These are challenging times for Guy Verhofstwat and all the rabid, butthurt EU fruitcakes after Emma Raducanu’s US Open win.
They’re all stuck between the rock of wanting to claim 50% of the title in the EU’s name and the hard place of their hatred for the China and the UK.
Momma said there would be days like this.
She will of course be a shoo-in for Young Sports Personality of the Year – and possibly the main award — and I would think an MBE in the New Year’s Honours.
It was a phenomenal win that deserved all the plaudits, but she has already received her reward if I’m not mistaken: the title, the cup, and a shedload of wonga.
The big question for the social media commentariat right now is how deftly they can hop onto the Raducanu bandwagon by linking her stellar achievement with their cause and rinsing her for all she’s worth.
Some are already claiming it as a victory for open borders, European integration, and bizarrely their own sage wisdom, in the latter case after having slated her publicly for choking at this year’s Wimbledon and telling her to suck it up and get on with it. For everybody, it’s a radical, new triumph for themselves.
Yes, she failed in SW19 but then got back out there and won simply because some fat wanker with millions of Russian-bot followers had had a pop on Twitter?
That’s where self-aggrandisement takes you, folks.
The more likely contributors to her success were a lifetimes hard work, top coaching and facilities, and latterly some anonymous sports psychologist who worked with her to remove any self-doubt and unlock her potential.
But hey ho, you just can’t tell ’em, can you? We should all by now understand how this all rolls.
The big question for the mainstream UK press right now will be how to bring her down. The moment she fails to respond to an interview request for any particular paper, she’ll be stalked ad infinitum and hounded to within an inch of imsanity. She’d better start pencilling in the media rounds right now for the next decade with the full spectrum of odious, embittered hacks, or she’ll end up having her legs scythed away before she can say ‘Scumedia’.
But for now, it’s time to squabble and bitch over whose story this is while not acknowledging in the slightest that it’s entirely Miss Raducanu’s.