Jonny’ll fix it … or he’ll fix you is Sloucher’s own “Agony Aunt” section. These are true cases, but the identities of those involved were changed to protect them. Feel free to send your troubles our way.

This week, we talk about the (f)utility of the Sports Section…

Dear Magic Mojo Monkey

I usually read The Guardian while in the loo (free toilet paper! Comment is free my arse- literally) and have this strange problem: I HATE THE SPORTS SECTION.

I’m a heterosexual male, but have never got the need of having a daily sports section when said space could be used for more art, books, music, film or pics of birds with rather big glandular mammaries. I appreciate the artistic beauty of a uncovered torso.

Could you help me out on my campaign of “Culturalise or Page 3ise The Guardian’s sport section”? I promise to include some rather strange pics of other sock monkeys I’ve found in my many trips to Pete Waterman’s basement.

Sincerely
Mr. Lode.

Hello my little misguided chum

At first this seems like a reasonable idea, as I also have no interest in the movements of moronic muscle-clad millionaires. But, if you remove the sports pages and replace them with culture pages then you are just going to turn culture into sports.

You will have thousands of burly men sat in a stadium watching Ingmar Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal” singing:

“Who’s the bastard in the black?”

Hordes of hooligans listening to an opera singing:

“He’s fat, he’s round, he cost a million pound, Pavarotti, Pavarotti.
Who ate all the pies? Who ate all the pies?”

Crazed crowds watching competitive poetry readings singing:

“Whom are you? Whom are you?“

Ballet dancers racing towards their partner for a complicated lift will always be accompanied by a:

“oooooooOOOOOOOOOOOO… YOU’RE SHIT AHHHHHHHHH!”

Galleries will have to put up with people objecting to the latests exhibition with chants like:

“Picasso is the captain of the ship / Oh, Picasso is the captain of the ship / The ship is a tanker / Picasso is a wanker / Picasso is the captain of the ship!”

All comedy containing self-deprecating humour will have people in the background singing:

“You’re shit, but you know you are.”

You get the idea. Let people have their sport, things that interest you will be harder to find, but will be more satisfying when you do.

Oh, and no more half naked ladies in the newspaper. Either look at real life boobies, or man up and buy porn. I don’t see why news and boobs go together. Here are the worlds current events and also some boobies, where is the connection? Is it like; oh dear, did that earthquake in the third world make you sad? Look at these boobies, that’ll cheer you up my son.

So in summation;

1) Don’t read the sports pages.
2) Search the Internet for credible sources of cultural inspiration (avoid anything with a trident).
3 a) Get a lady friend and negotiate access to booby viewing.
Or
3 b) Buy some porn to your individual choice of density (soft-hard) and look the hell out of it.

You’re Welcome
Jonny Sock