. Now he’s in a structurally unsound portakabin. With Andy Townsend. Who as usual is “really this” and “really that” and “really they’ll give 110% tonight Steve”.

Even more recently Steve was strutting around the starting grids of exotic locations such as Interlagos and Monte Carlo  heading up the ITV Formula One broadcasts. His true passion. And now that’s been taken from under his nose by the very station he defected from: the Beeb.

Already talk of a transfer back to the club where he learnt his trade has been silenced. The BBC already have their man. Or more accurately boy. Jake Humphrey has got the F1 gig. I think we were all taken surprise by that. Nice young man, but he probably doesn’t know what gravitas means.

Turn the channel mate.