Richard Dunwoody falls at first hurdle in Strictly Come Dancing
It’s a bloodbath. First Martina Hingis, the former Wimbledon champion, crashes out in the first round to an unseeded Crimewatch presenter. Then Richard Dunwoody, twice a Grand National winner, falls off at the first cha-cha-cha and gets trampled all over by some bloke from Coronation Street. Sport’s challenge for the Strictly Come Dancing 2009 title — so robust on paper, so promising in expectation — is officially in crisis.
How to explain the former champion jockey’s early downfall? And how to explain that underpowered and, indeed, hearse-ready waltz that meant that Dunwoody was making up ground from the off? And there’s no point blaming that ground, by the way. The going was firm to shiny — ideal ballroom conditions.
Better, perhaps, to point the finger of blame at something that Lilia Kopylova, Dunwoody’s professional dance partner, noticed about him very quickly — namely “no natural rhythm”, a huge handicap to be carrying around a course as long and as gruelling as this one. It was like asking a man to ride around Aintree with a microwave oven tucked under one arm. That’s what it looked like, anyway, especially during that waltz.
So, once again a representative of the sporting community takes the Strictly bullet. And once again only the bookmakers are happy, because anyone who studies the form will have been tempted to pile in, surely, when they noticed that Dunwoody was slated to ride with Kopylova, the huge-hearted 31-year-old who carried Darren Gough to that shock victory over Colin Jackson in 2005.
Thank heavens for Phil Tufnell, is all we can say. And we didn’t expect to say it. We were sure he would be intimidated by the awe-inducing precedent set by the other cricketers in this competition — Gough and, especially, Mark Ramprakash. We feared the rigorous training regimen wouldn’t automatically play to Tufnell’s strengths as an athlete. Added to that, we just assumed he wouldn’t be much cop at dancing.
True, Tufnell is the only member of the present field who knows what it’s like to win a reality television major (I’m a Celebrity ... Get Me Out of Here! in 2003). But the feeling beforehand was that two weeks in a televised sleeping bag was no real preparation for the long-haul bump and grind of pro-celebrity ballroom.
One beautifully negotiated waltz and a truly barnstorming cha-cha-cha later, though, and that thinking is already beginning to look shaky. It could turn out that the difference between chewing on a kangaroo’s privates in a Bush Tucker Trial and getting the mother and father of all dressing-downs from Craig Revel Horwood is narrower than we all thought.
The judges were broadly impressed, although a smattering of confusion descended when Horwood described the former England spin bowler’s arms as “flagellant”. “What does that mean?” Tufnell asked in the greenroom. Tess Daly hazarded a guess that it meant “limp”.
According to my dictionary, though, “flagellant” means “somebody who whips himself or herself as a form of penance”. Furthermore: “Somebody who finds sexual gratification in whipping another or being whipped”. That’s quite a lot for a have-a-go cricketer to communicate with his arms during his first regulation Latin routine, you could say. But I suppose that’s the magic of dance.
I have to say, for me and for those I was watching with, Tufnell’s cha-cha-cha was an entirely painless joy — a minute and a half of unadulterated bliss, in fact. Just to see the man’s tongue working so hard to keep up with his feet and his hips filled one with a confidence in his physical resourcefulness that wasn’t always there during his playing days, especially when he was batting. There was a moment, later in the routine, when he spun his partner, Katya Virshilas, away from him across the floor and ... well, shades of his 11 for 93 against Australia at the Oval in 1997, frankly. Can sheer likeability carry you all the way to the final, though?
History suggests that there comes a point eventually, in every series of Strictly, where the laughing has to stop and the dancing has to take over. Well, we’ll see. But, in the meantime, let’s dare to dream.
Elsewhere on the night, there were intimations of the series’ first wardrobe malfunction when Jo Wood’s dress appeared to start melting on Brendan Cole’s trousers, leaving the two of them attached to one another by long, sugary strings. Had their routine gone on much longer, and involved much more spinning, the pair would have resembled a fairground candyfloss maker, with Cole as the stick.
We mention this confidence-sapping misfortune because it’s probably only Wood who can prevent the woefully under-equipped Joe Calzaghe from leaving via the fire exit this week, an outcome that would complete a three-week run of misfortune for sport that we can hardly bring ourselves to contemplate. Talk about flagellant.
