The Secret Diary of Lewis Hamilton, aged 22 & three-quarters

When I was little, I used to drive go-karts but then a man called Ron came up to me and asked me if I could drive his car for him.








At first, he would only let me drive little cars, but then one day, he let me drive a really fast Mercedes car. I really enjoyed racing the big car, even if I had to work with a really nasty Spaniard who didn't like me very much and I even won a few races.

In the end, I finished second because the car broke down and then I went to live in Switzerland so that the nasty tax man can't take any of my money.

Now of course, all of that probably isn't an extract from the Lewis Hamilton: My Story - available from all good book stores and some rubbish ones as well.

Neither is it a slant at a young, British driver who has got people talking once again about a sport that had a dwindling following before he arrived on the scene.

But the point, as you might have gathered, is more a question as to how someone of 22 years of age, with just one full-season of top-class sport behind him, can possibly write a full, worthwhile autobiography?

Unfortunately, he's not alone when it comes to pointless autobiographies and with 2006 being a World Cup year, last Christmas was full of them.

Frank Lampard, Wayne Rooney, Ashley Cole, Rio Ferdinand, Steven Gerrard and Joe Cole - all players who achieved the net sum of "zero" during the 2006 tournament in Germany despite a hefty match fee were all lured by another big cheque to cram pad out their entire life story into a few hundred pages. Then Manchester City loud-mouth Joey Barton summed up my feelings perfectly:

“England did nothing in the World Cup so why were they bringing books out?” Barton asked. “ ‘We got beat in the quarter-finals. I played like s***. Here’s my book’.”

Sports autobiographies can be excellent. Lance Armstrong's series of books but, most notably, 'It's not about the Bike' is superb. Tawera Nikau, a former Castleford, Warrington and New Zealand international rugby league player who had to content with the tragic death of his wife and the loss of his right leg, wrote the eye-opening 'Standing Tall' and the likes of Tony Adams, Paul McGrath and Paul Gascoigne have all put together good books which, unfortunately, get lost in a sea of shite on the shelves of Waterstones.

Another quick search on Amazon brings up such delights as 'Russell Brand: My Booky Wooky', 'Jodie Marsh: Keeping it Real', 'Being Jordan' and 'My Autobiography' by Big Brother ignorant Jade Goody.

Honestly? Who buys this garbage?

A great sporting weekend

What a fantastic sporting weekend we have just witnessed.....







Now upon seeing that sentence, you'll probably be expecting this blog post to claim how fantastic it was that England's footballers beat a team of Estonian bricklayers and minicab drivers whilst the nation's over aged public-schoolboy squad somehow squirmed their way into the Rugby Union World Cup final against a side that, for much of their history, were merely a Nazi-sponsored band of looters and thieves. (Mike Rylance's book 'The Forbidden Game' will tell you more).

But no. For me, the event of the weekend was the engage Super League Grand Final in which my team Leeds battered the defending champions St Helens by 33-6 to win the domestic rugby league championship.

Before the game it was impossible to split the sides. In the past three meetings, Leeds had won two, St Helens the other. In the league, one competition point split first-placed St Helens from the Rhinos and in the play-off game at Knowsley Road, a dubiously awarded penalty goal was all that split the pair. What we saw was a second-half blitz from Leeds which blew away the current World Club Champions.

It was a fantastic day out in Manchester and, unusually for a Leeds side, a stunning final performance in front of 71,000 people at Old Trafford.

It wasn't just the victory, or the manner of the victory against a side that has really set the benchmark in recent seasons, but there were plenty of other subplots behind yesterday's game.

In the early hours of Saturday, just a matter of hours before the sides were due to take the field, former Leeds scrum-half Jeff Stevenson passed away at the age of 75. During the presentation, Leeds captain Kevin Sinfield paid tribute to the Leeds legend in his post-match acceptance speech.

If their was any other motivation needed for the side, another Leeds legend and perennial gobshite Garry Schofield was busy making himself look an idiot one again and proclaiming how Leeds would get stuffed. As great a player Schofield was for both Leeds and Great Britain, he's a nothing pundit. Anyone inside the game knows that, the fans know that and the press know that - it's just that he can always be relied upon to make a stupid headline grabbing comment at the expense of his own dignity - as was the case this weekend and many weekend's before it.

It was also the final game in charge of Leeds for coach Tony Smith - and what a final game. After joining the club in 2004, Smith has guided Leeds to three Grand Finals in four years, winning two of them and in his debut season, brought Leeds their first title for 32 years. Smith will now take the job of national team coach.

So all in all, a fantastic sporting weekend only dampened by Farsley Celtic's unlucky 1-0 loss to Oxford United.

A day at the races

Nope, not horse racing. On Sunday I tootled along to Donington Park for the World Series by Renault weekend.





