Sunday 10th August 2025
Blog Page 1172

In defence of the Human Rights Act

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Jan Nedvídek wrote here in defence of Conservative proposals to repeal the Human Rights Act, explaining how, before getting “all angry and agitated”, we should take time to pause and appreciate the facts. However, his piece fails to situate the potential revocation in the wider context of Conservative plans regarding civil liberties: when considered in this manner, concern is a justifiable (and necessary) response. 

Jan claims that the government is not proposing to “scrap” any human rights, and that the policy has “nothing to do with rights and liberties”, and that it is simply about “changing our relation with the European Court of Human Rights”. False; false; partially true.

Firstly, it is true that scrapping the Human Rights Act would not see a deletion of the concept of any of our fundamental rights; however, it creates the space for them to be modified, reduced, and made contingent upon the State’s will to provide them. Essentially, this removes the core pillars of human rights, namely their universality and indivisibility. A British Bill of Rights would give the state stronger interpretative provisions of what rights are, and the ability to change the threshold of classification as to what constitutes ‘serious’ matters. The Conservative manifesto promises that this will allow UK courts to strike out ‘trivial’ cases, yet procedures already exist to determine whether a case constitutes a rights violation. If a case meets the existing criteria – that is to say, it is classed as a contravention of human rights – I am unsure of quite how it could be labeled ‘trivial’.

Secondly, the Bill of Rights would incorporate the rights included in the European Convention, but “clarify” them to “ensure that they are applied in accordance with the original intentions for the Convention and the mainstream understanding of these rights”. What gives the Tories the just mandate to arbitrate the ECHR’s intentions? Furthermore, since when was appeal to the “mainstream understanding” a legitimate, sound and fair basis for the judgment of what rights are? Political philosophers have written for centuries about the dangers of the tyranny of the majority. While Jan will undoubtedly recoil at my use of such polemic language, surely you can understand my concern at the thought of vesting rights in subjective interpretation.

Thirdly, the proposed change in relationship is to “break the formal link’” between Strasbourg and domestic courts. Currently, Section 2 of the Human Rights Act requires that courts “take into account” judgments of the ECHR: the Tory claim that the ECHR can “force the UK to change the law” is only true insofar as Parliament must respond to judgments and align domestic legislation with international legal provisions. When, in the context of universal human rights, is harmonizing domestic penal codes with international legal standards a bad thing? The manifesto’s promise to “break the formal link” removes Parliament’s obligation to consider European Court judgments, the implication of this being that the UK has a mechanism to avoid international accountability for its human rights violations.

Finally, Jan states that “to claim that there is correlation between one’s membership of the ECHR and the extent to which civil liberties are protected is quite frankly factually incorrect”; quite the opposite, in fact. There may not be correlation between the enjoyment or realization of civil liberties and State membership of the ECHR, but it provides a mechanism by which individuals can hold their governments to account, facilitating appeals to an international body which can then mandate changes within the country. And, as an aside, Strasbourg is not a “foreign court”, it is an international one, with legal provisions and territorial jurisdiction that we signed up to. The European Court is our regional authority on human rights: to distance ourselves from that is to undermine the concept of universal human rights

The crucial weakness of Jan’s argument – and indeed my counter-argument – is that we do not have the draft for the new British Bill of Rights, and so cannot comment on what is in it. Notable is that Cameron reneged on his promise to publish it prior to the election, a move undoubtedly linked to the virulent criticism that the policy has faced from civil society and party members alike. However, in the absence of the Bill itself, we can briefly (this list is by no means exhaustive) situate it in a wider context:

  • The current ‘Prevent’ strategy, revealed in 2014, has faced criticism for stigmatizing minorities, while Liberty Director Shami Chakrabarti noted that it ‘transform[s] us all into suspects – leaving the public no safer and everyone a little less free’;
  • Home Secretary Theresa May indicated that she was ready to revive plans for the Snooper’s Charter, which faced international condemnation;
  • David Cameron’s stance against encryption and privacy online caused international uproar, noting his willingness to endorse mass surveillance;
  • Reports of Justice Secretary Michael Gove and Theresa May’s willingness to remove the UK from the European Convention on Human Rights have emerged, in which they refer to withdrawing as the ‘only solution’;
  • The Bill of Rights would limit the territorial scope of rights protections, making them the preserve of the British and ensuring that ‘British Armed forces overseas are not subject to persistent human rights claims that undermine their ability to do their job’ (if that doesn’t set off alarm bells, I’m unsure what will).

