Tag Archives: predictions

Reuben for England!

He’s had his critics, but Reuben showed a lot of character tonight and stepped up to the plate (or the flash cards with Dreamies on them) and put in an excellent display of football predicting.

He came flying out of the traps early doors — so much so that he actually missed the treats altogether and walked right over them. But once he got his head in the game he was gobbling up the England treats first.

Well done, cat. As the last remaining knight of the templar said in that Indiana Jones movie, you chose… wisely. I’ve found that I say this quite a lot in my day-to-day life, where appropriate (obviously). I say it almost as much as Bob Peck’s ‘clever girl’ line in Jurassic Park, for when Daisy uses the litter tray instead of the area of floor just in front of it.

True, the consequence of Reuben getting not getting his prediction right wasn’t to age rapidly, turn into a nasty skeleton and then get kicked into the corner by Harrison Ford where he’d turn to dust and get blown away by a mysterious breeze, until only a Nazi pin badge remained. But still. You can’t take it away from him (whatever ‘it’ is).

Live TV is a dead duck. And who watches a dead duck? Not even its mother. It just flies off, depressed (there’s always room for a Partridge quote). One of the very few things I’ll watch live on TV is England matches. I can’t pause it and watch it on any sort of delay because Baxter’s dad — the guy who lives in the house opposite — is loud as hell. I always know when Leeds have scored, or missed a sitter, because of that sweary foghorn. Even watching the England game live tonight, he was somehow a second or two ahead of us, so he served as a slightly annoying early warning system until I thought to close the back door.

We don’t know actually know his name, by the way. All we know is that the dog is called Baxter, so he’s Baxter’s dad. I’d say that’s genetically improbable, but people like Coldplay and vote for Farage. You can’t trust people, Jeremy (Partridge and Peep Show? Only the best for my one reader!).

As for the England performance, it was very good. You could almost say it was exciting (which is ridiculous, really!). Scored four, could’ve had more. A little wobbly and uncertain in defence, but you can’t have everything. Reuben knows this. That’s why his cries for more Dreamies were in vain.

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Reuben makes an Arse of himself

We asked Reuben (the cat) who would win the Champions League final tonight.

I don’t normally turn to cats for wisdom, or think they’re particularly clever (which is where the similarity between me and ancient Egyptians ends, sadly) but when you’re sat on the fence and don’t know what to think, they can be useful.

They must be useful for something. Reuben mostly sits around all day, sleeping, and when he’s awake he’s pulling up the corners of the carpets, sometimes vomiting on them, and using the litter tray five minutes before we have visitors. That can’t be all that he is, surely.

I began forcing Reuben to predict the outcome of football matches about 12 years ago and his success rate was fairly impressive (so much so that I set up a WordPress site to document it).

He was no Paul the Octopus. As we all know, the more arms you have, the more likely you are to predict the outcome of football matches correctly. Scientists proved that a long time ago (that’s why, if you go digging, you’ll find that most betting companies have octopuses in tanks in their offices).

I’m not sure Reuben has any arms because all four of his limbs are legs. The odds really were (and still are) against him, which makes his achievements all the more remarkable.

Anyway, he let us down tonight. He walked straight to the flash card with ‘Arsenal’ scrawled on it and ate the treats in front of that, and for a good while it looked like he was going to be right.

He’d likely argue that he was let down by Arsenal’s anti-football approach and the commentators being weirdly complimentary of it), but if he was doing his job he’d have seen that coming and simply eaten the PSG treats.

We’re not yet sure if we’ll be seeking his predictions for the upcoming World Cup. Reuben is a notorious anti-Trump cat and has suggested he might boycott it, or go on strike. But aren’t all cats on permanent strike over everything anyway?

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