Sunday, May 11, 2025
Blog Page 1503

Oxford edged out past the chequered flag

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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

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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

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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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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

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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.

The Premier League’s worst XI of the season

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TEAM NAME: Deportivo Lack-Of-Talent

MANAGER: Mark Hughes

Earlier this week, some Welsh bloke picked up a couple of awards, while the rest of our multi-millionaire footballers patted themselves on the back about another job well done. Enough is enough. It’s time for these overpaid, overhyped ballkickers to take a reality check. This is the 11 we all really want to see: the most inadequate, underwhelming and downright awful footballers to grace the Premier League in the last 12 months. (N.B. This article would have been quicker to write by just listing the entire QPR side, but I was told that was a cop out. Bloody Journalistic standards.)

GOALKEEPER – Pepe Reina.
The Liverpool stopper has had possibly his worst season since arriving on these shores. In February, stats gurus Opta said that Reina‘s mistakes had cost Liverpool 14 points this season. Without those faults, Liverpool would have been sitting in 3rd place. His error against Manchester City — allowing Sergio Aguero to equalise from an impossible angle — all but ended his side’s Champions League challenge.

RIGHT BACK – Bacary Sagna. It’s always been easy to
malign Arsenal’s defence, but when you’ve been outshone by Carl Jenkinson, it really is time to have a long, hard look at yourself. Sagna’s inability to both attack and defend have caused Arsenal all sorts of problems this year, and the penalty which he managed to give away on Sunday summed up a fairly dreadful season for the once dependable Frenchman.

CENTRE BACK – Clint Hill. So yes, QPR are easy targets, but when you
have a glorified Sunday league player in your side almost every single week, going down is always going to be on the cards. Other than being a bit ’ard and British, it’s quite challenging to see what one would put into Hill’s ‘pros’ column. Harry Redknapp might be seen as a tactical mastermind, but seeing Hill’s name on the teamsheet must make Premier league strikers up and down
the land explode with joy.

CENTRE BACK – Titus Bramble. Do I really need to expand? He’s horrendous. Sunderland have been horrendous. And I see a direct causal link between the two. In almost every respect, Titus Bramble is currently stealing a living. The Wearside outfit’s defence in general is a who’s who of Premier League mediocrity: Phil Bardsley anyone?

LEFT BACK – Andy Wilkinson. If there were any footballer I would not like to meet in a darkened alley, it would be him. Yes, he can kick people. Yes, he can kick the ball quite high and quite far. Yes, both the abilities I’ve just named are probably top of Tony Pulis’s ‘Qualities I need in a footballer’ list. But in reality, Andy Wilkinson can’t defend, pass, shoot, tackle or dribble. A bit like me.

RIGHT MIDFIELD – Antonio Valencia. Last year, AV7 would have been in most people’s Top 11s, but he’s certainly suffered a dramatic fall from grace. His confidence seems to be shot, and as he’s no longer willing to take on his defender, his role in the United side is about as pointless as a Ryan Giggs superinjunction™. All in all, it’s been a barren season for United’s
wingers.

CENTRE MIDFIELD– James Perch. I never thought I’d have to say a Premier League footballer was ‘like a crap Danny Guthrie’ but… Perch, the ultimate utility man, has shown himself to be a jack of all trades, but he is certainly a master of none. His first half of ineptitude against Liverpool was truly the icing on a season which one could kindly describe as ‘limited’, or cruelly describe as ‘an absolute horror show of truly epic proportions’.

CENTRE MIDFIELD – Park Ji-Sung.
He was dropped from the QPR side. Must I elaborate? But seriously, this one is as surprising as it is upsetting. Always dependable for United, Park has failed to recreate his form in West London. Despite taking on the extra responsibility of captaincy, he couldn’t galvanise his team into the success he was used to. I’m still convinced he’s your man if you need a 0-0 away from home in Europe though…

LEFT MIDFIELD – Scott Sinclair. Okay fine, Gareth Bale had an alright season. Mr Sinclair on the other hand may be a new name to you all. He used to play for Swansea, remember? Tipped to play for England? One of the country’s finest young players? This season, however, he’s managed a grand total of 11 appearances in all competitions, and he often fails to make the Man City bench. This is a lesson for you ‘E and M’ers: don’t just follow the money kids.

STRIKER – Nikica Jelavic. Like every player that comes to England from the SPL, I tipped Nikica to make a huge impact and in 2011/12 I was proved right. But despite Everton’s success this season, Jelavic has fallen off the rails, managing only seven league goals. Outshone by Victor Anichebe, there are rumours that Big Sam is now eyeing him up – I hope he’s been working on his flick ons.

STRIKER – Emmanuel Adebayor. Did you see that penalty? Deary me. Often playing second fiddle to an onsong Jermain Defoe, Adebayor has struggled for form and goals this season, and it seems that he won’t be in AVB’s plans much longer. With Benteke on the Spurs’ boss’s wishlist, the Togan international may soon be heading to foreign shores. How does a nice £100,000 pound a week contract in the MLS sound to cheer you up, Emmanuel?