Nobody is claiming that human rights “didn’t exist” before 1998, nor that this policy entirely “eradicates” our civil liberties. But I’m angry, I’m agitated, and crucially, I’m concerned about what the future may hold for human rights in Britain. What’s more? I think you should be too. 

Mental health first aid: the basics

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Imagine you’re walking along Magdalen Bridge, and you find an elderly man passed out on the floor, unresponsive and not breathing. What do you do? Basic life support is an important skill that does save lives in an emergency. It’s increasingly being taught in courses at school and organisations, especially for staff, and has even been featured on TV adverts. So you’ll probably know to call 999 and to give 30 compressions (to the tune of Bee Gees’ ‘Staying Alive’) and two rescue breaths (then repeat, obviously). But how about a different emergency situation?

Imagine you’re walking along Magdalen Bridge, and you fi nd a man having a panic attack, and through the hyperventilation, he tells you that he was going to jump off the bridge. You see that he has wounds – not at all life-threatening – on his arms, and it looks like he’d been selfharming. What do you do? Very few people would know what to do or to say to someone experiencing acute distress, clinical depression, self-harm, or attempted suicide. Maybe it is due to a lack of education or knowledge. Perhaps its roots lie in the British stiff upper lip. One thing for sure is that mental health stigma still exists; people don’t want to talk about Churchill’s metaphorical Black Dog.

A person who is unresponsive and not breathing requires immediate life-saving basic life support; there is no doubt about that. However, mental health illness constitutes a huge burden of disease. Not only is it the leading cause of disability worldwide, but in the UK, mental health problems affect about one in four of the population in the course of a year. In Britain, mixed anxiety and depression is the most common mental health problem. To some, mental health problems may seem unworthy of notice; it is not often that we hear of people with a terminal mental health condition. But mental health conditions do cause death.

Currently, the largest cause of death in 15-34 year olds is suicide, and this is largely due to mental illness. We carry on our mundane, daily lives, and we’re worried about not falling off our bikes on the High Street right behind a Brookes Bus emitting unhealthy amounts of greenhouse gases. We’re worried about getting too drunk and falling into the river and drowning (maybe). And yet, statistically speaking, people in our age group in the UK are most likely to die by suicide, due to a mental illness. Let’s remind ourselves that suicide is a fatal symptom of a mental illness.

Even if we ignore (just for a second) the fatal aspect of mental health conditions, let’s not forget the anguish and suff ering that people with mental health problems deal with. There must be something that we as a society can do to reduce stigma, improve understanding of mental health, and help those in need.

This is where mental health first aid (MHFA) comes in. One defi nition of MHFA is “the help provided to a person developing a mental health problem or in a mental health crisis” or “the first aid given until appropriate professional treatment is received or until the crisis resolves”. This is exactly the kind of thing that will help to reduce deaths by suicide, and decrease the burden of mental health problems overall. While I appreciate that basic life support skills and CPR are extremely important for people to know, given that mental health problems are more commonly encountered than heart attacks in our age group, I wholeheartedly believe that everyone should be able to receive MHFA training, especially our peer supporters and welfare officers in common rooms, colleges, and the University. It is exciting that there are now many organisations that provide mental health first aid training, with the most prominent being MHFA England, developed and launched under the Department of Health in 2007 as part of a national approach to improving public mental health.

