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Review: The Oxford Revue & Friends

Chloe Ingersent
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Review: The Oxford Revue & Friends

It is not the chummy benevolence of ‘friend­ship’ which triumphs at this production. The stage bathes in a poignant whiff of rivalry. A rapid turnover of scenes and constant alterna­tion between the Oxford Revue, Durham Revue and Cambridge Footlights forces the audience to draw direct comparisons between them. 

Naz Osmanoglu satisfies his job as host well enough: his additions include merry gibes at the fresher libido and his own ethnicity. A feeling of familiarity crests during a brief foray into Mac­Intyre-style gruff and although the stand-up is unoriginal in itself, his genial energy makes for a cosy performance. 

The first hour gained the audience’s approval in a sluggish and piecemeal way. A lack of chem­istry between cast members in larger scenes saw the Durham Revue crawling slowly away from the starting line, wounded by a trite reference to ‘Voldemort’ and a tiresome ‘Santa-isn’t-real’ routine. A whimsical gag named ‘Boris’ is suc­cessful, but the script stops short of pushing it away from the brink. A quick-witted exchange between an expressionless duo was the most popular Durham effort, but this was thanks to the script rather than the unchallenging deliv­ery.

Cambridge Footlights began with an uncrea­tive stab at the racism of the elderly, but an im­provement came with their second attempt. Taylor’s spry discourse featured a brilliantly im­provised interaction with the audience (“some­one is clapping my masturbatory habits…”), drumming up a well-deserved response.

Reprieve from the rigidity of group scenes was delivered with gusto by the Oxford Revue. Dowie’s plucky delivery of a not-wholly-inspiring ‘minge’ line is to be applauded. But her cheeky skill is superseded by the more subtle concentra­tion of David Meredith, who is able to command the whole theatre’s attention with a small, delib­erate movement.

The Durham troupe gained traction as we moved into the second half of the show, but they were eclipsed by the real struggle for pre-eminence between the Oxford Revue and Cam­bridge Footlights. A balance was struck: the spir­ited and agile performance of the Revue meant they banked the trophy for best delivery, but Footlights triumphed in terms of script. They reached their zenith with a hilarious anthropo­morphisation of chess.

 A word of praise to finish: some of us have come to expect tedious taunts at ‘the bourgeois mentality’ or boring renditions of #UniLife as part and parcel of student comedy, but Oxford Re­vue & Friends is fresher than that. More impres­sively, there is a welcome lack of the self-congrat­ulatory arrogance that has been known to grace student stages. This is an earnest competition.

THREE STARS

Review: ‘The Emperor’s Tomb’ by Joseph Roth

Alexander Rankine
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Review: ‘The Emperor’s Tomb’ by Joseph Roth
The fate of the Austro-Hungarian Empire has much to tell us about modern politics, and Joseph Roth’s The Emperor’s Tomb has much to say to people at our stage in life. It is the perfect quick read in a busy exam term.
 
Joseph Roth – successful journalist, novelistic zeitgeist capturer, Jewish exile from Hitler’s Germany, alcoholic – is best known for the Radetzky March, published in 1932, a sweeping chronicle of the last decades of the old Habsburg realm, a multi-ethnic state hopelessly unable to cope with rising nationalism and its own aristocratic sclerosis, and finally destroyed by the catastrophe of World War One. Trying desperately to reprise the success of this work as he approached his own premature end, Roth scribbled furiously to create a sequel. The result was The Emperor’s Tomb, a novel short, unpolished, and raw, now available in a new translation by Michael Hoffman.
 
It chronicles the life of a member of the Trotta clan, a relative of the central characters in the Radetzky March, as he is dragged from the aristocratic ease of his life just before the Great War. Less dedicated students will be able to sympathise with his style of life at the novel’s opening: “to calm my anxious mother, I was enrolled as a student of laws. I did no studying”; “I lived into the night; the days were for sleeping.” His dissolute friends adopt a modish cynicism, despising religion, and affecting disdain for every form of earnestness, especially love. They treat the women with whom they indulge in casual liaisons like “something you accidentally forgot, like umbrellas, or on purpose, like boring parcels you didn’t go back for.”
 
