My name is Tony Maguire and I run an investment platform for the sale and resale of indigenous artwork. You can find out more about me at www.cashforculture.com
We finally had confirmation. The news that we’d all been waiting for, the entire nation. Since this whole nasty business started with apparent reports of someone eating a Pangolin we’d all been waiting to hear whether the 8th Sexy Walrus Triathlon would take place. Careful planning and last minute coordination and manic WhatsApp messages from the Brains gave us the all clear and we were on. With face masks and hand sanitiser at the ready we were on.
And so the day came and we gathered on Saturday 19th September for the 8th sexy walrus annual triathlon in a field by the river Thames in west Oxfordshire.
The transition area was a blaze of Brookes trainers, Huub wetsuits, shiny 2litre engine cars and some serious looking upper body muscles. Gone are the days of town bikes, getting a lift with mum and a dubious beer belly – now transition looks like a scene from Made in Chelsea if they were to do a Triathlon. (Except they wouldn’t as they are soft as sea worms). White teeth, smooth hairless bodies, expensive haircuts, toned physiques, lips pouting, and the latest trainers, oh… and the carbon… my god the carbon on display was extraordinary. And why shouldn’t we be smiling?! We’re rich!
But that’s not to say that we’re all equal! God no! There’s a strict hierarchy and long may it continue. But let it be known that 2020 was the year the pigs became a little more equal. For were it not for the unmistakeable fear in their eyes, for the way they scattered wildly whenever the seals revved the engines of their stationary convertibles, you might not even have recognised them as pigs at all.
No, this year was a very fine year for pigs alright. Participants and spectators alike strolled up and down the gangway commenting on the smoothness of their skin, the brightness of their eyes, the alertness of their ears.
In years gone by the pigs have been in a truly pitiful state. Rough, dull coats, laboured breathing and obvious fight lesions were commonplace. But not anymore. No, at Sexy Walrus 2020 even the pigs looked well looked after, fat and happy.
Yes the triathlon has come an awfully long way in 8 years. If you sit quietly and cock an ear to some of the older, wiser walri, you’ll hear stories of when there was no safety boat, just a young boy employed to slip around the reeds. You’ll hear of the ‘cash for time’ marshalling scandal where late disgraced financier Frank Spoon finished dead last but upon collation of the scores, was later awarded the overall winners medal with the fastest ever recorded time. You’ll hear about all manner of near misses, wrong turnings and genuinely reckless behaviour usually involving Ed English or Roman.
But with all the sparkle and confidence that was now spread across transition that’s not to say the 2020 edition was uneventful.
It was a real pleasure to see some new faces this year amongst the usual suspects. The strange thing was that some of these faces seemed to have old names and possibly older bodies. Ed English for example was in the team sheet, I saw his car parked in the field, but I could not spot him at all. I’ve known the man for 10 years and I would swear he wasn’t there. However there his time was after the race, a solid time, and another T2 victory to boot.
A chap called Tom Fleming turned up, perhaps in the body of Ed English, but not his face, which I would have spotted. Tom was notable for 2 reasons, he had calf muscles that could have been carved by Michelangelo himself and he set a new swim record and is now the fastest walrus swimmer we’ve seen!
Oliver Damone was another new fish. He bravely wore an Ironman two piece which left little to the imagination. I for one say kudos to that kind of showmanship.
Alec Leslie was making his debut dressed in extraordinary colours with shoulder length hair and the kind of likeable air normally associated to airline pilots. He was a favourite and the fellow seals were watching him carefully. He has a reputation for being pretty disorganised and the fact that he’d made it to the event felt very much like 1-0 to Alec over his rivals. Wetbeak and Goosebeard held their tongues.
Josh Tomlinson, Whitoo, Tom Mogford, Julia Schollick and Kirty Wheeler were also breaking their ducks and turned up looking the part and were ushered into their groups by the veterans before the briefing began.
As George sounded his horn for the briefing to begin, things got more serious and moved from Made in Chelsea to a Fast and the Furious pre race showdown. Nervous smiles, arrogant laughs, shows of strength and passionate kissing took place while the race rules were read. The new fish gathered for warmth and security while the favourites gave each other the side eye while the mid table rivalries licked their lips or bit the heads off some rats. Engines were revved, people were removing underwear, Nitrous Oxide gels was being poured down gullets. Ride of the Valkyries was strangely been played out at top volume by two mental looking guys in a dinghy. It was 9.15am.
It was a glorious morning in mid September though and the race conditions were perfect. For 90 minutes we were to turn this back water peaceful hamlet on the banks of the ancient Thames into downtown Los Angeles. 90 minutes of sweat, blood, tears and guttural sounds usually reserved for drunken bedroom liaisons.
The race was fast (save for the now infamous ploughed field). Tim Ellis had clearly paid off the right man at Thames Valley as the cops turned a blind eye. It was hot race and seriously sexy. Personally I spent some time sat behind a number of people on the bike, risking penalties for drafting, gazing at their powerful hind quarters and equine pistons going up and down. I could have been out there for hours or minutes there was no way of knowing, I was lost during those wonderful moments.
There were no deaths in the water, mix ups on the bike course and Roman’s Bane claimed no victims. The closest we got to injury was a single near full mental breakdown from Alex Hadcock It was initially a cause for concern as he’d been out on the course for what felt like hours but when questioned what happened to him he simply said ‘I have a lot on my mind.’ Fishy.
Roman’s Bane: Roman Lagnado once took a tempting wrong turn on the bike, cycled straight into a disused leather tannery and fell into a tank of toxic chromium salt.
At the finish line a social distanced hug and kiss for all. The briefest of fist bumps or elbow nudges felt far too inadequate for this pride of lions, sea lions. Shirts were off and a lot of preening took place. Stephen let off a military grade flare.
Matthew Maguire, rippled with muscles, soundly thrashed his younger brother (me) thus continuing our thousand-year feud and Ian Bayly drowned a swan, receiving a 10 second penalty and a formal warning from the Marshalls.
Ben Thornton was soundly beaten by his wife Nic who again had a great race, thus resuming their thousand-year feud.
Andy Swartz shed his White Fang title with a strong showing and DN managed to make it through, much to his surprise. Alec Leslie finished the race and continued running only to hop into the open boot of a Volvo which promptly drove off.
Pete Sammon and Rob France made up for last year’s unpleasantness and Duncan Singh said one really horrendous thing which I can’t repeat. Ed English picked up his 4th fastest T2 trophy.
And the winner? This was the third ever direct stand-off between Graham Goosebeard and Ed Wetbeak. Graeme going for his 4th win and Ed going for his 2nd in a row. Ed Wetbeak came up trumps, thus continuing their thousand-year feud.
OH AND White Fang? Dicky Tyler a giant of a man, became the fastest ever white fang with an extremely respectable time of 1.29.57. No embarrassment there, a shame in some ways. As a former White Fang I am sometimes nostalgic for the days when White Fangs would have rotten eggs thrown at them as they crossed the finish and have their tyres let down or someone would sneak into their house that evening and unplug their freezer.
A tempered lunch of burgers and vegan pie preceded a brief award ceremony ended the season. No debauched dinner at the castle this year. Ed was presented with his winners horn and George Dix took home the giant walrus for winning the season long championship with an honourable mention for Kat Barker. A few laughs, a few tired faces, a few hurried trips to the single lavatory was a tame end to an extraordinary season and a wonderful day.
Next year is going to be huge. You mark my words. There’s already talk.