The race is on to show your true sporting credentials on twitter. My twitter timeline was invaded by the likes of Pensions Sam

and Pensions Guy

for me – the week’s big sporting news – is the appointment of Paul Sturrock to manage Yeovil Town – Pitlochry’s finest sporting son.

However…

Let us put such parochialities aside and cast our eye over the galimaufry of gambols , the smorgasbord of sporting delight with which we are presented this weekend

In one

Tony McCoy is pretending he does not win the Grand National on Shut the Door so he can risk breaking his neck at Plumpton next week. No one believes you (sane) Tony!

In two

The unspeakably boring Jordan Spieth is running away with the Masters. I wish him nine out of the bunker at Amen Corner.

In three

The banks of the Thames will be lined with people watching the Grand National on their smartphones and occasionally trying to get excited as Oxford and Cambridge boats (m +f) row past.

In four

Lewis Hamilton and the formula one bratpack will be contesting “one of the most anticipated races of this most unpredictable…blah blah blah)

In five

the Scottish Royal Wedding. Dunbar’s finest Andy Murray marries Kim Sears this weekend in a whirlwind romance lasting just ten years.

And bullies special prize…..

A word of thanks for the life of Richie Benaud, who helped me enjoy cricket for most of my life.

And that’s not to mention the Manchester Derby…

Virtual participation

Thanks to Apple, I have (fully charged), two laptops, an ipad and an iphone (6) all loaded with interweb connectivity – Skygo – BT sport. I have two admittance badges to the Thames Rowing Club and a Boris Bike key which will ferry me from the various vantage points I can reach to take selfies of me and Stella to prove that I was there at the various historic moments that this weekend will undoubtedly concoct.

Watch my twitter feed for inane babbling about the amazingness of all that is unfurling as I try to prove to myself that I retain some of the sporting prowess I (though no others) believed I once had.

The sad truth is that I am – like millions of others- one who watches. While the youngsters row, ride, drive and run, I will exercise my fingertips in a vain attempt to participate.

In all this there has to be a suspension of disbelief.

The boat race is being sponsored by a bank that last month agreed to pay $714m (£484m) to settle allegations it fraudulently overcharged clients for its foreign exchange services.

The Masters is played at a course which until recently had racist bars on its membership. Read the story of Lee Elder here.

The business of sport is so carnal that- were we not to laugh, we could but cry.

Sport’s not about corrupt banks, or institutional racism or the scummy behaviour of FIFA or the FIA, it’s about people getting it on – people getting out and cheering on Yeovil and Greenock and the King and Queen of Scotland and Ferrari and Mercedes and goodness knows what.

And most of all it’s about the decency that was personified in Richie Benaud and Tony McCoy to whom I dedicate this blog!