The BBC show has been going since 1968 and seen off all rivals, but there's a certain desperation to it these days that could spell disaster
A Question of Sport, BBC1's foremost programme featuring sportsmen asking questions about sport to other sportsmen, reaches its 1,000th episode on Monday night. Regardless of what you think of the show itself, this is a mighty achievement. The broadcasting world might have spun on immeasurably since the programme first aired in 1968, but A Question of Sport has proved that nothing endures quite like the sight of athletes in horrible knitwear chummily looking at deliberately obscured photographs of their peers.
It's a quite tremendous number – particularly given that most of those 1,000 episodes consist of little more than endless polite conferring between people not traditionally known for their verbal charisma. In fact, given how airless the show can often seem, the fact that A Question of Sport still exists is little short of a miracle. And yet it has seen off plenty of contenders, from They Think It's All Over to A League of Their Own, without so much as breaking into a sweat.
Perhaps the secret of the show's longevity is its ability to hint at change without ever really changing. Every few years the team captains get reshuffled – John Parrott takes over from Bill Beaumont, Willie Carson takes over from Emlyn Hughes – and the theme tune either gets more or fewer drums depending on the prevailing tastes of the era, but the format has always remained rigid. Get some well-known sportspeople (the entertaining ones; the ones who call themselves by their surname, but with the letter "Y" added on to the end), sit them in a studio, ask them lots of questions about what happened in the 1990 Rumbelows Cup semi-final and wait for the magic to happen.
A Question of Sport has been going for so long that it has now joined the ranks of entertainment institutions such as Doctor Who and James Bond. People will fiercely defend their favourite era, usually the first one they ever saw, as the definitive version of the show. My on-off (admittedly mostly off) relationship with A Question of Sport began when Bill Beaumont and Ian Botham were team captains, for instance, and for years I regarded everyone who followed – the Frankie Dettoris, the Ally McCoists, the Matt Dawsons – as little more than snotty upstarts. That's until I rewatched a clip of Beaumont and Botham trading monotonous anti-banter. Now I'm not sure A Question of Sport even had a golden era. Maybe its longevity is down to the fact it is just too inoffensive to ever kill.
If it did have a golden age, though, it certainly isn't now. In a bid to appeal to the youth, A Question of Sport has recently begun to succumb to the creeping Top Gearification that has affected so much male-targeted television over the past decade. A recent episode had captains Phil Tuffnell and Matt Dawson answer questions while wing-walking, for no good reason at all. And then, just a few weeks ago, this happened.
That's right. A Question of Sport did the Harlem Shake. There are few words that can fully express the horror of this video as several middle-aged men – many of them regarded as heroes by their fans – leap and jerk about in an imitation of something that they haven't seen and can't fully understand just because a researcher told them it was popular on the internet. Still, we don't needs words. Not when Tuffnell's anguished deathmask of a face says so much.
In all honestly, I can't see how A Question of Sport can last for another 1,000 episodes, especially when it's in such a state now. But perhaps it will. Perhaps it'll jettison the current captains, bung some more drums on the theme tune and convince everyone it's a brand new show again. The formula has worked so far. Why should it stop now?
A Question of Sport, BBC1's foremost programme featuring sportsmen asking questions about sport to other sportsmen, reaches its 1,000th episode on Monday night. Regardless of what you think of the show itself, this is a mighty achievement. The broadcasting world might have spun on immeasurably since the programme first aired in 1968, but A Question of Sport has proved that nothing endures quite like the sight of athletes in horrible knitwear chummily looking at deliberately obscured photographs of their peers.
It's a quite tremendous number – particularly given that most of those 1,000 episodes consist of little more than endless polite conferring between people not traditionally known for their verbal charisma. In fact, given how airless the show can often seem, the fact that A Question of Sport still exists is little short of a miracle. And yet it has seen off plenty of contenders, from They Think It's All Over to A League of Their Own, without so much as breaking into a sweat.
Perhaps the secret of the show's longevity is its ability to hint at change without ever really changing. Every few years the team captains get reshuffled – John Parrott takes over from Bill Beaumont, Willie Carson takes over from Emlyn Hughes – and the theme tune either gets more or fewer drums depending on the prevailing tastes of the era, but the format has always remained rigid. Get some well-known sportspeople (the entertaining ones; the ones who call themselves by their surname, but with the letter "Y" added on to the end), sit them in a studio, ask them lots of questions about what happened in the 1990 Rumbelows Cup semi-final and wait for the magic to happen.
A Question of Sport has been going for so long that it has now joined the ranks of entertainment institutions such as Doctor Who and James Bond. People will fiercely defend their favourite era, usually the first one they ever saw, as the definitive version of the show. My on-off (admittedly mostly off) relationship with A Question of Sport began when Bill Beaumont and Ian Botham were team captains, for instance, and for years I regarded everyone who followed – the Frankie Dettoris, the Ally McCoists, the Matt Dawsons – as little more than snotty upstarts. That's until I rewatched a clip of Beaumont and Botham trading monotonous anti-banter. Now I'm not sure A Question of Sport even had a golden era. Maybe its longevity is down to the fact it is just too inoffensive to ever kill.
If it did have a golden age, though, it certainly isn't now. In a bid to appeal to the youth, A Question of Sport has recently begun to succumb to the creeping Top Gearification that has affected so much male-targeted television over the past decade. A recent episode had captains Phil Tuffnell and Matt Dawson answer questions while wing-walking, for no good reason at all. And then, just a few weeks ago, this happened.
That's right. A Question of Sport did the Harlem Shake. There are few words that can fully express the horror of this video as several middle-aged men – many of them regarded as heroes by their fans – leap and jerk about in an imitation of something that they haven't seen and can't fully understand just because a researcher told them it was popular on the internet. Still, we don't needs words. Not when Tuffnell's anguished deathmask of a face says so much.
In all honestly, I can't see how A Question of Sport can last for another 1,000 episodes, especially when it's in such a state now. But perhaps it will. Perhaps it'll jettison the current captains, bung some more drums on the theme tune and convince everyone it's a brand new show again. The formula has worked so far. Why should it stop now?
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