In my dreams the Bennett brothers are grabbing the headlines on the back pages in Luxembourg. But in reality another pair of siblings are taking on the world and putting the principality on the map.
At the time of writing Frank and Andy Schleck (do you get the terrible word-play in the title now?!) from Luxembourg city are both in the top six of the Tour de France general classification with two stages to go.
So the Schlecks have inspired me - and this week the talking stops and the action begins.
Well when I say action I don’t mean cycling up mountains in the Alps with my brother like Frank and Andy. I think we’ll leave that to them to be honest. After all they’re doing really well so it would feel a bit rude for James and I to rain on their parade. Plus he’s on holiday and I’ve got asthma.
No, the action I’m talking about is a little less strenuous because it involves writing letters and e-mails. Come on, I’ve got to start somewhere!!
I’m about to put the “make me a Luxembourg international” machine into action by getting in touch with some of the most important officials in each of the different sports. And the best thing I’ve discovered this week is that the manager of the national football team has put his e-mail address on the official FA website.
I can’t imagine Fabio Capello doing that. He’d get all sorts of idiots getting in touch. But in Luxembourg they’re obviously a bit more relaxed about that sort of thing and Guy Hellers will only have one idiot getting in touch - me.
So over the next week mail will be flying out of my HQ (or bedroom). I’ve already employed an official translator (my mum) who’ll be coming to Bristol this week to start work (check I’ve been eating properly) and the letters will be published here very soon.
Watch out Schleck brothers – I’m coming to get you! Slow down first though yeah? I can’t keep up – where’s my inhaler!?
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Sunday, 19 July 2009
A cricket comeback - are you watching Luxembourg selectors??
Jumping up in your pants, knocking over a full glass of water and searching blindly on all fours for a phone wasn't the best start to my day off but nothing wakes me up quicker than my mobile going off.
After all it could be important; that job offer, that girl ringing me back, that offer of a year's supply of Cornish pasties - but it never is, in fact for some reason it's always the opticians, which is ironic really because when I wake up without my contact lenses in I can't see a bloody thing.
But this morning it was different. Specsavers must have been busy.
"Do you want to play a cricket match tonight?"
It was my mate Tom and I have to admit that I nearly turned his offer down. Part of it was tiredness but part of it was fear.
As a teenager I loved cricket and was actually pretty good. But same old story, as the years went by I stopped playing and became more of an armchair fan. Apart from a couple of games I hadn't picked up a bat in years and was worried that I might embarrass myself.
Then I remembered the challenge. Cricket is the second sport on my list. If I want to have any chance of not making an idiot of myself in front of the Luxembourg cricket team I'd better start playing now.
"Count me in mate, I'll be there."
My plan for the cricket comeback was to just do a bit of fielding and that seemed fine when our team batted first and we only lost four wickets.
Then I was asked to bowl for the first time in about six years and I just couldn't refuse.
"No heroics here lad," said the skipper, "line and length will do."
The nerves were getting to me at the start of my run-up but somehow with my first ball I got the line, I got the length and I also... Got a wicket!
Unbelievably the batsman had half volleyed it straight to a fielder at extra cover and I was too busy standing in stunned silence to celebrate.
Then after high-fives from my new team mates I started my next run up believing that somehow I had just turned into Bob Willis or Glenn McGrath - I was confident, I was aggressive, I was determined and... I bowled a bloody wide - typical!
But they gave me another over and a couple of average balls later I picked up a second wicket; rolling back the years to cut the ball past the batsman and give my mate Tom the perfect stumping chance.
So figures of 2 for 8 on my cricket comeback, I’m definitely pleased with that and keen now to get more games in.
Better go now though, the phone's ringing. It could be someone offering me another chance to play cricket, it could be that girl wanting to congratulate me for my two wickets, it could be a Luxemburg selector who just happened to be walking past the pitch in Chipping Sodbury and wants me in the next line-up!
"Hello Mr Bennett it's Specsavers here..."
After all it could be important; that job offer, that girl ringing me back, that offer of a year's supply of Cornish pasties - but it never is, in fact for some reason it's always the opticians, which is ironic really because when I wake up without my contact lenses in I can't see a bloody thing.
But this morning it was different. Specsavers must have been busy.
"Do you want to play a cricket match tonight?"
It was my mate Tom and I have to admit that I nearly turned his offer down. Part of it was tiredness but part of it was fear.
As a teenager I loved cricket and was actually pretty good. But same old story, as the years went by I stopped playing and became more of an armchair fan. Apart from a couple of games I hadn't picked up a bat in years and was worried that I might embarrass myself.
Then I remembered the challenge. Cricket is the second sport on my list. If I want to have any chance of not making an idiot of myself in front of the Luxembourg cricket team I'd better start playing now.
