Red Bull Extreme Sports
Red Bull ‘extreme’ sports such as “Flugtag” are among the more annoying aspects of the potentially sick-inducing fizzy red caffeine-pop.
The drink itself is an overpriced miniature can of what could loosely be described as “Tizer Espresso”. It is bought in pubs by people falling asleep under the weight of their friends conversations as a method to prevent their eyelids from closing . In order to reinforce its “Might just keep you awake” energy-boosting power, Red Bull has associated itself with some of society’s crappiest, most unwanted and unwatched sports.
So Flugtag, which sounds almost nouveau-German chic like Fussball (Table football, directly translates as ‘pinball for wankers‘) is a Red Bull ‘extreme’ sport, and people are invited to create their own flying machines and be launched off a pier into the sea.
It all looks innocent enough but the Red Bull version of Flugtag betrays the sport’s roots. Flugtag is German for their annual “Idiot push”. Idiots would be rounded up and herded off a high pier, tricked into agreement by being told they were about to fly away in a bizarre shed-like contraption for shits and giggles. In fact, they were being erased from existence by a society intent on destroying the subhumans who were still voting on television talent-shows and lacking in German efficiency.
So when this societal medicine sport reached the UK, far from thinking how delightfully jolly the participants looked in their Heath Robinson contraptions, I initially wept with joy that the government had finally begun to tackle our nations growing ‘idiot problems’.
It was not to be, the vastly pointless event is in fact REAL, and plays up to the “Red Bull gives you wiiings!” slogan. I immediately ceased weeping for joy and began weeping in despair.
The event had gone from the joyous – “let’s push these retards into the sea once and for all!” to the hellish realisation that none of the event marshalls were shooting the survivors as they bobbed grinning next to the wreckage of their shed-planes. Oh, shit and fried eggs.
There they were, clambering out of the sea. Like normal cretins, only slightly damper – and still alive.
Red Bull had reinforced itself as the pumped-up can-crushing goon’s beverage of choice and our nation’s idiocy pandemic continued for another day.
The same happened with the damn “Air Race”. Middle-class, middle-aged people in their miniature flying machines poncing around above the Thames doing “death-defying” turns and such between giant coloured flags. Well whoop-de-shit! The sort of people who go to the pub for a ‘real ale’ after a race and talk engines were now being celebrated by a company desperate for wing-related sports to fit their brand. Well they can cock right off, all their sports are rubbish.
Firstly, Sue Barker. A Marks and Spencer cardholder looking somewhat like Jack Nicholson in full Joker makeup, Barker is one of many of the BBC’s specialist white middle-class presenting team. She knows her tennis from having been a pro before, but it’s strange that in the age of ASBOs, terrorism and knife-crime, Sue Barker still has a job.
Increasingly out of touch with a robbing, stabbing debt-addled nation of alcoholics it seems that Sue is just the figurehead for a sporting event so preposterously rubbish it makes you wonder why anyone turns up. Cliff Richard, Strawberries and cream, Tim Henman, orange barley water and a scoring system based on multiples of 15, until the end where it goes up in 10s – it’s a catalogue of rubbish. If they scored it 1,2,3,4 then people would soon realise that all the ‘love’ and ‘deuce’ crap is just another way of saying ‘nil’ or ‘draw’.
