Competitions and domestics, a healthy balance.

I took my girlfriend bowling on Monday night, and what should have been a celebration of alpha male sporting dominance - almost became a crushing defeat that John Terry would have been proud of.

I'm sure all guys can relate to the burning issue of how easy to go on a girlfriend when it comes to sport. There's the consensus that a good chap should big up the spirit of the competition, give his girl a chance and then narrowly snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. All in the name of what? Sexual favours in the bedroom? I'd rather not lower myself to such antics.

Alas, I took her bowling with the intention of pummeling her score in to oblivion. And things started positively on that note. While I was serving up a half decent first game, she was striving not to gutter her every go. This brought out the compassionate "let's make sure she doesn't abandon all hope and storm off in a huff" side of me - and I offered her a little encouragement where I could.

Then the second game arrived and, well...she beat me.

I'd like to point out that while I lost on points, I won on style. Never in my life have I seen a girl bowl a ball and have time to re-arrange her hair and powder her nose - all before the ball gets to the bloody pins. I refuse to believe she knocked them down. They were simply bored off their feet. In to a shootout we went and my excuses were frothing in the pot.

"Well, I have to let you win something."

"It's not my fault the score isn't registering properly."

"You sabotaged my bowling finger in the ice cream freezer, you psychopathic wench."

As the future of our relationship flashed before my eyes - through gritted teeth and spectacular nerve - I managed to sneak a one point victory in the deciding game. Fairy tale endings prevailed, a smug grin returned and my condescending offers of a rematch after she'd "practiced a little more" emerged through the Heathrow night.

I may lack integrity, but I still wear the bowling shoes in this relationship, god damn it.

On the subject of sporting achievement, did anybody hear about Usain Bolt?

He's a 21 year old Jamaican athlete in the 100 meters who happens to be a little bit nippy. Just this past weekend, he set a new world record with a time of 9.72 seconds. Did anybody see the giant photograph in the newspapers?

It had a beaming Bolt, hands pointing at a trackside clock with "Fastest Man on Earth" and the time on display. Now I'm thinking, is that really something to brag about? 9.72 seconds? I expected more from a big black man.

It got me thinking though. Just what athletics event is your sex life? I'll settle for being a "Done in Sixty Seconds" 400 meter hurdle wonder. Always rising to the challenge, but occasionally getting my balls in a twist. 

It's all a bit pointless, really. Everybody knows I'd only take up athletics if it meant I could wear spandex. Bright pink spandex.