Graeme Hill: Soundtrack makes this fan see red

Graeme Hill

Thanks for all the replies to last week's plea for the Kiwi couple who were gatecrashed but still cheerfully entertained Willie John McBride in 1971 to stand up and identify themselves.

I've never read such a load of nonsense in my life. Tremendously tall and cracking tales all, but no cigar yet, so the mystery remains.

Enjoying the Kiwi Hit Disc, are we? What's your favourite? Slice of Heaven or the curiously inappropriate She's a Mod?

There must be a concerted policy in place for all of this disc jockeying at the Lions games. A fixed roster of certified homegrown mega-hits belts out over the PA systems as some type of ambush marketing programme to the UK at every conceivable opportunity.

These opportunities include: Bloke ties shoelaces. The ball goes out. The same ball is thrown in. Said ball going through a few phases of possession.

Now, don't get me wrong here. It's not the end of the world having some audio backdrop to smooth out breaks in play (God knows there's enough of them) and to help maintain some sort of festival atmosphere at the grounds but let's have a sense of proportion, and more importantly priority, please.

The perceived wisdom seems to be that once you've pressed play on I See Red there's a music length minimum. Written in bold on the front of the CD in vivid glowing orange must be a warning.

"DO NOT STOP THIS SONG UNTIL EDDIE RAYNER'S PIANO SOLO IS OVER, OK, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER WILL GREENWOOD'S MADE A LINE-BREAK OR NOT!"

You can argue that music during the breaks lifts the crowd a bit but LIVE Sport doesn't need musical backing. In fact to me it's an unholy annoyance and completely arse about face as regards priority.

Message to you DJ excitement machines: I don't care if you'd like to play Up Where We Belong at a line-out followed by Don't Bring Me Down and then Pass the Dutchie to the Left Hand Side" during the subsequent back-line movement. I don't care if the song you're spinning is about to hit the bit you like most. MUSIC OFF BEFORE BALL IS IN PLAY. No exceptions.

Why do I find it annoying? It's not that I don't like the music. That's irrelevant. It's because big sporting events come with a perfect soundtrack already - the reactions of the crowd. The oohs and aahs and exalted cheers.

Mostly, though, music during play undermines the ability of a crowd to hear itself, and that's one of the great things about being a small part of an amassed whole.

Relief is at hand. I understand it's thankfully DJ free for the tests.

Ironically the only bit of music that there seems universal approval for, the national anthem, had its head chopped off for some seriously uncomfortable moments until some technical Einstein turned the microphone on.

The Lions outfit has copped some flak for their decision to opt out of some pre-organised (note that PRE-organised) community appearances in Otago and they probably deserve it. I'd like to praise the touring squad for what they HAVE done, but what makes the Otago u-turn sound worse than it might be otherwise is the nature of the appearances they cancelled. Tiny schools and one old folks home where an ailing and most likely lonely old All Black is resident.

I can't think of this story without a vivid image of an old, frail, unvisited man. Mince on toast for lunch. God, I hope he's not lonely.

Anyway, I thought Sir Clive was more organised than Rommel.

These little visits have surely been at the end of a pointed stick on whiteboards in hotels a hundred times so I'm left with the conclusion the reason for the no-show must be that Sir Clive, on observing a knock-on around the ruck, had some Eureka moment.

"Ah ha! That's why he dropped the jolly thing! Too much time out and about. Gareth? Could you pass me the schedule and a red pen please?"

One of the sadder things I read came from one miffed Miltonian accompanying a photograph of utterly miserable kids who looked like their pet lamb had just had its throat cut by the camera.

"It really stinks. Nobody famous EVER visits Milton."

Can't you just hear the sheer frustration of yet another crushing moment in a veeeery long line of disappointments?

Dreaming of Shortland St but trapped in Dullsville and kicked in the guts again, eh? On reading that, I was sure Charlotte Dawson or Paul Holmes would have grabbed this chance to take up the vacant celebrity slack and helicoptered in to save the day.