In just 183 pages we follow him through both the war and twenty years of post-war disillusionment right up until the 1938 Anschluss with Germany, his finances and relationships floundering desperately, his beloved homeland vanished. Hoffman is an insanely good translator, steering clear of the literal flatness of so much translated work, and peppering his account with words like ‘whippersnapper’ and ‘geezer’. Here, however, he doesn’t have such opportunity to create beautiful English renderings of the sort of gorgeously overflowing, near prose-poetry found in the Radetzky March. This is a novel written in a hurry. There is a jungle guerilla disdain for all slow expositions and 19th Century languor. Where one chapter ends: “In another week he would be with us…” the opening of the next jump cuts straight to, “And in another week, he arrived.”
 
The directness of the approach, and Roth’s use of the first person, is not always successful. For every passage of striking psychological insight, there is another which seems like a flat description of emotions to which the reader does not have ready access, made all the more problematic by the riotous speed with which a carnival of characters, events and emotional states flit across the page. Where in the Radetzky March Roth expertly builds up the potency of select images and ideas (not least the march music itself) throughout the work, here one feels as if Joan Miró had grabbed the authorial brush and daubed crude images all over the novel, as when one reads that death is “crossing his bony hands” over a scene for the umpteenth time.
 
An imperfect novel then, certainly, but the economy of means is more often than not simply breathtaking. Roth, ever the journalistic sketcher, can create a character reveling in memorable idiosyncrasy via a few choice observations, as with Trotta’s father-in-law, an initially prosperous hat manufacturer, his handshake like “paddling around in some hopeless pastry dough”. When Trotta mourns the death of Jacques, an elderly servant (a name given added resonance by the highly symbolic demise of another servant Jacques in the Radetzky March), he cries “he’s dying” to his new wife; “he’s old” she replies entirely unflustered. No smaller fragment could hint at so great a breach between two people. And there is much dry, desperate humour in these vignettes as well, not least in the final chapter when a jackbooted fascist enters a café to announce the Anschluss which spells the final death of Trotta’s world. Trotta’s first impression is that this apostle of Nazi triumph looks like he has come up out of the toilets.
 
In a Europe unsure if it can live together, and a United Kingdom asking whether its usefulness has expired, the death of Europe’s greatest modern multi-national state is especially compelling ground to re-visit. The empire was “something, greater, wider, more spacious and all-encompassing than just a fatherland”, brought to an end by a war that was a world war not because “the whole world was involved in it, but rather because as a result of it we lost a whole world, our world.” The country Trotta returns to after the war is something smaller and meaner than the old Habsburg land. His relatives cannot now easily travel as they used to across central Europe, the Empire fragmented into different states. The ruin is not only abstractly political, but vigorously present in everyday life, as (presciently) horses are minced for meat in the ruined economy, Trotta’s wealth disintegrates, and his mother slowly dies. As a dominant Germany demolishes the final vestiges of old Austria, the only place for Trotta in this bewildering new world is to pay his respects at the Emperor’s Tomb. Readers looking for historical precedents for our modern dilemmas would be well served by doing likewise.

Shrigley and the Turner Prize Shortlist

Nina Black
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Shrigley and the Turner Prize Shortlist

The nominees for the 2013 Turner Prize, which will be awarded in December, are a diverse and international group of artists. They include the paintings of British-Ghanian artist Lynette Yiadom Boakye, the ‘constructed situations’ of British-German Tino Seghal, and the French artist Laure Prouvost’s film and installation work. But it is the Macclesfield-born and Glasgow-based David Shrigley whose nomination has attracted the most attention.

Shrigley’s national profile was greatly increased by ‘Brain Activity’, an exhibition of his work held in the Hayward Gallery in London last year. He is best known for his humorous but bleak cartoons which mock everyday life. He also works in other mediums such as sculpture and animation. The Turner jury said that the exhibition revealed Shrigley’s “black humour, macabre intelligence and infinite jest”. Some of the most memorable of his exhibits at the Hayward included a decapitated ostrich, a sign advertising a lost pigeon, and a blurred painting of the heads carved into Mount Rushmore with the announcement above declaiming, ‘MEN ARE FOOLS’.

Shrigley’s art has also won him fans in the music world. He has directed a Blur video, collaborated with artists such as Hot Chip and Franz Ferdinand, and has also dabbled in song writing. At the 2010 Frieze Art Fair he designed tattoos for his fans, many of whom had them permanently etched onto their skin. His work is accessible, and of the nominees he is certainly the best known artist outside the art world.