"Count me in mate, I'll be there."
My plan for the cricket comeback was to just do a bit of fielding and that seemed fine when our team batted first and we only lost four wickets.
Then I was asked to bowl for the first time in about six years and I just couldn't refuse.
"No heroics here lad," said the skipper, "line and length will do."
The nerves were getting to me at the start of my run-up but somehow with my first ball I got the line, I got the length and I also... Got a wicket!
Unbelievably the batsman had half volleyed it straight to a fielder at extra cover and I was too busy standing in stunned silence to celebrate.
Then after high-fives from my new team mates I started my next run up believing that somehow I had just turned into Bob Willis or Glenn McGrath - I was confident, I was aggressive, I was determined and... I bowled a bloody wide - typical!
But they gave me another over and a couple of average balls later I picked up a second wicket; rolling back the years to cut the ball past the batsman and give my mate Tom the perfect stumping chance.
So figures of 2 for 8 on my cricket comeback, I’m definitely pleased with that and keen now to get more games in.
Better go now though, the phone's ringing. It could be someone offering me another chance to play cricket, it could be that girl wanting to congratulate me for my two wickets, it could be a Luxemburg selector who just happened to be walking past the pitch in Chipping Sodbury and wants me in the next line-up!
"Hello Mr Bennett it's Specsavers here..."
Monday, 6 July 2009
Rules is rules, especially when you're addicted to daytime TV...
It’s been a while - this is not good - my Luxembourg international challenge has only just started and already I’m getting distracted. I blame women, work, beer, paninis, women and Neighbours. Not necessarily in that order.
But fear not, I’m back, raring to go and ready to set some ground rules. They’re important to me you see because given half a chance I’m very, very lazy. For example I just got home after an early shift with loads to do but instead of getting on with it I just watched an hour of Channel Five’s afternoon movie. When the main character lost her husband, straight after the death of her dad, brother and best friend even I knew it was time to turn off.
I can’t imagine Steve Bull sitting down to watch crap like that on his plasma. If I’ve got any hope of becoming an international I need discipline, boundaries and rules, just like Bully… 13 caps don’t lie!!
So how’s it going to work?
Well I’ve made a list (how exciting am I?). It contains all my favourite sports in an order of preference. Number one is my favourite and the first sport that I will look to too achieve my dream.
The easy option would’ve been to try to become an international in some minority event like tiddlywinks but there’s no glory in that. I’m doing this properly, with the sports that I really love.
At number one of course it’s football. Boring I know but there’s no argument. They say men think about sex every six seconds - I think about football every 3 seconds. I could be involved in the most exciting conversation in the world but although I’m nodding and pretending to be interested, I’m really deciding whether Simon Grayson or Gary Mills would start at right back in my all-time Leicester City XI.
Number two is cricket, which is quite topical at the moment because I’ve just realised that my day off this week falls on the first day of the Ashes. That means I’ll be watching most of the play from Cardiff, probably in my pants – unless there’s a good movie on Channel Five that is.
At three it’s a re-entry for rugby. As a kid I loved the sport and Rory Underwood was my idol. Not only did he score tries for fun for England and of course Leicester but he also flied jet planes for Christ’s sake.
I’ll leave it as a top three for now, even though I reckon I’ll have to go down a long list of sports before I can eventually achieve my goal. But these are the rules and I’m sticking to them. The first sport I’ll try to represent Luxembourg in is football. Then if (and when) I fail it’ll be cricket and so on.
So here goes - the challenge begins. And by the way it has to be Simon Grayson… sorry Millsy!
But fear not, I’m back, raring to go and ready to set some ground rules. They’re important to me you see because given half a chance I’m very, very lazy. For example I just got home after an early shift with loads to do but instead of getting on with it I just watched an hour of Channel Five’s afternoon movie. When the main character lost her husband, straight after the death of her dad, brother and best friend even I knew it was time to turn off.
I can’t imagine Steve Bull sitting down to watch crap like that on his plasma. If I’ve got any hope of becoming an international I need discipline, boundaries and rules, just like Bully… 13 caps don’t lie!!
So how’s it going to work?
Well I’ve made a list (how exciting am I?). It contains all my favourite sports in an order of preference. Number one is my favourite and the first sport that I will look to too achieve my dream.
The easy option would’ve been to try to become an international in some minority event like tiddlywinks but there’s no glory in that. I’m doing this properly, with the sports that I really love.
At number one of course it’s football. Boring I know but there’s no argument. They say men think about sex every six seconds - I think about football every 3 seconds. I could be involved in the most exciting conversation in the world but although I’m nodding and pretending to be interested, I’m really deciding whether Simon Grayson or Gary Mills would start at right back in my all-time Leicester City XI.
