(Gotta hand it to Christopher Priest, that never gets old.)
Well, it seems that ‘Cotton Eye’ Joe Abercrombie’s feet are not the only part of him that’s sore after our epic gladiatorial bout on Saturday night. He’s invited me to look into my heart and give up my title.
Honestly, anyone would think he’d lost to a talking horse.
Perhaps Joe has forgotten that The First Law of such competitions is that opinion is a dish Best Served Cold. He really ought to consider his comments more carefully Before They Are Hanged in the internet shop-window that is his blog. He felt the music choice favoured the younger man, perhaps he would have preferred three colours Red, Country and western, or perhaps, to ease the impact on his aging joints, he would have preferred to change the format of the contest to ice-dancing – no doubt so he could use The Blade Itself as a weapon to attack my already injured ankle, ingenious villain that he is.
Sadly, it seems that while dance-offs are the Last Argument of Kings, complaining about the judging remains the first refuge of a scoundrel.
One thing is certain, after contests like these, it is those of us who have the wisdom and humility to hold our peace* who will be remembered as The Heroes.
P.S. You want my title Joe? Help yourself. I’ve got ALL OF YOURS.
P.P.S. Same time next year? I think I should have gotten my breath back by then. Just.
*Not a euphemism. Neither of us were dancing like Michael Jackson, I leave that to my moonwalking amigo Den Patrick.