The decision to nominate Shrigley shows that he is finally being taken seriously. Rather than viewing Shrigley as a ‘wild card’, we should see his art as a reflection of how distinctions between high art and pop culture are becoming increasingly eroded in the twenty-first century. His humour is sidelong and peculiar. His playful wit may make us laugh, but
it also confronts truths about human nature we would rather ignore, often taking for his subject matter the ingrained anxiety we all have of our own mortality, and the fraught nature of intimate relationships. Although some of Shrigley’s work looks like it was completed in minutes, his art shows an original precision and wisdom, something which some artists who are more associated with ‘serious’ work lack. His nomination for the 29th Turner Prize and its £40,000 reward may lead those who argue that his work is not high-brow enough to reconsider their stance, bringing him the serious acclaim that he deserves. In the words of Penny Curtis, the director of Tate Britain and chair of the Turner jury, “Just because it’s funny, doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

The Cherwell Profile: Peter Singer

Rowan Borchers
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The Cherwell Profile: Peter Singer
Peter Singer is reserved when I meet him at the Oxford Union. Despite immaculate manners, he rarely laughs and his answers never drift from my questions. It’s the conversation of a man who’s spent his life justifying views which some people find abhorrent.
 
As the world’s most famous utilitarian philosopher, Singer is used to controversy. His 1975 book Animal Liberation was instrumental for me deciding to stop eating meat in 2010. Every conclusion he draws is based on a logical equation – which decision will cause the least suffering? He argues that this is the only proper basis for morality. The approach made him a pioneer of vegetarianism in the 1970s, but has also caused him to justify bestiality, and killing severely disabled children.
 
I ask whether Singer’s utilitarianism ever leads him to uncomfortable answers. For decades, he’s been embroiled in arguments over euthanasia, but today he says the public is on his side. Yet on other issues, Singer recognises that he’s divisive. “I supported infanticide for severely disabled infants, and that is a bit different [to euthanasia], because it’s not voluntary. And a lot of people do support that, or at least they support allowing these children to die, which is not all that different. That was a bit harder to come to because it was going more against popular opinion. I’m not sure there’s anything now that I hold back, after that experience.”
 
I’m impressed that Singer is able to detach his moral decisions from emotional instinct. He is desperate to avoid irrationality. I ask him for his thoughts on Guantanamo Bay, and he’s only concerned with its overall consequences. “I think it’s counter-productive because it blurs the distinction between the United States as a defender of human rights, and other repressive regimes And I think it’s good to have that distinction so dictators can’t say, well, you know, it’s all just sham rhetoric.” It’s striking that Singer’s opinions are based on broad outcomes, not the suffering of individual prisoners.
 
Born in Melbourne in 1946, Singer was an undergraduate at the University of Melbourne. But he began to act on his ethical ideas when studying for a DPhil at University College, Oxford. He describes the moment he became a vegetarian, chatting with a friend in Balliol hall. “I sat down next to someone, who was a vegetarian and we were talking about other things… He hadn’t actually said he was a vegetarian, he just asked what was in the spaghetti sauce, and when he found out there was meat in it he didn’t take any. So I actually asked him, and he sounded pretty convincing really so I took it further.”
 
The urge to act on a moral basis has defined Singer’s lifestyle for decades. I question why so few people pursue their moral ideas more strongly, and he emphasises evolution. “I think it’s because we’re influenced by self-interested considerations more than they really ought to account, and the explanation for that is evolutionary. If our ancestors hadn’t been self-interested, or interested in the wellbeing of their kin, those genes responsible for how they think and behave would have died out. So I think the evolution of selection is one which tilts survivors towards thinking of themselves and their kin, and that’s clearly what most humans do.”
 
It’s an unusually pessimistic interpretation of humanity for a left-wing thinker. The sentiment is part of his broader analysis of politics. Singer wants the left to reject any hangover from Marxism, and embrace a Darwinian view of human nature – unorthodox, considering the current association between Darwin, competition, and neoliberal economics.
 
Adopting Singer’s politics would require several shifts of this magnitude. However, when I ask if he thinks utilitarianism would overturn the existing political framework, he seems unsure. He argues that our judicial system is compatible with utilitarianism. He also says that the current emphasis on human rights is tokenistic. “You could argue that the acceptance of killing civilians by drones shows they [politicians] don’t really believe in the rhetoric of absolute rights. Maybe it’s because those people are not Americans, although actually two of them have been Americans, but they haven’t been Americans living in the United States, or they’ve been Americans of Arab descent or something like that.”
 