Number two is cricket, which is quite topical at the moment because I’ve just realised that my day off this week falls on the first day of the Ashes. That means I’ll be watching most of the play from Cardiff, probably in my pants – unless there’s a good movie on Channel Five that is.
At three it’s a re-entry for rugby. As a kid I loved the sport and Rory Underwood was my idol. Not only did he score tries for fun for England and of course Leicester but he also flied jet planes for Christ’s sake.
I’ll leave it as a top three for now, even though I reckon I’ll have to go down a long list of sports before I can eventually achieve my goal. But these are the rules and I’m sticking to them. The first sport I’ll try to represent Luxembourg in is football. Then if (and when) I fail it’ll be cricket and so on.
So here goes - the challenge begins. And by the way it has to be Simon Grayson… sorry Millsy!
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
My Luxembourg Granny or as we called her Mami...
In retrospect I should've eaten the beetroot. I hated disappointing my Mami but she did have high standards.
Before you start taking the mick I'll explain why we called her Mami. Basically that's one of the French words for Gran, a bit like Nan or Nana I suppose. She was called Alice and although she was born in Luxembourg, she ended up living in France because of (and can you get any Frencher than this) romance.
When Luxembourg was invaded during World War Two her family was evacuated to a little French village called Cormatin and they stayed in a very large house owned by the local dentist. His son was away with the French army, fighting in vain to stop the Nazis.
But it wasn't long before Cormatin was invaded too. The dentist's home was taken over by the Germans and the soldiers camped out in the garden.
From what I've heard Alice was anything but scared because her and her sisters were really brave ladies. In fact if the French had put them on the Maginot line I reckon the Germans would've never got passed. She told me and my brother off once for throwing slugs at cars (don't ask) and I've never been so frightened. Luckily he got a slap and I just had a good old cry.
With France in Hitler's hands there was no point hanging around and they all returned home to Esch in Luxembourg.
You've guessed it though, the families stayed in touch, the dentist's son began writing to Mami, they fell in love and in 1947 they were married. The house she was once evacuated to was now her home.
Their daughter moved to England where she married my Dad (no woman can resist the Leicester charm) and every year we used to cross the Channel to visit Mami and Papi (you're really going to take the mick now) during our summer holidays.
I remember when I discovered that my Gran was originally from Luxembourg. I was about eight years old and heard her on the phone, speaking in a strange language. It was part French, part German and there were even a few English words sprinkled in. It was a bit like a sketch from the Fast Show
"That's the Luxemburg language John."
"The what what???"
My Mum explained that Mami came from a tiny country in between Belgium, Germany and France.
"But you know what the best thing is," my brother chipped in, "we can do a John Aldridge."
I was really confused now.
"His Gran was Irish and he played for Ireland. Our Gran's from Luxembourg, so guess what we can do."
I was too busy watching the French version of Going for Gold to really take in what he'd just said but the seed was sown. Maybe one day I could make up for leaving the beetroot! But first it was the beat the buzzer round. Becoming a Luxemburg international would have to wait.
Before you start taking the mick I'll explain why we called her Mami. Basically that's one of the French words for Gran, a bit like Nan or Nana I suppose. She was called Alice and although she was born in Luxembourg, she ended up living in France because of (and can you get any Frencher than this) romance.
When Luxembourg was invaded during World War Two her family was evacuated to a little French village called Cormatin and they stayed in a very large house owned by the local dentist. His son was away with the French army, fighting in vain to stop the Nazis.
But it wasn't long before Cormatin was invaded too. The dentist's home was taken over by the Germans and the soldiers camped out in the garden.
From what I've heard Alice was anything but scared because her and her sisters were really brave ladies. In fact if the French had put them on the Maginot line I reckon the Germans would've never got passed. She told me and my brother off once for throwing slugs at cars (don't ask) and I've never been so frightened. Luckily he got a slap and I just had a good old cry.
With France in Hitler's hands there was no point hanging around and they all returned home to Esch in Luxembourg.
You've guessed it though, the families stayed in touch, the dentist's son began writing to Mami, they fell in love and in 1947 they were married. The house she was once evacuated to was now her home.
Their daughter moved to England where she married my Dad (no woman can resist the Leicester charm) and every year we used to cross the Channel to visit Mami and Papi (you're really going to take the mick now) during our summer holidays.
I remember when I discovered that my Gran was originally from Luxembourg. I was about eight years old and heard her on the phone, speaking in a strange language. It was part French, part German and there were even a few English words sprinkled in. It was a bit like a sketch from the Fast Show
"That's the Luxemburg language John."
"The what what???"
