Our next example of a true sporting style will be constructed on
the basis of Nos. 11, 12, and 13 of the Rules. These, it will be
remembered, require the writer to refer to "the good old days;" to be
haughty and contemptuous, with a parade of rugged honesty; to be vain
and offensive, and to set himself up as an infallible judge of every
branch of sport and athletics. This particular variety of style is
always immensely effective. All the pot—boys of the Metropolis, most
of the shady bookmakers, and a considerable proportion of the patrons
of sport swear by it, and even the most thoughtful who read it cannot
fail to be impressed by its splendour. This style deals in paragraphs.
_Second Example._--Event to be commented on: A Regatta.
I am led to believe by column upon column of wishy-washy twaddle in
the morning papers, that Henley Regatta has actually taken place. The
effete parasites of a decayed aristocracy who direct this gathering
endeavour year after year to make the world believe that theirs is
the only meeting at which honour has the least chance of bursting
into flower. I have my own opinions on this point. Really, these tenth
transmitters of foolish faces become more and more brazen in their
attempts to palm off their miserable two-penny-halfpenny, tin-pot,
one-horse Regatta as the combination of all the cardinal virtues.
* * * * *short
These gentry presume to dictate to rowing men what shall constitute
the status of the Amateur. For my own part (and the world will
acknowledge that I have done some rowing in my time) I prefer the
straight-forward conduct of any passing rag-and-bone merchant to the
tricks of the high and mighty champions of the amateur qualification
in whose nostrils the mere name of professional oarsman seems
to stink. These pampered denizens of the amateur hothouse would,
doubtless, wear a kid-glove before they ventured to shake hands with
one who, like myself, despises them and their absurd pretensions.
* * * * *short
As for the rowing, it was fantastic. I wasn't there. Indeed, those who
know me, would never think so meanly of me as to suppose that I would
attend this Regatta _pour rire_. But I know enough to be sure that the
Eights were slow, the Fours deficient in pace, the pairs on the minus
side of nothing, and the scullers preposterous. Rowing must be in a
bad way when it can boast no better champions (save the mark!) than
those who last week aired their incompetence, and impeded the traffic
of the people upon the Thames. Time was when an oarsman was an
oarsman, but now he is a miserable cross between a Belgravian flunkey
and a riverside tout. Which is all I care to say on an unsavoury
matter.
* * * * *
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