Singer believes the shift towards utilitarianism has begun, notably in Australia and Sweden. Yet it hasn’t spread universally. “I think the US in the English speaking world is probably the one that’s furthest from that way of thinking… Britain is somewhat more utilitarian. For example the stuff that NICE [the National Institute for Clinical Excellence] does in saying which drugs are too expensive. You can’t say that openly in the US: there’s a myth that care service ought to provide everything that’s good. That you can’t have bureaucrats deciding who lives and who dies, whereas in fact you can’t not have bureaucrats making that decision, because inevitably you have to allocate resources.”
 
I express cynicism that a utilitarian world will ever exist, but Singer is an optimist. “Look, never is a very long time. If we assume the human species will survive for a million years, who can predict what it will be like. We’ve had relatively little time where we understand the world, where we’ve had modern science, and methods of changing ourselves and structuring society, so I don’t think anybody could say never. But I could say I’m not going to see a world like that, and I think you’d be lucky if you are.”
 
To me, the problem is that a utilitarian lifestyle is almost impossible. I tell him about my veggie guilt about eating dairy products and eggs, although my beliefs imply I should be vegan. He cuts me off – “They’re very demanding, yeah you’re right… I think in a lot of these things the utilitarian perspective is very demanding if you follow it all the way. But you can say ‘look, this is what I’m prepared to do at this stage. I’m going to stick at that, so I’ll be doing quite well relative to where the rest of our society is. And I don’t have to feel terrible about myself for not going further.’”
 
There’s something endearing about Singer’s conversation. Everything he says is closely reasoned, making it seem impossible to chat idly. It feels like a tutorial, but means there’s little small-talk in the interview.
 
The next day, I go to watch Singer speak about food ethics. The speech is straightforward, expressing the same arguments animal rights activists have been pushing since the 1970s. If any other speaker had given the talk, it would have been unoriginal. The room’s enthusiastic response isn’t based on Singer’s lecture. We’re recognising his attempts to increase the world’s happiness over the last forty years.

Uncertainty over Athletics Cuppers winners

Jonathan Davidson
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Uncertainty over Athletics Cuppers winners

Saturday saw the Iffley Road Stadium host the annual athletics Cuppers competition. With the Varsity athletics meet only two weeks away, this was one of the last opportunities for athletes to stake their claims to represent the University against the Tabs. The overall winners of the event, however, have yet to be confirmed, with both Balliol and New in contention.

On a fresh spring day, a mixed bag of seasoned Blues and part-time athletics enthusiasts gathered with various different (and at times conflicting) interests. While some athletes viewed Cuppers as the last piece of preparation before the year’s climax against Cambridge, others simply competed for college pride, regardless of their individual abilities (or lack thereof).

It was this gulf in interests that enabled both Balliol and New to assert their dominance of the contest, flooding innumerable events with mediocre , but willing, athletes, who could simply win points for their college by entering an individual event.

One such ‘competitor’ spoke of this division of interests: “Basically everyone there was a Blues athlete and was competing for themselves. No other colleges seemed to care about winning it, apart from us [Balliol] and New.”

Aside from the farcical gulf between enthusiastic college athletes and talented Blues, which allowed both Balliol and New to rack up points, there was some athletics of genuine quality on display. Arguably the outstandnig performance of the day was Vartan Shadarevian who won the covetedprize of the 100m title, closely followed by the elegant Apoorva Joshi who proved his natural pace by keeping up with seasoned sprinters in spite of little training.

Shadarevian ran an impressive time of 11.2 seconds considering the race
conditions, with competitors running into a headwind. Fresher Sam Trigg produced dominant displays in both the long jump and the triple jump, including a personal best in the long jump, placing him in an ideal position for Varsity. Trigg of Worcester College has already jumped the Blue distance for the triple jump this year and looks like he could be a very valuable asset for OUAC.

Budding athlete and Balliolite Harry Parkin recalled his thoughts on the day’s action: “It was a duel to the very end. Both sides putting in as many people into as many events as possible, hoping to score points. They had more people, but I think we had better athletes.”

Oxford edged out past the chequered flag

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Oxford edged out past the chequered flag

For the first time this season, it looked like we might actually be able to have a race without the weather trying to ruin it for us. The first eight rounds of the British Universities Karting Championship had been cursed with bad weather. The first had to be moved to a different date due to snow, the second moved to a different track due to snow, and the rest had seen freezing cold, howling winds, torrential rain, or, well, more snow. Add this to the fact that the 2012 Varsity race was run on a track that that might as well have been The Isis. So there was a certain optimism within the team that, this time round, we might have a good race.

