Heavyweight Heroes
Fatness gets a bad press these days. Not only does our media do everything in its power to advocate skinniness and all that “size zero” marketability as the be-all and end-all, our government has demonised the rotund. Lynch mobs of busybody parents are clubbing together to form a nutritional militia seeking to kill the Colonel, burn down Burger King, and tear down the golden arches of McDonalds.
Sport is an unlikely place to look for a beacon of hope for those oppressed by these fascist body images imposed by our media and our government. Yet as recently shown by the 21-stone Bermudan cricketing policeman, Dwayne Leverock, who terrorised the England middle order in their World Cup warm-up match, there is still hope for the fuller figured sports fan.
The recently-retired German cyclist, Jan Ullrich, was a perfect example of off-season bloating just to remind us that cyclists aren’t necessarily naturally whippet thin. Fatty foods, amphetamines and ecstasy were all vices he indulged in away from the cycling season, bringing ridicule throughout his career, while the drugs brought suspension, sacking, and notoriety; but essentially Ullrich was always a fair-weather fatty. Our real icons are those who competed at their peak while at their weightiest.
Golfer John Daly has never pandered to those who argue that sportsmen must be at the pinnacle of physical fitness. If he had, he probably wouldn’t find it so easy to regularly drive 350 yards off the tee; the usual quota of Jack Daniels swirling around inside his sizeable waist clearly adds useful momentum during his swing. He had one memorable round where his swing almost never materialised because of the alcohol shakes he was suffering from, and gloriously he is also sponsored by Hooters. A full life for a fuller-figured male.
Andy “the Viking” Fordham deserves a special mention for services to the stereotype of darts players. While his ludicrous rival Phil “the Power” Taylor was sharing training sessions with ex-England rugby hooker Phil Greening to work on his “throwing dynamics”, the Viking was, almost without exception, in the pub. His own pub, no less. Regularly imbibing 25 bottles of lager as his pre-game preparation, he brought joy to many through his 30-stone efforts of Celebrity Fit Club. However, Fordham’s recent stroke, and Daly’s time in rehab perhaps mean we should look elsewhere for our porky poster-boy.
Snooker in the 1980s was blessed with the presence of Canadian Bill Werbenuik, the first player to split a pair of trousers live on television. Sadly the affable 20-stoner was advised to take the drug Inderal to limit prodigious alcohol intake, which was on snooker’s banned substances list. Curtains for him, but a trouser-splitting honourable mention is well deserved.
Athletics of course has the shot putt; but that would be too easy. Track and field’s overweight icon must be Trevor “the Tortoise” Misapeka, the 21-stone “sprinter” from American Samoa who ran the 100m in an eye-wateringly slow 14.28seconds in the 2001 World Championship heats. He afterwards said it was his personal best, as he’d never run that far before.
American football, meanwhile, is well stocked with stocky players, but one springing instantly to mind is William “the Refrigerator” Perry. Playing at a peak of 25 stone for the Chicago Bears in the 1980s, he was described by one columnist as “the best use of fat since the invention of bacon”. His views on dieting were instructive. “You drink beer, it fills you up, so you don’t need to eat. Then you sweat it out the next day at training.”
Dieting is an interesting topic when dealing with these pioneers of sporting girth. Almost without exception, it is seen as entirely negative to their performance. Golfer Craig Stadler once lost two stones to try and shed the nickname “the Walrus”. His skills deserted him, so gained ten or twelve pounds to test his theory; his game returned, and so he regained the whole lot, becoming the Walrus once again. A similar tale involves Pakistan’s Inzamam ul-Haq, who was once incensed by a spectator calling him a “fat potato”. He in fact gave in to pressure and lost two and a half stones before the 2003 World Cup; after scoring only 19 runs in the tournament, he vowed never to diet again. Australia’s Shane Warne, prone to being slightly roly-poly himself, once described Sri Lankan captain Arjuna Ranatunga as looking as though he had swallowed a sheep whole.
