Following the demise of Setanta Sports, I thought I would register with ESPN, the sports network that has picked up the wreckage from Shitanta to televise live football in Scotland. I phoned last night in the hope of getting some half decent football for £10 per month. They're offering SPL and English Premiership games every week although Sky have the pick of the games. That said, the Dundee United-Hearts game is being covered on Monday night - not that that influenced my thinking...
However, my attempts at getting subscribed to the channel were akin to negotiating the MaastrictTreaty. On Friday evening around 6.45, I spoke to some young lass over the phone who took my details...
Name?
Mike Smith
Smith? Can you spell that for me?
S-M-I-T-H.
Thanks. Do you have a date of birth?
Yes, thanks.
What is it?
26-02-62
1962?
Hmm. Let me think for a minute.
Name?
Mike Smith
Smith? Can you spell that for me?
S-M-I-T-H.
Thanks. Do you have a date of birth?
Yes, thanks.
What is it?
26-02-62
1962?
Hmm. Let me think for a minute.
If you could be quick, sir, we have a lot of callers waiting to get through.
Oh, I'm so sorry. Now, Henry Allingham was born in 1896 and had just passed away. As he was Britain's oldest man, that would mean I must have been born in NINETEEN sixty-two as I'm not quite 147 years old. Do you want me to spell that for you?
That won't be necessary sir...
I do apologise. I thought I had phoned ESPN, the sports network but it seems I've got through to an organisation dealing with ESP instead...
She duly took my payment details and informed me she wouldn't be able to take my credit card details and asked if I had a debit card. I gave her the details, she thanked me and told me to keep my television on Channel 16 for the next couple of hours. Channel 16, I asked? That's the QVC Shopping channel. Yes, she affirmed, this would be necessary for the signal to decode (whatever that meant)
Three hours later - and having muted the television to avoid the incessant cackling of middle aged women selling shoes - there was still no ESPN on my television. Cue another thirty minutes on the phone to customer services and receiving irritating reminders that my call may not be answered immediately due to the high level of people wishing to join the new service. Eventually another young lass answered my call. She informed me there was no record of my details. But, I protested with more than an air of irritation, I had spoken to someone three hours earlier. This cut no ice. Rather than go through the whole damn process again I snapped at the girl on the other end of the phone, slammed down the receiver and headed for bed in a foul mood. Despite the huge advance in technology in recent years it seems the relatively straightforward process of subscribing to a television service over the telephone is still a step too far. Especially when they employ snotty-nosed teenagers who don't have a clue what they're meant to be doing.
This morning I skipped the idea of phoning again and instead registered by the website. Why I didn't do this before I really don't know. This time my credit card details were accepted and the sports station was active a couple of hours later. And tonight I watched Arsenal destroy Everton 6-1. Without wishing to concern my good friend Lizzy in the Hei'lands - she is an avid Celtic supporter and her side face Arsenal on Tuesday - The Arse were quite magnificent. It might be an idea for Gary Caldwell and co. to wear brown shorts on Tuesday evening...
To cut a long rant short - if you fancy subscribing to ESPN don't bother phoning the school leavers with attitude. Go to the website instead - at least it won't ask you which century you were born in...