The training is designed to teach you to spot the early signs of a mental health problem, be able to help someone experiencing a problem, help prevent someone from hurting themselves or others, guide someone towards the right support, and to help someone recover faster. The standard course provided by MHFA England is across two days and goes through the basics of mental health, suicidal thoughts, anxiety and depression, and psychosis. There’s even a threehour version (MHFA Lite), so there’s really no excuse about not getting at least some mental health first aid training under the belt.

Let’s face it, university life is stressful. It’s worse now for students than ever before (probably aside from times of conflict/war). There’s more to learn, especially for the scientists, and then there’s the influence of technology, mass media, and social media.

It’s time we actually had mental health first aiders in our organisations to prevent burn out, especially for whom it could have so easily been preventable. MHFA will not just help to treat people with mental health problems, but it’ll also help to produce a more compassionate society and decrease the stigma surrounding mental illness. What more could you want?

I’m not saying it’s a cure-all for all mental illness, but so much more needs to be done on this front, and finally we have a viable, sustainable, and cost-effective solution.

How to…Escape Park End

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There are many things that one regrets in life. Not brushing your teeth after a night out. Forgetting to buy milk. Ignoring emails about overdue books. Touching your eyes after chopping onions. Not telling your cat you love them before your mum takes them to the vet to be put down because of their twisted gut. Sure, regret plagues the everyday schedule of an everyday human.

But regret is served up in different portion sizes. And Park End is an All-U-Can-Eat buffet. Despite this unquestionable and well-known fact, and due to the fact that humankind is programmed to hate itself, from the occasional Wednesday to every Wednesday, we find ourselves there.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How the FUCK did this happen?” you roar. But the cry is lost. Lost in the air which is already brimming over with thousands of similar cries. The air in Park End sucks everything out of you, starting with your sobriety and ending with your soul. And that is why, for my final ‘How To’ of this term, I leave you with some crucial advice. Advice that you will need for the next however many years you have left in Oxford.

If someone invites you for a night out at ‘Lava & Ignite’, DO NOT GO. This is Park End’s alter-ego. It exists under two names so that it can morph into something different. When you decide you hate Park End, it morphs into Lava Ignite, and vice-versa; back and forth it flings its identity. The metronomic swing acts as hypnosis for your foolish mind. The first rule is to always say no to either. I don’t care if it actually sounds quite exciting, like a little volcano bubbling. Lava burns. Remember that. There is a reason that the anagram for Lava Ignite is ‘A Giant Evil’.

The nine circles of hell are compacted into the three floors of dance. Rules of three and all that. Bad music swiftly loses its genre, and so the three floors are unrecognisable from each other. But Gluttony, Wrath, Violence, Lust – you’ll catch ’em all. Like a dystopian Pokemon. Dante describes it best, “I saw multitudes / to every side of me; their howls were loud / while, wheeling weights, they used their chests to push. / They struck against each other.” The parallel is unquestionable, as you shimmy amongst infinite carnal malefactors.

Wait. Hang on. SEE! LOOK AT ME! I haven’t even begun to properly advise you yet. Park End can entrap you even beyond its perimeters. But that’s fine, because my advice is simple. As Taylor Swift flings herself, like a leech, onto your face and sucks, as ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ stings your leg like an unrelenting jellyfish, do not prod it with your finger, or get a friend to pee heroically on your leg. As ‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together’ slices through your soul, RUN. Run as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Don’t stop as your friend shouts, “Wait, I love this song.” Sprint as fast as your stung legs can take you. And only when you have swallowed your last chicken nugget, brushed your teeth, and snuggled under your duvet, are you free.

Diary of a…Student Journalist

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I wake up at 4pm. My throat is burning, my head throbbing, my lips cracked. Around me are strewn my clothes from the night before; I stagger out of bed and squint in the late afternoon sun. No: this is no post-Bridge hangover.I haven’t been to Bridge all term. Nor is it essay crisis exhaustion. This, my friend, is the delightful morning of regret that comes after Cherwell print deadline, 3:30am every Thursday.