With most of our heroes- the Refrigerator, the Walrus, the Tortoise, the Viking, and the rest- eating a sheep whole wouldn’t be so far out of the question. Hats off to each and every one of them for resisting the body fascism oppressing us all.
Sport is an unlikely place to look for a beacon of hope for those oppressed by these fascist body images imposed by our media and our government. Yet as recently shown by the 21-stone Bermudan cricketing policeman, Dwayne Leverock, who terrorised the England middle order in their World Cup warm-up match, there is still hope for the fuller figured sports fan.
The recently-retired German cyclist, Jan Ullrich, was a perfect example of off-season bloating just to remind us that cyclists aren’t necessarily naturally whippet thin. Fatty foods, amphetamines and ecstasy were all vices he indulged in away from the cycling season, bringing ridicule throughout his career, while the drugs brought suspension, sacking, and notoriety; but essentially Ullrich was always a fair-weather fatty. Our real icons are those who competed at their peak while at their weightiest.
Golfer John Daly has never pandered to those who argue that sportsmen must be at the pinnacle of physical fitness. If he had, he probably wouldn’t find it so easy to regularly drive 350 yards off the tee; the usual quota of Jack Daniels swirling around inside his sizeable waist clearly adds useful momentum during his swing. He had one memorable round where his swing almost never materialised because of the alcohol shakes he was suffering from, and gloriously he is also sponsored by Hooters. A full life for a fuller-figured male.
Andy “the Viking” Fordham deserves a special mention for services to the stereotype of darts players. While his ludicrous rival Phil “the Power” Taylor was sharing training sessions with ex-England rugby hooker Phil Greening to work on his “throwing dynamics”, the Viking was, almost without exception, in the pub. His own pub, no less. Regularly imbibing 25 bottles of lager as his pre-game preparation, he brought joy to many through his 30-stone efforts of Celebrity Fit Club. However, Fordham’s recent stroke, and Daly’s time in rehab perhaps mean we should look elsewhere for our porky poster-boy.
Snooker in the 1980s was blessed with the presence of Canadian Bill Werbenuik, the first player to split a pair of trousers live on television. Sadly the affable 20-stoner was advised to take the drug Inderal to limit prodigious alcohol intake, which was on snooker’s banned substances list. Curtains for him, but a trouser-splitting honourable mention is well deserved.
Athletics of course has the shot putt; but that would be too easy. Track and field’s overweight icon must be Trevor “the Tortoise” Misapeka, the 21-stone “sprinter” from American Samoa who ran the 100m in an eye-wateringly slow 14.28seconds in the 2001 World Championship heats. He afterwards said it was his personal best, as he’d never run that far before.
American football, meanwhile, is well stocked with stocky players, but one springing instantly to mind is William “the Refrigerator” Perry. Playing at a peak of 25 stone for the Chicago Bears in the 1980s, he was described by one columnist as “the best use of fat since the invention of bacon”. His views on dieting were instructive. “You drink beer, it fills you up, so you don’t need to eat. Then you sweat it out the next day at training.”
Dieting is an interesting topic when dealing with these pioneers of sporting girth. Almost without exception, it is seen as entirely negative to their performance. Golfer Craig Stadler once lost two stones to try and shed the nickname “the Walrus”. His skills deserted him, so gained ten or twelve pounds to test his theory; his game returned, and so he regained the whole lot, becoming the Walrus once again. A similar tale involves Pakistan’s Inzamam ul-Haq, who was once incensed by a spectator calling him a “fat potato”. He in fact gave in to pressure and lost two and a half stones before the 2003 World Cup; after scoring only 19 runs in the tournament, he vowed never to diet again. Australia’s Shane Warne, prone to being slightly roly-poly himself, once described Sri Lankan captain Arjuna Ranatunga as looking as though he had swallowed a sheep whole.
With most of our heroes- the Refrigerator, the Walrus, the Tortoise, the Viking, and the rest- eating a sheep whole wouldn’t be so far out of the question. Hats off to each and every one of them for resisting the body fascism oppressing us all.
Labels: Sport
posted by Matt at 5:41 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home