The other night I had a bizarre dream. Even by my ordinarily outlandish standards. In this dream, Jacques Villeneuve had made a return to Formula 1. However, his years in the wilderness/recording studio for the rich and talentless had left him a little eccentric, and he had taken to prancing around the paddock and pit lane in a Georgian wig. And ermine robes. Which a mechanic had to carry behind him, like a bridal train.
I recounted this dream to my sister, who suggested that fancy dress would be an excellent addition to literally any sport. Indeed, Formula 1 for a start could be re-codified to involve drivers being forced to dress as characters from Mario Kart. With Lewis Hamilton playing Wario, cackling maniacally as he gleefully barges into every other driver on the track.
Another sport which, it occurred to me, could benefit from a kit alteration, is association football. I don’t watch or like football, but I used to. I was obsessed with it for several years in the olden days. So my boredom of it is considered, not reactionary. People complain these days of players having nothing to do with the home towns/countries of the clubs that they represent. So what is obviously needed is a unifying costume. Manchester United, for example, should be forced to play in flat caps, whilst leading whippets around the pitch. London teams should be variously got up as Beefeaters, pearly kings and queens, and the horse guard.
International competitions would present a marvellous opportunity for national stereotyping: Wales could wear Welsh lady outfits. France, of course, would have to wear Breton shirts and strings of onions, whilst Germany would have to attire themselves in SS uniforms. Oh, hold on, I think this is bordering on racism...
The forthcoming Olympics present an ideal platform on which to roll out my fancy dress regime. Javelin throwers can be kitted out as cavemen, with a facsimile woolly mammoth at which to aim. Archery contestants can choose from Robin Hood, William Tell, or Sultan Selim III. Swimming would be made far more challenging and interesting were the participants geared up as fish, mermaids, octopuses, and olden-days deep sea divers.
Boxing is an entirely unpleasant business, but could be rendered less so were the feudalists in the guise of famous enemies from history. At least if I was watching a bout between a pretend Charles I and Oliver Cromwell I’d be able to take a side.
Oh, wait. It has just struck me that this entire piece of writing is simply a pitch for It’s A Knockout. I’ll get my coat.
