This'll come as zero surprise to those who know me,but I really don't like young people much.I was one once,but I'm convinced I was probably a prize cunt with dubious dress sense,not unlike the hordes of garish,tight trousered,screeching no-marks who infest the pub near my gaff every Thursday night,thus disturbing my much needed beauty sleep.They seem to find it entirely impossible to converse in anything but a full-volume,high pitched babble.This is more than likely something to do with alcohol,but this is no excuse;it's merely another mark against them.It's not bad enough that they wear farcical trousers and have stupid fucking hair and are noisy...they can't even hold their drink,a cardinal sin in this part of Lancashire. However,the thing that really irks me is young climbers.Again,I was one once,but this isn't gonna stop my tirade.As a bitter,but hard training bloke in his mid/late thirties,it sticks in my craw to see featherweight whippersnappers effortlessly floating up hard problems,with seemingly no graft other than going down the wall and not training in any kind of structured manner whatsoever.Fair play,they get the problems done,but where's my fucking payback? I deadhang with near religious fervour,run power endurance laps,campus,stretch,diet...the list's endless.But still,no dice on my projects.I can't even look back on my youth and think "Bless em,I was just like that...",because I wasn't.Back in the day,all climbing walls were horseshit and apart from anything else,as a young climber I was also shit.I'm still distinctly average now,despite all my effort.And to top it off,I'm also cynical and unpleasant,kinda like a bouldering Charlie Brooker.Except I don't get to dick Connie Huq.
As you might've gathered,none of my projects have come to fruition,and for a week or so I started to seriously wonder if it was all worth it.The strain,injuries and worrying obsession with wooden rungs and stopwatches,the constant nearly-but-not quite of trying to push your grade.Fortunately,I had a couple of those training sessions that actually feel like some progress is being made...and the negative,bitter bollocks that often infests my mind got steamrollered aside.This is when you gotta dig in,fight like fuck to break out of the plateau and really start getting somewhere.At the end of the day,it's utterly futile I guess,since all I want to gain from this is to get better at climbing up little rocks.But that simply isn't the point,is it? It's bouldering,and for all it's ups,downs and brick walls,I fucking love it.I stand by my fervent dislike of young,light,talented climbers who hardly train,though.If you get the chance,take a mallet to their fucking fingers.
Aside from climbing and bitterness,the footer went better than I expected.And even though they knocked us out in the quarters,I did take great joy in seeing the Azzurri's mighty,mercurial mentalist Mario Balotelli sock it to the German machine...and he can park where he wants to.Come to think of it,though,he's only about 22.What a bastard.These young fuckers get everywhere...More ranting soon,maybe even with some news about my ongoing quest to push my grade and finally start climbing well.It's unlikely,I admit,but maybe even Rock Atrocity might capitulate soon...and when it does,then by Christ,I'll have several large G'nT's and tell you all about it.