New mint balls please. Miss *****Pova to serve from the pick ’n mix counter

 
'Sugarpova' collection launch at Henri Bendel, New York, America - 20 Aug 2013 Maria Sharapova at the launch of Sugarpova inspired fashion accessories exclusively at Henri Bendel in New York City
REX/MediaPunch
22 August 2013

Years ago in Yorkshire a bloke called Michael Howerd changed his name by deed poll. He’d had a run-in with his bank, who charged him a £20 fee on a £10 overdraft he held with their branch in Horsforth, near Leeds.

It was one of life’s petty injustices, and most of us would have reacted with a sigh, a shrug and maybe a moan down the boozer. But not Howerd. He changed his name legally to Yorkshire Bank Plc Are Fascist B******s. Every time the bank wrote him a letter or cut him a cheque, this was what they had to call him.

God knows how much it cost. More than the fine was worth, I’m sure. But that’s not the point. Michael Howerd, or rather, Yorkshire Bank Plc Are Fascist B******s, had used the most basic fact of his identity to stick it to the The Man. Michael Howerd had won.

This week, the world’s richest female sportswoman, Maria Sharapova, announced that she, too, was considering changing her name. Reports from America said she had lawyers petitioning a Florida court to effect a temporary ruling, so that when she played in the US Open she would legally be known as Sugar T**s.

Thus, at Flushing Meadows, we would have heard such amusing umpire calls as ‘Miss Sugar T**s to serve’ and ‘Advantage Miss Sugar T**s’ and ‘Miss Sugar T**s is challenging the call’. It was all set to be hysterical.

But alas! Last night Sharapova pulled out of the US Open, citing a shoulder injury. Poor Sugar T**s! Poor Sugar Shoulder! But actually, it doesn’t matter, because Sharapova has done very nicely out of the tournament without hitting a ball. The whole name-change palaver, you see, has helped her to publicise her line of sweets. And yes, of course, they are not called Sugar T**s. They are called [REDACTED].

[REDACTED] come in many flavours, including Chic, Quirky, Silly, Spooky Sour, Sporty Pink and I’m Basically A Principle-Free Corporate Huck-bag Whose Presence Demeans Any Major Sporting Tournament In Which I Participate. (That last one used to be called ‘Cheeky’, but it changed its name by deed poll.)

You’re probably munching on one now. But look, here’s the thing. According to Forbes, Sharapova earned £18.5million in the year to June 2013, making her the 22nd wealthiest sports star on earth. Most of all that wonga came from endorsing stuff. She’s a seller.

Now, is a global sports star selling sugary snacks to America — presently the second fattest nation on earth, after Mexico, with an obesity rate of 31.8% per cent — a decent or necessary act? Well, no. It’s probably thoughtless, unethical and wrong.

On the other hand, Sharapova, in ­trying to sell her own line of junk food, is only dancing to the jingle of modern sport.

The US Open’s official food and beverage sponsors include only upmarket booze brands. (Moet & Chandon, Heineken and Grey Goose.) But ­elsewhere in the world the biggest sporting sponsors include the manufacturers of crisps, sweets, burgers, chocolate bars and sugary drinks. All the stuff that sport ought to teach you not to consume.

If Sharapova is still playing tennis, rather than being a full-time Willy Wonka, at Rio 2016, then McDonald’s, like Coca Cola, will still be Worldwide Olympic Partners, flogging refined sugar and saturated fat through the greatest sporting gathering on earth.

Elite sport, and elite sports stars, are already so tucked up in bed with fast food and junk food that they are all-but using a Big Mac for a pillow. In that context, maybe we should just applaud Sharapova’s brazenness and entrepreneurial spirit and be done with it.

But then I think about the loopy but brilliant NBA star once known as Ron Artest, who now goes by the name of Metta World Peace. He changed his name not to make a fast buck by selling kids preservative-heavy, sugar-packed candy, but to try and get everyone in the world to be a bit nicer to each other.

The Eric Cartman in me wants to scoff at Metta World Peace for being a goddamn hippy. But better that, surely, than b****y Sugar T**s.

Seeing through the window pain

The impending close to the transfer window has a lot of people rather hot, sweaty and incredibly quick to take offence. Everton this week stamped their feet and called Manchester United’s double bid for Leighton Baines and Marouane Fellaini “derisory and insulting”. Alan Pardew (above) looked like he was about to cry when he spoke about Arsenal’s bid for Yohan Cabaye. It’s football, gentlemen. And it’s business, too. Don’t take it so personally.

Clubs don’t need England to thrive

So, only a third of players starting the first weekend of the Premier League were English. It is really hard to avoid linking the decline of the England football team’s ambition and performance (at all levels) in recent years with the clubs’ growing preference for foreign players.

The trouble is that — unlike in cricket, say, or rugby — the clubs don’t need England to be successful. In fact, England is basically an annoyance and a hindrance to them. There is, in other words, no incentive to change.

No longer a game of two laughs, Ian

GETTY

Fair play to Ian Holloway. In his remarks to the press before Crystal Palace’s opening Premier League game against Tottenham, he said: “I’m trying to talk in a way so people don’t think I’m funny any more.” True to his word, straight after the match, a vaguely controversial 1-0 defeat, Holloway (above) launched into an energetic complaint about refereeing. The FA found this so funny that they charged him with bringing the game into disrepute. Who’s laughing now? (Clue: no one.)

Broadly speaking, Lehmann’s wrong

Darren Lehmann, by contrast, is still funny: “I just hope the Australian public give it to [Stuart Broad] right from the word go for the whole summer and I hope he cries and he goes home.” Right. Broad may have annoyed the Aussies (and others) by not walking at Trent Bridge. But he has also effectively decided the last two England v Australia series with two unplayable spells of bowling. There’s only one team that ought to be crying all the way home and they play beneath the Baggy Green.

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