We arrived at Rye House, a change of venue from last year, to find the track bone dry and begging to be driven. Both teams had booked out karts for the first hour of track time to use as practice before the race, although Oxford had significantly more than Cambridge. The two teams looked surprisingly similar in ability, buoying our spirits, as we had initially thought that the loss of three of our best drivers from last year’s team would spoil our chances of victory.

The practice session finished with only one broken chain to show for the thrashing we had given the karts. We refuelled and went straight back out for ten minutes of qualifying. This was thankfully incident-free, and we returned to the pits to find out where we would start. We were somewhat annoyed to find that the Tabs had managed to secure the top three grid slots, although Oxford filled the next six positions.

The start of the race would probably be more familiar to a fan of NASCAR than of Formula 1, as the karts have no clutch and must get into formation behind a pace kart before being released into racing. After what must have been the longest few minutes of driving in my life — karts buzzing all around, drivers focused, waiting impatiently for the excitement to begin — the pace kart pulled off. Foot flat to the floor, the engine notes consume you as you turn into the first corner, a flat out right-hander, jostling for position while at the same time trying not to wipe out one of your team mates. Braking hard into the first hairpin, some drivers try to dive up the inside,others hang it wide and try to get more speed on the exit. Then round the second hairpin and onto the back straight, before what I consider to be the hardest corner of the track, an almost flat left followed by a sharp right. A small chicane and the final tight right bring us back to the main straight, crossing the line. One lap down, twenty-four minutes left in the race.

Then, a mere four laps into the race, the curse came back, and it began to rain. Karts began spinning off at every corner, the yellow flags came out, and the race changed completely. It was now less about seeing how fast you could go, and more about how long you could keep it on the track for. Twenty minutes later, all drivers exhausted from the concentration, the chequered flag came out and we slowly returned to the pits, nobody quite sure of the result. We gathered around the podium as race director told us the bad news: Oxford 61 points, Cambridge 79. We congratulated them on what had been a much cleaner race than last year, and headed home.

This article is dedicated to the memory of Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna who died 19 years ago this week at the 1994 San Marino Grand Prix.

The most ridiculous event in the world

George Colenutt
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The most ridiculous event in the world

Glitz, glamour, and glorifying stattos – the NFL Draft is an occasion with few parallels. Last Thursday saw the eagerly-awaited 2013 edition, where the 32 NFL teams pick the cream of the college talent. Intriguingly, they do this in order of performance over the last season, with the worst-performing team going first.

After last year’s stellar quarterbacks Andrew Luck, Robert Griffin III and the third-round ‘sleeper’ Russell Wilson, this year was comparatively low-key. The ‘big boys’ were the main attraction with offensive tackles Eric Fisher and Luke Joeckel going at one and two to the Kansas City Chiefs and Jacksonville Jaguars respectively. The New York Jets were at their usual spotlight-hogging, having a sensible first day but then drafting the combustible quarterback Geno Smith to bring their set of plausible QB starters up to six.

For the first time in a while, there were some British hopefuls on Draft day. Menelik Watson, the beast of an offensive tackle who grew up in Longsight, Manchester, was drafted in the second round by the Oakland Raiders. Olympian Lawrence Okoye declined an offer to study law at Oxford and join the University Lancers in favour of the money, women and glory of the toughest league in the world. Picked up by the San Francisco 49ers, he will have a lot of work to do to get anywhere near the starting team. Still, he should be encouraged by his coach Jim Harbaugh declaring that he is ‘an Adonis’.

A poor Draft class it may have been, but one thing on which the Draft never disappoints is its provision of high-quality characters, such as Notre Dame linebacker Manti Te’o. The Hawaii-born heavyweight had been having a remarkable college season, made all the more impressive by playing on despite his grandmother and girlfriend dying on the same day in September. But it then transpired that he had never met his girlfriend in the flesh, even while she died a slow death from leukaemia. 

This was subsequently topped by the small matter of her non-existence; Mantiwas the victim of a hoax concocted by one of his former high school classmates. Drafted by the Chargers, the eyes of an amused yet appalled American public will be on him next season.