SUBSTITUTES
Chris Samba – QPR shelled out £12m for a series of clumsy performances
in central defence from the Frenchman. It was hoped Samba would bolster the R’s leaking defence, but he has done little to prevent their slide into the Championship.

Pavel Pogrebnyak – Reading hoped Pogrebnyak would supply the goals to keep them in the Premier League. He didn’t. Scoring a mere five goals so far this season, Reading have been forced to turn to the plucky Adam LeFondre who, for all his efforts, cannot be relied upon as a regular supply of goals.

Jammin to… ‘Biggest Fan Ever’ by Filthy Boy

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Filthy Boy’s lead singer Paraic Morrissey has got to be one of the scariest 19-year-olds I’ve ever seen, standing on stage with curled lip as he belts out lyrics about sado-masochism, rape and sex parties. With a voice that would sound threatening whatever it was saying, and an incredible talent for disturbing and haunting lyrics, he fronts Filthy Boy with a swagger which belies his young age. ‘Biggest Fan Ever’, the penultimate track on the band’s debut LP, is the story of a man who kidnaps another man with whom he is obsessed and plays out his sick fantasy of their marriage.

Right from the start, as Morrissey tells his imaginary victim “you ain’t goin’ nowhere/not ‘til you’ve been fed” in a laconic yet sinister drawl, a sense of discomfort is created which pervades the entire track. The chorus wades into Morrissey’s character’s sexual fantasies as he manages to inject even the most prosaic of lyrics with an undeniable threat, “I’ve just made the dinner/and you say it’s lovely” before becoming explicit, ordering his prisoner in no uncertain terms to “fuck me/you fuck me hard, hard in the arse like a superstar”. The song continues to build in distressing the listener, piling unease upon unease relentlessly until a climax is reached. The police find Morrissey’s character, and shoot him dead, only for the house in which they are hiding to burst into flames, “he’s taken them with him”. As Filthy Boy’s constructed world burns, Paraic’s brother Michael raises his lead guitar to a fever pitch and the song hits a crescendo as Paraic growls at the top of his voice “I’m your biggest fan ever/One day we will be together”.

This is definitely one for those who are tired of soppy love lyrics pervading everything they listen to, but it’s not one for those who don’t like walking down dark alleys alone at night. Especially when Paraic Morrissey is on the loose.

Review: 1984

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I was apprehensive before watching Matthew Dunster’s adaptation of 1984 at the O’Reilly. The density of dialogue and scarcity of action renders this play a challenging production. Originally a book by George Orwell, 1984 explores a dystopian world where ‘Big Brother’ rules ‘Oceana’, a country divided into party members, and proles. The proles are not seen as human beings. The slogans ‘War is Peace’, ‘Freedom is Slavery’ and ‘Ignorance is strength’ monopolise the characters’ lives. They are in constant fear of the thought police, who monitor any possible divergence away from the party. Orwell presents a love affair between party members Julia and Winston, and how they work to undermine their party through secret rebellion. However, their efforts are futile, as they callously betray each other and disintegrate into mere shells of human beings through psychological torture.

Matthew Dunster has done well to capture this horrific and unsettling omnipresence of the party throughout the play. The large screen in the theatre frequently plays a short propaganda film chanting praise for Big Brother, which furthers the credibility of the play and heightens the play’s disturbing air. The voice-over which reads out Winston’s diary entry as he fearfully scribbles away is powerful and skilfully done. Much of the play’s success does go, in fact, to its technical aspects, which really bring Big Brother to life on stage. Those who have read the book will be pleased to hear all of the most significant quotes have been incorporated; however they could have been injected with more intensity to procure further horror. ‘If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a man’s face-forever’: 1984’s most famous quote was rather lost amidst conversation.

The acting is good, particularly from Julia, who effectively portrays the character’s slightly masculine and provoking nature, and O’Brien, who maintains an aloof and sophisticated demeanour, and a wonderfully hypnotising voice. Winston’s character is harder to act, despite being the protagonist, for his is the least memorable. He has almost no charisma, as in the book, which makes the heavy dialogue quite dull at times. Perhaps Dunster has adhered too well to the book, and the play would have benefited from cutting a few scenes and reducing dialogue. This said, effort was put into providing constant background action such as meticulously coordinated robotic party members performing tasks.

One little hitch was the bed: the only prop on stage. It began to creak and crumple early on, and gradually, painfully continued until it collapsed as Julia and Winston sat on it. However, it was a relief when it finally did, and we could relax in the knowledge that it was at last broken.

Altogether, an ambitious but successful performance. 

THREE STARS

"Porn is not inherently misogynistic"

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The debate by Anna Cooban and Jennifer Brown in Cherwell on whether colleges should ban internet porn from their networks was badly argued, written and informed. Both pieces rested on dubious assumptions and a naïve approach to pornography: Brown’s article misused statistics astoundingly, while Cooban’s ignored some of the most important arguments in opposition to colleges banning porn.

