Returning this summer, cocooned in the gloom of my apartment, air-con low, I flicked through the TV channels. The standard ones – BBC & CNN – were still there, yet it soon became clear that the programming schedule had been re-ordered and somewhat distressed I soon discovered that my favourite, Kuwait TV2 in English, was conspicuous by its absence. The gloom grew darker while the white sun blazed.
Channel hopping onwards and upwards I found the usual religious offerings (about 20 of them devoted to the devout, 24/7), followed by 'Arabs Have Got Talent', a show involving different people, including women, apparently all singing the same song in a different pitch, before arriving at the Holy Grail on channel 34, and as implausible as the 2nd coming: Live English Premier League football! I rubbed my eyes, flicked the remote forwards and back again slack-jawed and it was still there – Southampton v Norwich, or some such - broadcast at the same time it was being played in the homeland. The gloom was instantly forgotten as my spirits soared ... until I went back out into the open-air sauna and remembered where I was, pushing through 100% humidity and over to the supermarket (also 24/7) to stock up on whatever watching-footie-on-TV refreshments were on sale, minus the beer.
Stenhousemuir v Inverness Caledonian Thistle, just the other day, served up a dull 1-1 draw, yet I still sat through it and enjoyed the dilapidated stadium, views of hilly farmland behind, a rusty corrugated roof flapping in the gale, battered by 45 degree rain, puddles around the corner flags, crowd shots of pasty faced Jocks in scarves roaring every now and then into a lather of pinky faced passion. Even for throw-ons.
Frequently, in the middle of a match, the following letters JGIGLOIRKRQ inexplicably appear in a big black box on the screen, thus blocking out a good quarter of the action, remaining there for minutes on end. I have no true idea what they can mean or why they materialize, but in dull moments I deduce that they are some sort of Middle Eastern Lottery Letters Game, which reminds me of a recent occasion in class when off on a tangent I explained the western concept of lottery tickets and how choosing 6 numbers from 49 can make you a millionaire, at which point one particularly dim oaf shouted out, “It’s easy!” and I replied, “There’s more chance of you marrying a camel, Mubarek ... Much more chance.”
Every English Premier League match is covered live. Well they were until it was discovered that the cards needed to access al-Jazeera’s pay-for-view channels are being ripped off and sold on black markets around the globe, and so, at present, the across-the-board coverage is restricted to the one most pertinent match of the day. Some sort of karmic payback for the exploitation of those foreign workers, perhaps?
“That was a top match on the biggest and the best sports network in the world wasn’t it, Tom?”
“That wasn’t just a top match, Dick. That was a top, top match!”
“Do you agree, Harry?” asks Dick.
“I don’t, Dick. Because that wasn’t just a top, top match, that was a top, top, top match!”
“These players on show on the biggest and the best sports network in the world are top class, aren’t they Fred?”
“No, they are not, Dick. These players are top, top class athletes.”
“What are your top thoughts on the biggest and the best sports network in the world, Dave?”
Etc.
Time for the mute button and some music as the mullahs begin to wail from the minarets.