E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

One of the best films of 2015 is called Concussion , and it stars Will Smith (the famous African-American actor) as a Nigerian (now-American) doctor, Bennet Omalu , who worked as a coroner's assistant doing forensic pathology in America's ageing rustbelt at the start of this century. In a year when the Academy infamously declined to nominate any Black actors in their four categories, it is startling to report that this extraordinary performance from Smith - which sees him barely resemble his usual self - was overlooked in favour of the hammy ham-fisted work in Trumbo , for instance. Concussion , however, is more than an opportunity to observe, yet again, America's ongoing cultural and racial splits and struggles. Instead, it is a film as terrifying in its ways as Invasion of the Body Snatchers , though based in real science this time; and as shocking and revelatory as The Insider , Michael Mann's late 90s story of whistleblowing and Big Tobacco. This time, the ...

Many who have watched the Greatest World Cup Ever can agree the last-minute battles of underdog teams has yet to be matched by the bold, selfless, and noble derring-do of the USA side in their tragic match against Belgium - tragic, in the sense that Homer 's work is, because so often the greatest are the flawed few, who fall before their time.  Especially deserving of praise is Tim Howard , already from this game a national icon in America back home, a goal keeper whose excellence, unnerved and ever-willing to leap and save, epitomises everything worth emulating about the beautiful game.  Beyond those who dive and cheat and bite, there stands the keeper with the stirring record of saves, Tim Howard, previously unsung, unheralded, now seen for what he is on the world stage.  In order to keep the fires of his memory lit, Eyewear welcomes poems inspired by this hero.  The first is by British poet Wynn Wheldon . ALBERT CAMUS CONSOLES TIM HOWARD C’est la vie, T...

Almost everyone in the world of tennis has lined up to kick poor David Nalbandian , suddenly the most infamous poor sport in recent memory.  I for one feel some sympathy for him.  Most people have a wee temper - not that they usually kick bits of wood perilously close to people's shins - and we can all imagine being a player, stressed, frustrated, tired, momentarily seeing red, and booting some wood.  It was Nalbandian's bad luck that the wood broke off, and badly cut an official's leg - a most unfortunate accident.  But accident it was.  Yet the look of pompous incredulity on the official's face suggests a certain noblesse oblige at work.  One does not do such things here.  Anyway, Nalbandian was immediately declared the loser, fined a great deal of money, and is even now being investigated by the police, who presumably have no murders or rapes to look into.  What a lot of nonsense.  The match was spoiled, the crowd and players denied a prop...

Tennis is a great sport - but the British press is ruining it with their obsessive need for a British winner at Wimbledon.  IS THIS MURRAY'S YEAR? blare the headlines.  Truth is, probably not, since at least three better players, a few the greatest ever to play on grass, are also competing.  Murray could win, if he was lucky and at the top of his game plus some, but he may not.  And, actually, who cares?  Why the need for a British winner?  This constant jingoistic urge ruins all the sporting events reported on here - rather than just focusing on sporting excellence from whichever nation it may hail from.  I say balls to Murray-obsessed tennis reporting.  Let the best men and women on the day win and well done to them.

Sad news.  Scotland-born American baseball player Bobby Thomson has died in the dog days of summer.  He hit the most famous home run in the sport - the shot heard around the world - which allowed the Giants to win the pennant .  The event has been immortalised in various films and books, not least Underworld .

What a week. Champagne at the Ritz for Britain's top poets. Now the daffodils are out, the sun is beaming, and the clocks spring forward. It is officially British Summer Time! Break out the barbecues! Don the wetsuits, swim the ice-cold seas, and prepare for Andy Murray to lose in the finals of Wimbledon, after Gordon Brown loses in May. Better still, who can wait to line their hamster cages with all those Summer Reading Lists, compiled by the friends-of-writers? Of course, it isn't all grim - with all the rain will come rainbows. And the grass will grow greenly, pleasantly. And the sand castles will be knocked down only to be rebuilt. Soon, back to school, leaves falling, and snow on the line, grinding Christmas shoppers to a halt. 2011, and a new Eliot winner. The cycle of life!

Those who heard Mr T. Woods speak yesterday are no doubt in one of two camps - those who think him facile, cynical, even hypocritical (or overheated in protest), and see this as a laughable celebrity moment - and then again, those who (or so I hope) see the pathos and significance of what could be a genuine flood of change, taken hold of in this man's onrushing loose life. The important words, surely, were "I need your help". Billionaires, world famous and great at their work, rarely stoop to such vulnerable postures. There is something of the New Testament in such a humbled mightyman, calling for help. In that series of books, he would have received it, from a loving man-God, who forgave all and accepted all sexual sins. Sex addiction , such as Mr. Woods has bluntly explained it, is no joke. Rather, it seems the virus of the age - and not just for those, such as he, who had immense power and immense opportunity. The Internet now permits anyone to access lewdness that w...

