A lovely pair of bouncers

This turned up in my inbox, from a friend who shall remain unnamed.

It reminded me of a time where a good old-fashioned spot of tit- and willy-flashing was an accepted part of televised sport; whereupon the commentators would have a bit of a chuckle, the cameramen would enjoy themselves and everyone at home tut indulgently.

These days the camera veers wildly into the crowd whenever a streaker rears their ugly, erm , uglies and David Gower frantically starts filling while we stare at the score cars for three minutes.

It's a bloody tragedy as far as I'm concerned, and there are many sporting events that could do with being enlivened by a jiggling pair of breasts while a disbelieving Graemme Swann looks on.

For if the prevailing puritanism in sports TV coverage had always been the norm, how many of us would have enjoyed the thrilling childhood frisson of seeing Erica Roe's gigantic bosom; that bloke vaulting the stumps at Lord's in '75; another chap having his privates covered by a constable's helmet; that picture of a chuffed Botham chating to a topless beauty; and Andrew Symonds absolutely demolishing a streaker at the Gabba.

All those funny little moments are, sadly, no longer a possibility in today's world, where countries go to war over a misplaced nipple of a full moon before the watershed.

No young cricket fan will ever hear Richie Benaud's wry aside on seeing a couple of pert bumpers; no cricketing doubles entendre will again trouble the airwaves; never again will uncontrollable laughter echo around the TMS box on the site of a couple of googlies.

Woaaah! Jeez!