It’s a bloodbath. First Martina Hingis, the former Wimbledon champion, crashes out in the first round to an unseeded Crimewatch presenter. Then Richard Dunwoody, twice a Grand National winner, falls off at the first cha-cha-cha and gets trampled all over by some bloke from Coronation Street. Sport’s challenge for the Strictly Come Dancing 2009 title — so robust on paper, so promising in expectation — is officially in crisis.
How to explain the former champion jockey’s early downfall? And how to explain that underpowered and, indeed, hearse-ready waltz that meant that Dunwoody was making up ground from the off? And there’s no point blaming that ground, by the way. The going was firm to shiny — ideal ballroom conditions.
Better, perhaps, to point the finger of blame at something that Lilia Kopylova, Dunwoody’s professional dance partner, noticed about him very quickly — namely “no natural rhythm”, a huge handicap to be carrying around a course as long and as gruelling as this one. It was like asking a man to ride around Aintree with a microwave oven tucked under one arm. That’s what it looked like, anyway, especially during that waltz.
So, once again a representative of the sporting community takes the Strictly bullet. And once again only the bookmakers are happy, because anyone who studies the form will have been tempted to pile in, surely, when they noticed that Dunwoody was slated to ride with Kopylova, the huge-hearted 31-year-old who carried Darren Gough to that shock victory over Colin Jackson in 2005.
Thank heavens for Phil Tufnell, is all we can say. And we didn’t expect to say it. We were sure he would be intimidated by the awe-inducing precedent set by the other cricketers in this competition — Gough and, especially, Mark Ramprakash. We feared the rigorous training regimen wouldn’t automatically play to Tufnell’s strengths as an athlete. Added to that, we just assumed he wouldn’t be much cop at dancing.
True, Tufnell is the only member of the present field who knows what it’s like to win a reality television major (I’m a Celebrity ... Get Me Out of Here! in 2003). But the feeling beforehand was that two weeks in a televised sleeping bag was no real preparation for the long-haul bump and grind of pro-celebrity ballroom.
One beautifully negotiated waltz and a truly barnstorming cha-cha-cha later, though, and that thinking is already beginning to look shaky. It could turn out that the difference between chewing on a kangaroo’s privates in a Bush Tucker Trial and getting the mother and father of all dressing-downs from Craig Revel Horwood is narrower than we all thought.
The judges were broadly impressed, although a smattering of confusion descended when Horwood described the former England spin bowler’s arms as “flagellant”. “What does that mean?” Tufnell asked in the greenroom. Tess Daly hazarded a guess that it meant “limp”.
According to my dictionary, though, “flagellant” means “somebody who whips himself or herself as a form of penance”. Furthermore: “Somebody who finds sexual gratification in whipping another or being whipped”. That’s quite a lot for a have-a-go cricketer to communicate with his arms during his first regulation Latin routine, you could say. But I suppose that’s the magic of dance.
I have to say, for me and for those I was watching with, Tufnell’s cha-cha-cha was an entirely painless joy — a minute and a half of unadulterated bliss, in fact. Just to see the man’s tongue working so hard to keep up with his feet and his hips filled one with a confidence in his physical resourcefulness that wasn’t always there during his playing days, especially when he was batting. There was a moment, later in the routine, when he spun his partner, Katya Virshilas, away from him across the floor and ... well, shades of his 11 for 93 against Australia at the Oval in 1997, frankly. Can sheer likeability carry you all the way to the final, though?
History suggests that there comes a point eventually, in every series of Strictly, where the laughing has to stop and the dancing has to take over. Well, we’ll see. But, in the meantime, let’s dare to dream.
Elsewhere on the night, there were intimations of the series’ first wardrobe malfunction when Jo Wood’s dress appeared to start melting on Brendan Cole’s trousers, leaving the two of them attached to one another by long, sugary strings. Had their routine gone on much longer, and involved much more spinning, the pair would have resembled a fairground candyfloss maker, with Cole as the stick.
We mention this confidence-sapping misfortune because it’s probably only Wood who can prevent the woefully under-equipped Joe Calzaghe from leaving via the fire exit this week, an outcome that would complete a three-week run of misfortune for sport that we can hardly bring ourselves to contemplate. Talk about flagellant.