My Mum explained that Mami came from a tiny country in between Belgium, Germany and France.
"But you know what the best thing is," my brother chipped in, "we can do a John Aldridge."
I was really confused now.
"His Gran was Irish and he played for Ireland. Our Gran's from Luxembourg, so guess what we can do."
I was too busy watching the French version of Going for Gold to really take in what he'd just said but the seed was sown. Maybe one day I could make up for leaving the beetroot! But first it was the beat the buzzer round. Becoming a Luxemburg international would have to wait.
Platt, Bull, Christie, Russell and Andrew - they're all to blame...
"Steve Bull, Steve bloody Bull!"
It was a big moment and not only because I'd just said a swear word in front of my mum for the first time.
"No, it was David Platt, David Platt!"
That put a slight dampener on things, Platt played for my brother's team Aston Villa and he would be gloating for months. But it didn't really matter, England had beaten Belgium at Italia 90 and from then on I was obsessed with international sport.
It wasn't only football. Before the 100 metres final at the Barcelona Olympics two years later I was so nervous that I locked myself in the toilet and prayed that Linford Christie would win. He still hasn't thanked me.
In 1995 Rob Andrew's last minute drop goal to beat the Aussies at the rugby World Cup turned a shy 15 year old into a street dancer and Jack Russell's hero status got bigger in my eyes with every amazing catch that he took for England.
Of course my dream was to follow in the footsteps of Linford, Jack and ...eerr... Bully but it wasn't to be. I came fifth in the 200 metres at sports day (I thought it was fourth but then realised that the guy who won was so far in front that I hadn't seen him finish), I got into the football team at school but the teacher once told me his granny could play better (to be fair she may have had a great left peg) and although I was a decent wicketkeeper my highest cricket score was 17 (not out, I hasten to add).
Probably my best sporting moment was scoring two tries against our arch rivals Hardenuish school when I was 15 but I realised that rugby wasn't for me when I was chasing a huge prop. I out paced him easily but as he turned around and pushed his fat hand into my face I realised that rather than attempting to make the tackle it would be less painful to just fall over. And like the brave warrior that I am, I tumbled to the floor in dramatic style. Didier Drogba would've been proud.
As the years have gone by though I've regretted not being more committed to playing competitive sport in my youth. Maybe with a little more effort and more confidence to join some clubs I could've been better. After all I'm better than average. A jack of all trades and a master of none.
But surely when you approach 30 the dream of one day representing your country finally dies. Or does it? England can do without me but can another country? A country that was home to my inspirational Grandmother. She once refused to give me pancakes because I wouldn't eat my beetroot but she was a great woman. I still hate beetroot. But I could grow to love Luxembourg...
It was a big moment and not only because I'd just said a swear word in front of my mum for the first time.
"No, it was David Platt, David Platt!"
That put a slight dampener on things, Platt played for my brother's team Aston Villa and he would be gloating for months. But it didn't really matter, England had beaten Belgium at Italia 90 and from then on I was obsessed with international sport.
It wasn't only football. Before the 100 metres final at the Barcelona Olympics two years later I was so nervous that I locked myself in the toilet and prayed that Linford Christie would win. He still hasn't thanked me.
In 1995 Rob Andrew's last minute drop goal to beat the Aussies at the rugby World Cup turned a shy 15 year old into a street dancer and Jack Russell's hero status got bigger in my eyes with every amazing catch that he took for England.
Of course my dream was to follow in the footsteps of Linford, Jack and ...eerr... Bully but it wasn't to be. I came fifth in the 200 metres at sports day (I thought it was fourth but then realised that the guy who won was so far in front that I hadn't seen him finish), I got into the football team at school but the teacher once told me his granny could play better (to be fair she may have had a great left peg) and although I was a decent wicketkeeper my highest cricket score was 17 (not out, I hasten to add).
Probably my best sporting moment was scoring two tries against our arch rivals Hardenuish school when I was 15 but I realised that rugby wasn't for me when I was chasing a huge prop. I out paced him easily but as he turned around and pushed his fat hand into my face I realised that rather than attempting to make the tackle it would be less painful to just fall over. And like the brave warrior that I am, I tumbled to the floor in dramatic style. Didier Drogba would've been proud.
As the years have gone by though I've regretted not being more committed to playing competitive sport in my youth. Maybe with a little more effort and more confidence to join some clubs I could've been better. After all I'm better than average. A jack of all trades and a master of none.
But surely when you approach 30 the dream of one day representing your country finally dies. Or does it? England can do without me but can another country? A country that was home to my inspirational Grandmother. She once refused to give me pancakes because I wouldn't eat my beetroot but she was a great woman. I still hate beetroot. But I could grow to love Luxembourg...
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