I make it back into the offices for 5pm., running to Tesco to grab cookies, crisps and other such cheap sugary snacks with which to ply our contributors at conference. Cherwell Conference is the weekly meeting where all the staff get together to review the week’s issue, which has (theoretically) been delivered to colleges, libraries and coffee shops around Oxford that morning. In order to motivate people to come, the other deputy editors and I (there are four of us) buy snacks, though attendance dwindles towards the end of term. We sit; we eat; the senior editorial team makes in-jokes; everyone else pities us and our train-wreck social lives.

The week after Conference is pretty simple. Much of the role of a dep is problem-solving, and answering the million shitty questions that no one will ever notice unless we get them wrong. Is it libellous to accuse someone of voting UKIP in the gossip column? Probably not, but it might be a bit mean. Is Sport allowed to make a joke about the Taliban in their coverage of an OUCC tour to Afghanistan? 100 per cent never, ever. Have we compromised Fashion’s creative vision by tweaking their photoshoot? Probably; oh well. Do we write ‘12-year-old’ or ‘12 year-old’? Literally no-one knows, nor cares. All of these are real things we’ve dealt with over the last eight weeks.

Every deputy editor has to come in for one day between Saturday and Wednesday and supervise certain sections of the paper laying-in (i.e. creating their pages on Adobe InDesign, ready for printing). This, in practice, involves arriving at the offices to find them empty, desperately firing off passive-aggressive Facebook messages asking when section editors plan to come in, and then sitting back with a Pret coff ee, a hangover and an essay to write, and waiting. Nonetheless, it’s a good way to meet people, and as long as they don’t make the mistake of calling you their ‘boss’ (again, something that has happened this term), you make friends quickly. The different sections surprise you, and undeniably have diff erent vibes depending on the people in each one. Some people arrive, put their articles in and leave within an hour or two. Other spend days creating the perfect spread, only for it to be torn apart at the whim of an editor. Everything is always in flux; not a single article will be printed exactly as it was originally written.

By Thursday, we have come full circle – midmorning, the editors, news editors and deputies begin to trickle in to complete the paper. Each of the 32 pages has to be proofread with a fine-tooth comb by at least four different people; every image checked for the right quality and every news article checked for defamation. Editorial decisions are discussed, and everyone’s opinion matters, but ultimately the editors have the final say. From lunchtime to the early evening, spirits are high. Then we take a break and eat together in town. The paper’s probably halfway done by midnight. From 11pm. to 3am., we feel like death. After we send the paper off to be printed, I cycle home past people coming back from nights out, and slump into bed. On to the next issue

In Defence of: Celebrity

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Kenneth Branagh dons his best fast-talking, over-gesticulated, hopelessly neurotic Woody Allen impersonation in Allen’s dissection and satire of modern celebrity culture. In fact, Branagh’s impression is so uncanny it’s a wonder Allen didn’t simply cast himself as the lead, as was custom in his earlier films. It’s often bracketed along with Allen’s “unsuccessful” forays into light comedy, but Celebrity is a biting and brutal observation of the lengths some people will go to in order to secure fame and fortune.

It’s as star-studded as the world it depicts, packed with red hot cameos from the likes of Leonardo Di Caprio, Charlize Theron, and Melanie Griffith, all appearing in hilarious sketch-like segments as ridiculous carica- tures of materialistic and vacuous superstars. Branagh is entertainingly annoying as Lee Simon, a celebrity journalist fighting his way to the top, and Judy Davis is on fine form too as his unraveling ex-wife, Robin (who strangely also seems to be playing Allen, albeit a female version). Robin’s journey is the precise opposite of Lee, who squanders any fruitful opportunities for fleeting sex as well as his constant quest for his own 15 minutes of fame. Robin, on the other hand, swaps her neuroses and insecurities for a complete makeover transformation and romance with TV producer Joe Mantegna, leading to her own successful talk show. She puts her own happiness first, rather than trying to please everybody like her ex-husband.

