What Does It Take To Make Andy Murray A Hero? Answer: Tears

It takes a lot to be a ‘hero.’ At one point you would have to traverse stormy seas and come back clutching some dark root that people could smoke or eat or shove up their arse to be called a ‘hero’, but now, in these heady days of exploding boob jobs, you can raise a family by yourself and be hailed as some sort of legend. Even though you’re just a single parent.

And what’s the problem with this? Calling people who aren’t a hero automatically turns you into a troll.

I’m not a troll. I wouldn’t go out of my way to say something offensive to someone just because I’m bored, or I’m waiting for Coronation Street to come back on a 8:30, but having opinions which don’t tally with the moral majority of Twitter users can sometimes make it seem like I am.

Case in point; Andy Murray.

Today, Andy Murray was hyped beyond compare. On Sunday morning he could’ve walked up to Buckingham Palace, strolled into the Queen’s bedroom and took a four day out shit on her and would still be Britain’s Tennis Hero, even though his record stands as impressive as a kitten playing with a plastic ball (except a kitten has a bit more personality). The man was thrashed so totally by Roger Federer that BDSM websites are hoping to make a killing from one man being dominated so badly by another.

But during his post-match speech the big jessie started crying. Upset that he’d been beaten so thoroughly, or because he knows what Judy will be doing to him tonight when he got home, who knows? But as the first tears started forming in his eyes, eager subeditors were already calling him a British hero.

A British hero who failed at almost every point to do what he should’ve done? What’s next? Giving a milkman who always delivers milk late and warm an OBE? Or why don’t we just put Katie Price in charge of the military? She’s had more failures under her belt than most. She must be a massive hero. Instead of being a massive cunt.

So what does it take to be a hero? Well, in Andy Murray’s case, not much. We, as a country, need to stop rewarding behaviour that is just average and promoting it to almost Godlike status. Is a woman who’s had eight children and brought them up by the scruff of their necks and speaks at length about how hard life is as a single mother, no matter how her friends try and get her to start being a total and massive bore, a hero? Of course she’s not. She’s a mother.

It’s not that being a mother is easy, because I don’t imagine it is, but is it more courageous and valiant than redefining what human evolution is? Of course not. What’s that, the doctors said you were barren but you managed to squeeze sprogs out and not have a job? Have a fucking medal, and a portion of my pay while you’re at it. No no, don’t worry, you’re a hero, and subsequently untouchable.

And as we head face first into the sweaty crotch of humanity that is the Olympics, prepare yourself for flowery and skin crawling descriptions of some of Britain’s best athletes as heroes and legends, but I’ve got one question…

Would Charles Darwin advertise Subway?

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