As always, there were hilarious names aplenty. The Cleveland Browns, themselves in possession of possessing the worst team name on Earth, brought in Jamoris Slaughter and Barkevious Mingo. Elsewhere, the pantheon of miraculous monikers included Alonzo Tweedy, Bacarri Rambo, Rodrick Rumble and Tyrone Laughinghouse. Even the last player to be picked in the entire Draft, added to this trend – opposition players will have the law laid down on them by Justice Cunningham next year.

John Terry is boring in comparison.The NFL Draft has once again proved itself to be one of the most sublime and ridiculous events in the world sporting calendar. We Brits can scoff at the hyperbole, laugh at the oversized suits. But we should remember that since 1992 only five teams have won the Prem whereas thirteen have won the Super Bowl. Maybe they’re onto something. Further UKTV coverage could only be a good thing.

Review: The Apprentice

Anna Spencer
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Review: The Apprentice

The Apprentice is back (for the ninth time). And yes, the dramatic music has become irritating rather than exciting, and we’re all a bit bored of hearing that Lord Sugar is a self-made businessman who succeeded without any qualifications, but the excellent London skylines plus the simultaneous arrogance and surprising incompetence of the competitors are still very enjoyable.

My favourite part of The Apprentice is the indisputably ‘creative’ (misguided, ridiculous and factually incorrect) ways in which candidates manage to praise themselves. The first episode in the series always provides some classics and this one was no exception. A couple of favourites: “I take inspiration from Napoleon, I am here to conquer”; “I am business perfection personified”; “I am prepared to fight to the death to become Lord Sugar’s business partner” (literally?) and lastly “I am prepared to do anything to win; cheating, manipulating, I will do it”. Sadly, the last one is probably the most honest. Perhaps my favourite statement actually came from Alan himself: “I’m not a man, I’m Lord Sugar” – professed when he mistakenly thought project manager Jaz’s expression ‘man’ was directed at him, rather than being a sign of general annoyance.

The task was a standard first episode – a boys versus girls sales challenge. Specifically, this meant staying up all night unloading a container in the docks full of items with absolutely no link to one another (water, toilet roll, cat litter, Chinese lucky cats) and then selling them at any location in London. With this in mind, it was quite amazing that one team decided the best place to sell Chinese cats would be in Chinatown. One team lost, one person got fired. Unfortunately, Lord Sugar was not very rude.

I always find it a bit hard to remember all the candidates in the first episode, as there are too many unfamiliar faces (sixteen) and everyone talks at once. As usual though, there’s one that’s even louder and more controlling than everyone else (Neil), one that’s academic and struggles to get their voice across (Jason), and one who actually seems pretty competent (Leah). There is also one who was correctly identified as resembling Dracula (Alex – it’s the eyebrows). 

The Apprentice’s appeal is the same as it’s always been. I continue to enjoy watching arrogant people struggle, while thinking that I could do better than the competitors on these tasks, simply because I’ve watched them so often (#modesty). All in all, it’s still very watchable, despite having been on our screens for so long.

OURFC’s Morris shines after switching codes

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OURFC’s Morris shines after switching codes

A player familiar to many for his involvement in Oxford Rugby Union in recent times, winger Sean Morris has achieved acclaim this season for his role in new Rugby League outfit Oxford Inspires. The Inspires, competing in the third tier of professional Rugby League, have won two of their first three games, with Morris proving himself to be an important figure particularly in the 18-16 victory at Oldham last Sunday.

Switching codes has only been a recent concept for Morris, for whom Oxford RL fitted his circumstances perfectly. He played his first game just a few weeks ago for Oxford. “I’ve had a disrupted Rugby Union season with a lot of injuries, and I was looking at a summer where I was itching to play but didn’t have a team.”

Despite sitting third in the race to be Championship One Player of the Year, Sean is quick to acknowledge the huge steps he still needs to take. “The basics are the same, but the team is doing a good job of looking after me and making sure I know what to do. I’m still learning some of the rules and the nuances of the game, so the support has been really important.”

In their inaugural season, Oxford were always going to have unique difficulties entering an established tier such as the Co-operative Championship One. “We are a new team, but we have made some good progress against much more experienced opposition, who have been playing together for a number of years and know each other much more. The team is starting to gel really nicely.” A hard fought victory last week confirmed this team unity.

With some encouraging performances as well as results in the opening weeks, Morris’ eyes are set firmly above their current position than below. “It’s our first season so we were not expecting much, but we have made a strong start. There is a bit of a feeling around the club we could possibly push for promotion.” For Sean, the foundations have been laid for success. “We definitely have the players and the set up, it’s just whether we can get everything right on the match days and push forward.”