It’s more than just an exploration of celebrity; it’s about the different paths we choose to take in order to achieve our goals. It’s about integrity, morality, and veracity. It’s about being true to one’s self and not being afraid to say “no” sometimes. In spite of its glossy façade, Celebrity is, perhaps surprisingly, actually one of Allen’s most poignant philosophies. 

Creaming Spires TT15 Week 7

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Those reading this column regularly will notice the pattern. Member of the LGBTQ community gets Grindr, has either shit or great sex, then leaves. Of course there’s no problem with that. I’ve had a lot of great (note not shit, as I carefully vet my recruits) sex that way. But, dear readers, there is also the good old fashioned club hookup. Cast your eyes back prior to Android phones. In the misty shades of the past there lies an age where dick pics could only be sent through an expensive SMS or through the post. I’m talking about the club hookup, which is still alive and well in Oxford.

Forget Bridge, Parkend and Wahoo. If you want sex (and can’t wait until Plush comes repeatedly on a weekend), then Cellar and Kiss bar are the place to be. With the death of Babylove (rest its grimy soul), we all needed somewhere to go and be as edgy/ horny as fuck.

And in fair Kiss, we lay our scene. Unlike Grindr hook-ups, get enough overpriced cocktails in you or cheap vodka snaffl ed in your friend’s bra and you don’t have to put up with awkward chit-chat. Lock eyes, dance in a sultry manner, lay a hand on a guy’s waist and hey presto, you’ve pulled. Although in this case, it was more stagger aimlessly, bump into someone and then end up being straddled by them in the corner of the club. Oh, and only remembering this actually happened to you when someone sconces you at crewdate and everyone laughs when you don’t stand up.

Straddling complete and after a few drunken rounds upon the dancefl oor, you’re raring to go. Thrusting into a taxi when you’re struggling to remember someone’s name and hurtling into some far-fl ung fi eld is far more exciting than checking how many feet away your Grindr Romeo is.

Plus, I’m a gent. I give the guy my coat because he’s cold. Which the guy responds to by hurling himself out of the taxi onto the pavement outside his house, whilst throwing the contents of his stomach onto my beautiful denim in the process. From this point onwards, it’s merely damage control and hoping the guy hasn’t got alcohol poisoning. After a few more chuns in his neighbour’s garden and earcrushing shouts, we finally get into his house. Far from the fuck I imagined, I’m now holding a cup to puke into as he refuses to leave his bed. Mother Theresa would be proud of my chastity and charity.

Finally, a click at the door. His housemates have returned and my babysitting has come to an end. I plan my escape. Except, it’s 3:30 a.m. I have no money and am an hour’s walk from college. I am resigned to spending the night in the den of puke. Finally relieved from my duties as carer, I get to sleep. Yes, it was an ordeal and a great deal more traumatic than a Grindr hookup, but the ‘sorry I vommed on you’ blowjob I got the next day was still pretty good.

Why I Refrigerated My Poo

Want to make big bucks quick? The secret to getting three grand in two weeks? The answer is poo. I just fi nished a fortnight-long clinical trial investigating enteric fever (that’s typhoid to you) and I am £3,640 the better for it.

The procedure is simple. You are infected with either Salmonella enterica typhi or paratyphi, and for the next 14 days you go to hospital, hand in stool samples, and have blood taken. Occasionally you drool into a test tube. You keep your shit (yes, literally) in the fridge in a little cooler bag and notify your housemates that they really don’t want to be stealing anything from your shelf. You can’t make food for anyone or let anyone eat your faeces, but they didn’t mention any limitations on blowjobs.

Yes, I did have to sign a piece of paper to confirm that I understood I may die, but so what? I had one day spent sweating in bed, and then had to come home early from a hip’n’hoppin’ Cowley house party because my back hurt and I felt like a pensioner. Other than that, there was not much of an impact on my life. I mastered the art of timing my coffee-drinking to my loo breaks so that the nurse would exclaim ‘Hot off the press!’ with jubilation. The crooks of my elbows looked like heroin colanders. I got the quads of a champion from cycling to Headington every day.

