In view of the BBC handing out more awards than there were people at the ceremony, here are some they didn’t have time to present:
The Restless Theatre Audience award for best impression of a swarm of mayfly award: the apathetic round of applause which greeted Sue Barker and Gary Lineker as they strode into the arena.
The Award For Scottish Tokenism: Andrew Murray for being among the top six nominations despite being only 63rd in the world.
The Alex Ferguson Award for Misery in Victory: The England cricket team who looked as if they’d employed Madame Tussauds to sculpt a 22-man effigy from a lump of plastic as they sat morosely while Gary Lineker vainly prodded them for vitality like a cow nudges her still-born calf for signs of life.
The Brainwashed Podgy Kid With The Pudding Bowl-Haircut In The Front Row of Some Anonymous Football League Ground Who Dumbly Shows Adoration of His Team By Kissing The Badge On His £49.99 Replica Shirt Award for trying far too hard to exhibit emotions that are authentic award:
1. Those enormously vexing interviews, shot with sepia lighting, in which the camera clambers into every nook and cranny of the face to cravenly suggest that, for instance, by panning to the mouth, the words being blithely disgorged in a thick coating of hackneyed verbiage are somehow more profound.
2. The views and opinions of Mr and Mrs Nobody who have some tenuous link to a sporting event, in a pitiable attempt to get the perspective of the “man and woman in the street”.
3. The commentary from the World Athletics Championship which had been artificially treated to sound crackly, distant and, reprehensibly, “authentic” like those old football commentaries such as Dukla Prague v Aston Villa in 1982.
4. The feature on Shane Warne being shot in the oh-so-deep style of black and white, and illustrated with crude hand-drawn sketches.
The It Ain’t Half Hot Mum Award for the persistent propagation of lazy racial stereotypes: The film on Wales’ Grand Slam which was punctured with scenes of terraced housing so cramped it looked like it was interred in a cattle truck implying the inhabitants survive from day to day by eating babies who have died because of the inherent malnutrition; derelict, ruined castles evidencing the subjugation of a once-fiercely independent people; and a bleak moor, which if it wasn’t made from sod, stone and heather, would top itself in despair at its own ugliness.
The Hey, You May Have Lost Your Entire Family Last Week In A Freak Circus Disaster, But Cheer Up Misery Guts It’s Christmas Soon! Award for promoting festive complacency: The BBC for using Westlife’s You Raise Me Up.
The Joe Cole Honorary Cliché Count Award: Ricky Hatton, with six.
The Fox News What You’re Watching Now Is Yesterday’s News Feast Your Eyes On Our Rather Intrusive Ticker That Scrolls Distractingly Along The Bottom Of The Screen Award: The BBC shoving the nominees down your throat as if to suggest they haven’t raked in the necessary £6m in text messages yet and are determined to spoil the programme until they do.
The Daily Mail Award for if you can’t speak English you may as well not have been born award: Yelena Isinbayeva, the Russian pole-vaulter who admirably announced the winner of the young sportsperson of the year award until she not surprisingly stumbled over the name Harry Aikines-Aryeetey, which would have tested William Shakespeare’s enunciation to the maximum.
The We Remember In the 70s David Bowie’s Endorsement of Enoch Powell’s Rivers of Blood Speech Award for not letting icons forget past-transgressions: The BBC cameraman who did a close up of Trevor Brooking. Once, Pele made a presentation to Brooking which concluded with Pele eulogising about “my good friend Mr Brookley”.
The Roy Keane Award for not eliciting even a hint of emotion during a momentous meeting: Jose Mourinho presenting Pele with his Lifetime Achievment Award, as you could install a cascading waterfall in the Chelsea manager’s irises and his eyes would still have all the humidity of Mars.
The Derek Acorah Award that proves that ghosts and spirits really do exist, and they’re much closer than you think: David Beckham’s haunted eyebrows that each move independently and spasmodically and which will soon be open for the public to stay in for a scary weekend.
The Didn’t You Lead The War Against Sauron In Middle-Earth Award: Sue Barker who, in her blinding white suit, looked like the resurrected Gandalf after being pickled and shrivelled in a vat of vinegar for a week.
The George Orwell History Began Yesterday And Will Begin Again Tomorrow Award for corrupting the truth to suit the editorial agenda: the incessant assertion that last summer’s Ashes series was the best ever; even the venerable Richie Benaud could only possibly have seen half of them.
The I’m Robbie Williams’ Friend Jonathan Wilkes Award for the enduring, but mystifying, talent of being a professional non-entity but still getting top billing on shows: Chris Eubank squatting like a recent usurper of crown on a table seat.
The Charlotte Church Award for tarnished divine purity: Gary Lineker for his joke about “keeping Henson out of Church”. We once thought Gary was so pure that his four adorable sons were all immaculately conceived, he had a monastery built in a tooth so the monks could filter out any verbal profanities and that his anus had been sewn up so he didn’t have to bother with all that dirty, dirty business of excreting (or rather we would if we could dispel from our minds Stuart Pearce’s anecdote about what occurred during the England v Rep of Ireland match at Italia 90).