Prince of Denmark

Mina herrar (och på tok för få damer), låt mig få presentera en vän som jag hoppas kommer att bidra mycket till BBB framöver. Jag har bett Dane Thomas att medverka här, och när BBB har fått sin efterlängtade ansiktslyftning hoppas jag kunna publicera Danes texter på ett mer framträdande sätt. Tillsvidare får ni hålla till godo med vårt enkla format, för orden är fortfarande det viktigaste.
Årets TdF, Rasmussens bortknuffande från tronen och vår vånda över beskådandet tolkas utmärkt genom orden från en annan, dock äldre och fiktiv, dansk prins.


Daner’s Soliloquy to the Tour de France

To watch, or not to watch: that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (borne by those involved,)
Or to blog against a sea of troubles
And by our eloquence, attempt to minimize the effects thereof? To tune out: to ignore:
No more; and by ignoring to say we end
Our heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That our sensibilities are heir to, ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To tune out, to ignore;
To dwell on stages past: perchance to dream; ay, there’s the rub;
For in closing the mind to stages present and future what dreams may come
When we as spectators have relinquished our numbers
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so many years of attention
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The cheaters’ wrongs, the Pound man’s contumely,
The pangs of deflated hope, the law’s delay,
The insolence of those who report bad news for their own gain and the spurns
That patient merit of the enthusiast takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a click of the remote? Who would fardels bear,
To plan and watch under yet another glorious July,
But that the dread of missing something of significance,
The non-Discovery rider whose virtue and effort
Outdistances all, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to other pastimes that we know not of?
Thus curiosity doth make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of doubt,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their tales become sullied with uncertainty
And lose the name of action. – Soft you now!
The chaste spirit of fair competition! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be the sins of all who have wronged thee remembered.

******
With heartfelt apologies to The Bard. Those wishing for a bit of clarity on some of the antiquated English terms should see the following link: Hamlets monolog

Daner.