Typhoid and paratyphoid are bacteria that have been rendered largely obsolete in countries with well-maintained modern plumbing. It represents a specific danger to children under the age of five, so the study is carried out by the paediatrics department of the Oxford Vaccine Group. You carry typhoid and paratyphoid in your gut, so the trial begins with an endoscopy, which is the opposite of a colonoscopy. You go into the JR at 7am and have a cable pushed down your throat, through your stomach and into your small intestine. 15 tissue samples are then taken from your gut lining (which you can’t feel). After the endoscopy, you have a 45-90 day period in which your gut recovers, and then you start the trial. It was probably the most unpleasant part of the whole thing – picture me foetal, sedated, retching sleepily over the clamp strapped around my head that keeps my mouth open for the cable.

On the challenge day – the day you get infected – they take a coke can’s worth of blood and make you do a bunch of shots out of a test tube. You get a funpack of a diary card and a crappy thermometer that takes about five minutes to read your temperature. You record your temperature twice a day. Simple. As soon as you start showing symptoms they start you on a two-week course of antibiotics that they know will clear you. This study has been going since 2009 and in 173 participants, they have never had a single hospitalisation for severe symptoms.

The worst part is probably your friends’ reactions. It is a legal requirement to tell your household, but of course word gets out when they bitch about it amongst themselves. You get comments at formal hall shadowed by a shake of the head and a ‘tut-tut’ of “She’s put a value on her body” and “I can’t believe you’d choose to have an endoscopy!” I even once got the accusation of “You’re not doing it for the good of humanity though, are you? You’re just doing it for the money” – of course I am. What do you expect? Or rather, I am humanity, and I’m doing it for my own good. I’m going to need seed capital if I’m going to save the world one day, you know. Better still is the introductory line, “This girl keeps her poo in the fridge!” – pause for the big reveal – “Because she has typhoid! On purpose!” And? For two weeks of pooing into a cup I walk away £3,000 richer and y’all can suck it.

And the best part? They’re still recruiting.

Letterman: The last of his kind

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Across the Atlantic, television is in mourning. Black curtains adorn the windows of the Ed Sullivan Theatre on Broadway. The last remaining legend of the small screen has passed on; the last of his kind, we will not see his like again in our lifetimes. A true giant of late night entertainment has been felled. David Letterman has retired.

Eulogies have poured in from the great and the good. Conan O’Brien urged viewers to actually change channel to watch the final Late Show. Jimmy Kimmel’s ode to Letterman was so emo- tional he had to restart it three times. Jimmy Fallon credited Letterman with creating the late night talk show format as it currently stands. Jon Stewart capped it off by calling Dave the greatest talk show host of all time. High praise, indeed the highest praise possible, for a man who started his professional life as a weatherman.

For those of you who don’t know who David Letterman is, or don’t understand why his retirement is so monumental, just remember this; he hosted the same late night talk show on CBS for 22 years. That’s longer than most of you reading this have been alive for. Add to that the 10 years spent hosting Late Night and Letterman becomes the longest-running talk show host in American television history.

For many viewers, Letterman’s show has been the staple of American television. He was there in the aftermath of 9/11, providing a brief moment of normality to an American audience still reeling in the chaos. He was there after a quintuple bypass heart operation, visibly emotional as he thanked the team of doctors that saved his life. He was there, publicly apologising to an audience of millions in his admission of sleeping with members of his staff. The memorable moments continue: Cher calling him an asshole, Joaquin Phoenix’s performance art car-crash interview, Drew Barrymore flashing him. As you might imagine, 30 years on the air produces quite a highlights reel.