The Board of Directors have made it clear that a mix of local players and experienced Northerners would be used at the club. “The heart of the team has come down from up north, and there is a whole bunch of them that have a serious amount of experience. For us guys who have played for less time here, they’ve been really helpful. There are about fifteen players with some serious Rugby League background. They’re invaluable to the team.”

Oxford were knocked out of the Challenge Cup in their first match, losing to Rugby League giants Halifax 54-12. However, this result still gave the Inspires confidence in their abilities. “It was a great experience for the club and definitely a challenge. It wasn’t as big a mismatch as people were expecting. They weren’t embarrassed by any means, and they stood up and were counted. They put in a good performance against a Rugby League heartland.”

Oxford’s first game at Iffley was a narrow 22- 20 defeat to South Wales, but the response from locals to this new venture meant the game was a cause of celebration for the management in particular. “It’s a new franchise so it’s going to take a while for the crowds to pick up, but I was pleasantly surprised. Considering it was the first game for professional Rugby League in Oxford, the crowd was pretty good and hopefully that will be something that will build throughout the season.” Anticipation is certainly building for Sunday’s home match against Hemel Stags, especially because Oxford University students will be able available to watch the game at Iffley Road. “It will be a fantastic occasion. They are running an offer for students to get a free cider with entry, so hopefully we will end up with a fun day and lots of students coming down and getting their free drink. It will be a good atmosphere with some sunshine.”

If they can continue to produce the performances they have achieved so far this season, Oxford Inspires will be a fantastic addition to the Oxford sporting landscape. Morris shows the opportunity for the club to tap into the potential of a Rugby Union dominated area, and perhaps add more to their ranks from the University.

Cherwell’s Workouts: Football

Samuele Volpe
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Cherwell’s Workouts: Football

When I picked football from the lucky-dip of Weekly Work-outs, I figured I’d probably got off lightly. I mean, I’ve done a football practice before, you kick a ball around and try not to get ‘hot-arsed’ (it’s exactly as painful and humiliating as it sounds) by your mates.

Needless to say I imagined that maybe the Blues may train intensively but as I laced up a tatty old pair of trainers – it hadn’t seemed worth bringing the football boots I’d worn twice all year back down to Oxford for Trinity; it’s supposed to be sunny right? – I was still feeling fairly confident that it was just going to be a bit of a lark.I like to do things ‘all-in’, so the aim was, with the rag-tag bunch of friends and hangers-on (okay, maybe it was the minimal four or five who I’d managed to coerce out to Uni parks) to take the regime pretty seriously. It started reasonably well.

I mean, it’s always fun to do an exaggeratedly serious warm-up completewith ridiculous star-jumps and those surely pointless arm stretches. After that, a quick game of piggy-inthe-middle was called for before we could move on to the main session, and as good a way to humiliate a friend as it is, keep-ball is only ever an appetizer.

Warmed up, we were ready. We were supposed to be doing a smallpitched four-a-side game yet we improvised and went two-on-two with a floatingplayer helping whoever had the ball. Of course when you’re
playing with mates this can be a function easily abused, but it was either that or we’d have had to have a stick-keeper, and no-one ever wants
to go in net right? Despite the early matches being quick-fire four minute affairs, the big goals specified (yes, we’re talking jumpers for goalposts) meant that the scores began to get silly. Silly was good fun, but then I remembered the forfeits the losing team had to do: shuttle runs.

Shuttle runs inevitably remind me of doing the ‘bleep test’ at school. In
a way this isn’t so bad – at school I was the prat who didn’t mind the incessant beeping – but school was a time when there weren’t distractions like Park End, or Hassan’s and if I’m being honest my fitness isn’t what it was. Thus, whilst these shuttle runs started as the prescribed 20 and 40 yard
lengths. they may well not have finished that way and tired me slightly
quicker than I’m proud to admit.

It’s always fun to play football though, and to end, given the paucity of our numbers my comrades and I decided that, given a bigger team game didn’t really seem on the cards, we’d play Wembley Singles, and although I didn’t quite come out on top, we decided to exempt the losers from any more shuttle runs out of sympathy. By the end of an couple of hours pretending to be elite athletes though, I definitely had a bit more respect for the guys who represent us week in, week out. Even if they’re probably still not as scarily
gym-bound as the rowers.

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