I've not really been a massive motorsport fanatic. I was one of many that became disenchanted with F1 after Rubens Barrichello pulled up before the finish line to let Michael Schumacher take the chequered flag at the 2002 Austrian Grand Prix. From then, I saw it nothing more than 24 moving cigarette adverts (and later, post tobacco advertising ban, mobile phone adverts), some evidently much quicker than others, all following team orders in order to contrive a result.

But I've tended to keep a ear to the ground anyway, especially in the lesser known versions, British Touring cars, World Rally Championship, that kind of thing.

And so we headed to Leicestershire for an event, armed with free tickets (a Yorkshireman doesn't turn down a freebie) to see what you don't tend to get with Bernie Ecclestone's offering these days, some competitive racing and fan friendly fun.


There was plenty going on as well. There were five races that day and two exibitions. One of which was of Renault's Formula One cars of yesteryear, including the John Player special once used by Ayrton Senna:


They then broke out the current Renault R26 racing car, which proved almost impossible to photograph:


But it did get a little easier as the day went on.......


There were plenty of side-stalls as well and it all made for a fantastic day out, all complimentary of Renault Sport and one that probably be attending again. Ignore the fairgrounds, interactive games and simulators in the infield where you got to queue for ages, there was still plenty to keep you occupied between races.The infield still had exhibitions from the Renault Collectors and Classic Car club and after we'd had a wander around there, we headed into the Paddock.

Here you had plenty of photo opportunities, chances to talk to drivers / mechanics, classic car shows, collectors car show, it was a petrol-head's paradise.


There were obviously people there who didn't fall into the "casual viewer" category like I did and they felt right at home talking about gear mechanisms, power-to-weight ratios and slip-differentials, stuff that goes way above my head.

Me? My interests were elsewhere....


Who said motorsport was dull?!

Wii'ing in my front room

Yesterday afternoon, after being in the incapable hands of Parcel Farce for 24 hours, the Nintendo Wii finally turned up on our doorstep.




It's not technically mine though. It's actually my brothers but seeing as he wasn't around, he borrowed my MasterCard to buy it and that the package had my name on the box, it was only right that I had a quick go.

The Wii is Nintendo's £180 answer to the XBOX 360 and the soon to come Playstation 3, the so-called 'next-gen' consoles which claim to be High-Definition (even though the XBOX lacks a HDMI port and therefore won't work with the majority of HD TV's and the Playstation doesn't appear to be working at all).

Nintendo on the other hand have stayed away from the Hi-Def gimmicks, realising that not that many of us have Hi-Def anyway.

Instead, they've gone for the 'innovative game play' market and I have to say, they've certainly cracked it.
Take WiiSports for instance. It's a series of sports games that includes tennis, golf, boxing, ten-pin bowling and baseball (pictured above).
Now on your run-of-the-mill Playstation, to hit the ball, you'd just sit still and press an elaborate combination of buttons that you begin to repeat like a robot after just three goes.
On the Wii though, its far more advanced. Instead of a control pad, you have a 'motion sensor remote' which essentially, is your bat. Swing the remote and the Wii picked up on the direction and speed of the swing and in my case, that translates to missing the ball completely and striking out.
The remote also acts as your golf club, tennis racket, bowling arm and even boxing gloves.

All in all, it's brilliant and certainly a long way from the 'coach-potato' gaming geek stereotype. The game play is unrivalled and at almost £300 cheaper than the forthcoming PS3, it's stonking value. Better still, it's make the perfect centrepiece for a beer-fuelled house party.

Will the novelty wear off? Probably but that'd be the same with any console. One thing is for certain though, it's a pretty good distraction from that essay due on Tuesday!

$500,000 for Messing Up a Cricket Match? I Wish I Thought of That!

I'm no major cricket fan, I can understand the jist of what goes on, but don't really get into it that much. However, most of you probably know about the recent England vs Pakistan Test match which was postponed, which stemmed from a alleged ball tampering incident and the resultant protests from the Pakistani team.



Now it emerges that Darrell Hair, the umpire at the centre of the contraversy, has offered to clear off, but only on the proviso that he picks up a cheque for half a million US$ first.
Regardless of the fact that this said umpire failed to cite the actual perpetrator in the alleged incident, despite a plethora of TV cameras being present at the Brit Oval, and regardless of the fact that Hair's record of impartiality with regards to Asian sides is questionable at best, it still seems a fantastic idea.

I mean, in the current pensions crisis and with interest rates going up lately, what better way to safeguard your future and start a comfy retirement? Instead of working your fingers to the bone until you are knocking on the door of God's waiting room and putting your hard earned into a not-so-brilliant pension fund, why not become a cricket umpire? Obviously, you couldn't concoct an elaberate ball tampering scenario - that idea has already been taken, but instead think of another way to get a high profile cricket match cancelled and then offer to walk out taking a blow-softening £270k with you! Pure Genius!

Chances are, Hair is looking for his new Bournmouth sea-front home as we speak.