I’m no sports aficionado. For me a ball is about vintage Valentino and my black-tied guy waltzing us throughout Vienna’s Hofburg Palace during the “season”. For him, a ball is about that other kind in that other season where thick guys with swelling necks race across a playing field and try to crunch it like a herd of bison. If I’m going to be forced into the world of sports, I’m going to chardonnay my way … through the French countryside donning event-theme attire like last year’s Black Tie dress code in Southwest France. Pearls, Asics and chiffon made elegant bedfellows as 10,000 international wine lovers sprayed forth like gazelles into the sloping hills of Bordeaux. Each one gracefully lunged for that next sip-step along the Medoc Marathon’s prestigious wine route. Mon Dieu! An actual Wine Tasting Marathon! Weaving one’s woozy way across fertile vistas boasting one splendiferous chateau after the next was like a mirage. Is that a Rothschild in the distance, or just the blush of a Chateau Lafite blurring my vision oh so sweetly? One kilometre might require nine hours to complete but this particular sport leaves you with a kind of buzz even a Superbowl or Fifa World Championship might have difficulty competing with.