Admittedly, Letterman’s style has been criticised for not so much maturing with age as fossilising. Whilst Jimmy Fallon plays ‘Wheel of Musical Impressions’ with Christina Aguilera, and James Corden parodies the entirety of Tom Hank’s filmography in six minutes with Hanks himself, Letterman is sat behind the same desk, asking the same sort of questions, with a sardonic wit that’s unchanged since a time when the Berlin Wall was still standing.

His retirement comes as the final earthquake in the recent tectonic shifts in the world of American talk show television. Jay Leno’s retirement from the Tonight Show, for the second time, was equally monumental, giving his replacement Jimmy Fallon the space to monopolise on comedy segments that have vast YouTube audiences. Craig Ferguson, who hosted the show that followed Letterman’s for ten years, was replaced by essentially unknown Brit James Corden. And now we have Stephen Colbert, of The Colbert Report fame, stepping in to the largest shoes imaginable in the late night world as Letterman’s successor.

Letterman is a relic from an era that has long ceased to exist. Much closer in image to Johnny Carson than to the modern, energetic, unrelentingly enthusiastic breed of talk show hosts, Letterman is very much the last of the old guard of television royalty. None of the current talk show hosts will still have their shows in 20, let alone 30, years. The world of television is too jittery for one person to endure for that long again.

Watch the final Late Show if you can. As much as it’s simultaneously funny and moving, it is now also a piece of history; a monument to a man whose stature and legacy we will not see again.

Oxford rides into the sunset

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The Oxford University Polo Club triumphed in its 117th annual var­sity contest on Sunday, crushing their Cambridge counterparts 14-2. It was Ox­ford’s 60th win in the fixture and the widest margin in Oxford’s favour since 1914, cementing Dark Blue dominance in what is one of the set-piece matches in the polo calendar. Played out at Guards following the Old Etonian vs Old Harrovian warm-up game, it was Oxford’s tenth varsity win in 15 years.

Oxford dominated from the first chukka in the blistering Berkshire sun, with George Pearson putting Ox­ford ahead almost straight away with a quick neck shot goal. The Christ Church fresher soon doubled his tally, moving Oxford up to a smart 2-0 lead by the end of the first chukka. Pearson’s hot form persisted into the second chukka, with a narrow miss right at the start. Cambridge then made a move, regain­ing position, but was ridden off by the Dark Blues’ star player Lawrence Wang. With a handicap of -2 and six years of polo playing behind him, Wang’s vast experience was evi­dent in the second chukka as the Tabs strug­gled to get a foothold in the match.

With Cambridge ailing, Oxford hit cruise control, building up a 6-0 lead by the end of the second chukka with two more goals from Pearson. A formidable part­nership between Vere Harmsworth, an­other fresher, and Pearson in the centre of the pitch effectively denied Cambridge possession, propelling the ball time and again towards the Tab goalmouth. A quick change of mounts for the third chukka ensured Oxford’s momentum continued unabated, their vigorous style of play overawing the Light Blues. An audacious nearside shot from Harmsworth, followed by another punchy volley from Pearson put Oxford 8-0 up. With the match turning into a Dark Blue whitewash, Cambridge support­ers were seen retreating into the pavilion and even the commentator suggested this was a painfully unequal encounter.

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Oxford did not let matters lie there, how­ever, reaching double figures by the end of the third chukka at 10-0. Acrimony broke out as Cambridge frustrations flared, a number of fouls breaking up play across the pitch. At this stage, Oxford supporters were seen hast­ily Googling the fixture’s history, wondering if we were on for an all-time record Dark Blue win. Cambridge’s inability to get anywhere near Oxford’s ‘D ring’ ensured victory was all but in the bag.

The fourth and final chukka saw another change of ponies from Oxford quickly bear fruition. Pearson rammed home another goal and Harmsworth fol­lowed this up with a ‘mil­lionaire’s shot’, taking the score to a cool 12-0. Some impres­sive techni­cal play from Louis Maddi­son, Oxford’s number three player with a hand­icap of 0, denied Cam­bridge posses­sion. Maddison ‘hooked’ the ball, using his stick to prevent the Tabs from striking the ball by blocking their stick during the swing, seiz­ing possession and perform­ing an ambitious dash for the Tab ‘D ring.’