So it isn't just me, wee Canadian in Britain that I am, who has finally recognised, then recoiled from, the toxic bite of the endless, sinister snake that is the British media. Now the Vancouver Olympics chief has hit out at what Eyewear has been noting all week - a brutal and cynical news cycle of attacks, bent on downgrading a superb event, due to one tragic accident, and unseasonably warm weather (as if the English can keep their own weather under control either!). People in glass houses indeed - and what does this warn about the coming media storm in 2012? This sort of media approach has often sidelined and diminished poetry in the UK, too - because any thing based on love, enthusiasm and good news tends to ask to be kicked and trampled, apparently, by the kitten-bashing talking heads and journalists of these isles.

Canada's winter-discontent games are whizzing like a snowball with a rock in it. On the one hand, the opening ceremonies folded the Luge tragedy into the pomp like the end of Star Wars with Jacques Rogges solemnly ruling over his quasi-fictive utopia with emotive solidity; on the other hand, the rain has postponed events, Heil lost her golden moment, and Celine Dion didn't sing at the opening, where dysfunction kept some of the pillars slow to rise; on the other hand, KD Lang sang Cohen with genius and it was good to see the fiddle and Who Has Seen the Wind back in pride of place; on the other hand, the display of oil-rich Cannuck bravado was off putting - though what other nation (GB?) would place a slam champ on a pedestal to mouth stirring sub- Cicero corn? The rise of spoken word at the games confirms my Poetry Nation prediction of 12 years ago. Hopefully neither sleet nor Heil will slow the games as they slide on. The black arm bands are the lining of a silver games...

Eyewear is a staunch supporter of the Olympic movement, and, as a Canadian landed in London, is wide-eyed at the lack of British interest in the Vancouver Games , about to begin in a mostly snowless environment that beggars belief. The British like their hardware, and their medal haul at the summer games were impressive. They don't do snow that well - leaves on the tracks slow them, snow halts the nation. Winter does not inspire athleticism here, but weary hunkered down stoic getting on. So it is, Team GB aims to win three medals. Meanwhile, the big story about Canada's team is two-fold: a) they've never won a home Gold: and b) they have created a scientific project to plan to dominate their own games. That seems oddly inhospitable, but it was time to do Soviet-era science on the bobsledders. The Winter Games are good spectacle. Cool eyewear, Velcro and Lycra. Stupendous spills. Rocketing pucks. May the flame never go out!

Perhaps one of the greatest Six Nations rugby games of all time has just ended, with Ireland winning their first Grand Slam since 1948, against Wales. The game was only won in the last few seconds. Great effort all around. Bravo.

Not wanting to be a turncoat (I normally root for Team Canada) but the British team at these Olympics has been showing proverbial grit and determination - and, thankfully for female sport - showcasing the depth and quality of British women athletes. First, there was that gutsy road race the other day (and a long-needed gold medal for Wales, and the UK) from Cooke - and now, an incredible, and mostly unexpected triumph in the water, for women's 400m freestylers, Adlington and Jackson . Their race was so well-paced, and so team-oriented (both supporting the other) it could almost be the bespoke Olympic story - forget Phelps and his drive for massive amounts of gold, here were two unsung hardworking, big-hearted swimmers, who merely pulled excellence out of the bag when it was most needed. Well done! As an aside, it'd be nice if the BBC showed a few more competititors from other countries from time to time - the focus of all national broadcasters is obviously meant to be on the ...

Eyewear would like to congratulate Man United on their paper-thin victory over Chelsea last night in Russia. It was moving that the win came on the 50th anniversary of Man United's air disaster. The question of whether evenly-matched contests between strong sides should be determined by penalty shoot-outs has long been debated - as everyone says, it becomes a lottery. But then again, maybe not. The side who wins this way has slightly a) more luck; b) more skill; and c) a depth of manpower able to confront the elements, and the pressure of the moment. That set of gifts will always belong to the better team, on the night.

The "jagged emblem" and logo for the 2012 London Olympics has just been unveiled, and it is hard to imagine a more ill-conceived, unattractive, and ultimately, confusing design. It actually manages to take athletics, one of the most beautiful, thrilling and fluid of human endeavours, and render it ugly and dull. What could the other runners-up have looked like, one shudders to think, if this beauty was the winner? http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/other_sports/olympics_2012/6718243.stm?dynamic_vote=ON#vote_olympic_logo