Firstly, Brown showed a complete failure to differentiate ethically between consensual and non-consensual scenarios. For instance, the line “I am sure few will argue that porn which depicts women being raped, put into cages or performing oral sex on a dog, is really ‘suitable’ late night viewing” did not distinguish between the two acts which are both non-consensual and illegal (rape and bestiality) which are therefore already not permitted and require no further regulation, and an act which may well be fully consensual and part of a BDSM scenario (being put into a cage). Similarly, she states that it is not right for a woman to submit to her male partner during sex, which again erases the experiences of women who enjoy consensual BDSM activities (and assuming, as is often the way, that all BDSM involves female submission and male dominance).

Secondly, I want to touch briefly on Brown’s failure to demonstrate a causal link between the viewing of porn and cosmetic surgery: the argument essentially ran: “Porn! 9843 ‘boob jobs’ in the UK this year! Therefore porn bad!” One data point is not enough even for me to warn against assuming that correlation is causation; Brown did not even demonstrate correlation, or look at all at the break-down of that statistic.

Thirdly, Cooban’s argument against banning porn brings up, rightly, the way in which it is not just porn which affects self-image, behaviour, etc. However, she ignores two significant arguments against the banning of porn by college networks. The first is the way in which it affects students who may also choose to be sex workers, cutting off valuable sources of income. I quote from an email sent to me by a sex worker and Oxford alumna, Violet Rose: “Student sex workers might face loss of earnings if fewer people could view their sites and … purposely causing loss of earnings for other students seems like a wilful lack of worker solidarity between students, which may not have been apparent to more privileged (non-working) students”. (As requested, a link to her website. Largely safe for work.)

The second is just as significant: porn filters frequently block not just pornography and erotica, but also sexual health resources, particularly those for LGBTQ people: I would suggest that it would be negligent and harmful for colleges to put porn filters in place with this in mind. LGBTQ young people who require sexual information or even just wish to explore their sexuality using porn or erotica may be negatively affected.

Finally, I need to address the assumptions made by Cooban and Brown about porn. Porn is very much a feminist issue, but I take issue with the pessimism Cooban and Brown display. Much of the porn industry is misogynistic and aimed at men. But there is a burgeoning effort by many to produce ethical porn, porn which treats women as sexual agents and is female focused, queer porn (which treats transgender people with the respect often denied them by the mainstream porn industry) and feminist porn. There is erotica, for instance, like the Hysterical Literature video series (to be found on Youtube) which focus on women’s pleasure for its own sake, as opposed to more overtly performative displays of the female orgasm. For a college to institute porn filters banning ethically produced, non misogynistically presented and overtly consensual porn means that the filters boil down to preventing – or trying to prevent – adults making an informed decision to watch other adults engage in sexual acts, which is frankly bizarre. Porn is not inherently misogynistic and dangerous.

Review: The Goat or Who is Sylvia?

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The Goat or Who Is Sylvia? is Edward Albee’s disturbing tragedy which explores the morality of human beings when faced with issues of sexuality, pedophilia, incest, rape and most significantly, bestiality.

The play is being performed as part of Brasenose’s Arts Week which will commence in third week. It will appear alongside other plays such as Noel Coward’s Hay Fever.  I would, however, suggest that the Goat or Who Is Sylvia? willhave the most lasting effect upon audiences, due to its controversial and unsettling nature.

This play introduces us to Martin, a middle aged, world famous architect. Stevie, Martin’s wife of twenty years, is still madly in love with her husband and they both adore their teenage son, Billy. All of the characters are thoroughly content with family life. However, their world is shattered when Martin’s best friend Ross raises the question, ‘Who is Sylvia?’ at the end of Act 1. The response to this question consumes all of the characters for the rest of the play; for Sylvia is not only Martin’s lover but also a goat.

Martin’s neurotic hand movements together with the continual shaking of his leg, indicate he is unstable from the start. He is a tormented soul, trapped in a nightmare of moral oblivion, with no clear way out. Tom Dawling plays this character exceptionally well, creating a suitable balance between solitary depression and outbursts of real hysteria. Sarah Abdoo, as Stevie, cleverly portrays a mixture of anger and shock and her scathing attack on her husband is effectively manifested through her calm, yet blistering tone.

The most memorable scene of the play, for me, was that between Ross (Josh Dolphin) and Martin, where Martin reveals that his lover is a goat. Dolphin’s disgusted yet disbelieving expressions created an emotional scene, foreshadowing the breakdown of more relationships in Act 2.  With the exception of the odd slip away from the predominantly very convincing American accents, the cast have little to work on.

The play all takes place in one, initially very tidy sitting room, though by the end the set mirrors the disorder of the characters’ lives. The second half dragged on a bit, losing momentum at some points, simply because only one topic consumes every conversation; bestiality. The constant use of the word ‘fuck’ in multiple different contexts became slightly monotonous at times but in its literal sense was apt for a play overpowered by different forms of sexuality. In the final moments of the play, a further disturbing twist grabbed my attention. By the end, the audience looked physically drained- this is no play for the faint-hearted but most definitely worth a watch. 

FOUR STARS