The whitewash was sadly be­smirched by a penalty awarded to the Tabs midway through the fourth chukka. As the commentator asked, “Is there a chance for them?” Cambridge managed to chalk up something on the score board. Another pen­alty for the Tabs followed a few moments later and suddenly the Light Blues seemed on the verge of a fourth quarter comeback with the score at 12-2. With a minute to go, though, Oxford crushed such aspirations, a neat backhand from Wang and then another goal leaving the final score at 14-2.

The victory took Oxford three ahead of Cambridge in total wins at Varsity level. The contest has been played almost continu­ously since 1878 and has a good claim to be the single longest running polo match. Past OUPC coaches include Winston Churchill, who used to ride down from Blenheim Palace to test out his charges on Port Meadow. Ox­ford polo perhaps suffers from a reputation as excessively well-to-do, but with over 100 active members of all standards, it ranks as one of the university’s fastest growing sports clubs. The polo varsity has also led the way in gender equality at Blues level, with women (Jacqui Broughton, Oxford and Emma Tom­linson, Cambridge) captaining both Light and Dark Blue teams in 1994 for the first time in the history of any mixed university sport. Recent years have seen the standard of the contest soar; the 2013 match in particular is noted as perhaps the most impressive post-war performance with the addition of Lanto Sheridan to the Dark Blue side.

And with another varsity win under its belt, OUPC seems to be going from strength to strength. 101 years on from 1914, when Ox­ford triumphed 19-1, Oxford seem to be re­prising their dominance in this staple of the British sporting summer calendar.

Best of the rest: events still to come in Trinity

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Although this is sadly our last issue until Michaelmas, the world of Oxford sport continues. In a bid to keep you up to date, we take a look at the ‘best of the rest’.

Cricket varsity is arguably one of the biggest sporting events in the Oxford calendar. After the Boat Race and rugby varsity, the cricketers manage to give themselves the most time to shoe the Tabs.

On 12th June, the varsity campaign kicks off, with both the men’s and women’s Blues T20 matches away at Cambridge. Then, on 27th June, both Oxford and the other place descend on Lords for the one day varsity match, for women and men. Finally, and hopefully to complete the hat trick of Dark Blue victories, the men’s Blues travel to Cambridge for a second time, for their four day varsity match. Lets hope for a Tab shoeing five times in a row.

You may have thought/hoped/prayed that with the last day of Summer VIIIs came the last day of rowing. You would be wrong. Oriel, who are currently men’s Head of the River, host their annual Oriel Regatta on 13th June, on the Isis. This is a day of side-by-side match racing, so there is a chance to see the cream of Oxford’s crop in boats other than VIIIs, and maybe we can actually answer the eternal RowChat ques­tion… who is the fastest on the river?

On 5th and 6th July, both Blues teams will take on their old rivals in the tennis varsity at the Moor Park Golf & Tennis Club. The teams have had a strong season, and will be looking to avenge their losses from 2014. The second, third, and fourth teams take on the Light Blues in Cambridge on the weekend of 20th June.

In the realm of athletics, the Oxford and Cambridge athletics teams are joining forces on 29th June to take on a team from across the pond, from Harvard and Yale. This will be the 45th match between the two sides, and will take place at Oxford’s very own Iffley track, so is perfect spectating fodder for you poor souls still here in 10th Week.

We are entering the final stages of Croquet Cuppers 2015, and the cream is rising to the top. Gone are the eager freshers, chilled out second years, and procrastinating finalists. The only players left are serious about their croquet, and will continue to battle it out until the end of term.

Though September is a very, very long way away, pre-season is the way to go for those attempting to make university teams next year. More than that, pre-seasoners are able to feel superior to those little freshers who join in Freshers’ Week, as they already have all the stash. Result.