Monday Sports Wrap

What an awesome sporting weekend!

First up, The Ashes, which came down to the last few overs but unfortunately ended in a draw. There's players we can point fingers at, such as Michael Hussey, whose sacking I was calling for pre-tour and managed only three runs. But, although he proved again that he is one of the best batsmen ever, Captain Knucklehead for some reason decided he'd put Marcus North in for a bowl when England were nine wickets down and we only had a few overs left. The English tail poked and prodded North all over the Welsh countryside and managed to see the day out. The ghost of Dylan Thomas laughed at us. Siddle was on fire, Johnson, though bowling erratically, was still capable of taking off their heads, but no, Ponting, with his inbred Tasmanian low IQ problem, put in a part-timer and we end up with a draw. Ah well, at least there was some argey bargey... I missed it but apparently Johnson and Siddle got their backs up and were hurling abuse at the pommy batsmen. Johnson went chest to chest with Pietersen and after Siddle whacked a player with a bouncer, he sledged him for getting medical attention. That's the spirit.

Tour de France was also awesome, though Cadel Evans got fucked up the arse by a group of nine breakaway riders who refused to let him ride with them. I couldn't be bothered explaining the nuances of this - tactically its complex and unless you sit and watch the race it makes no sense, but know this: Evans was fucked up the arse after attempting one of the bravest moves in recent Tour history. He probably won't win the Tour because of it, but he will take home the moral victory. One thing I do love about Cadel Evans is that like Ian Botham, when interviewed, he avoids sporting cliches and actually speaks his mind. He could have said "Oh, that's racing, I'll just have to concentrate on the next stage..." but no, he said of the incident, ""Ah ... I just get so sick of being told: 'Why don't you go in an early breakaway? Why don't you do this? Why don't you do that? You'd think anyone in the Tour de France would let me go in a breakaway, and then when they get into a break with me ... they carry on like three-year-olds with their tantrums.".

The footy was also fantastic. Though Richmond appears to be tanking and wouldn't beat the Lorne Under 12's, it's exciting to see some of the younger players show a bit of dash. Though we like our footy players with names like Barry, Ian and Kevin, the next generation of Tiger stars are called Trent, Jayden and Robin. Pooncey names, but exciting prospects. I've never actually said that of Richmond for 25 years... And Ben Cousins? Wow. Fucking starring. We at least got that one right at Tigerland. Geelong losing was also intriguing to watch. Yes, they were missing half their stars, but even so, it's Geelong. You just assume they'll win, but now they've lost two in a row. Some are calling their demise, but I'm going the opposite. Hear this: They will be unbeatable in September. Also, the Hawthorn v North match was the best one to watch because it was like the 1970's. It hailed, the players were covered in mud, it was low scoring... Awesome. Finally, Barry Hall gave up. I'll miss him. It was like having Vyvyan from The Young Ones on the Swans team - mindless violence was always an option, and that was half the fun of watching Swans games.

In other news: Mark Someone, an Australian, won some car race thingamy. I'll leave it to ShitBMX to comment rapturously on that piece of triva. And at the pub last night for Mermaid's 20th birthday, I got into a game with some locals where you had to think of film titles and change the last word to 'cunt'. So, The Bourne Identity becomes the Bourne Cunt. Dead Poet's Cunt. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Cunt. Full Metal Cunt. For some reason, the game spread across the party and it was played for hours with much enthusiasm by all. This is the reason one should never make any life decisions when drunk.

War, and the pity of War

Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds, -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?

I know Blackadder made a crack about the “the suffering, the horror, the endless poetry” but I have a soft spot for Wilfred Owen.

Poor bastard died a week before the war ended.

In life, as in poetry, timing is everything.

Go Away!

Isn't this lovely.

Wouldn't you think these arseholes would just go away? The only people they appeal to are fucking cunts. The party is made up of fucking cunts. They are all fucking cunts.

I'm calling for all members of Australia First and anybody who supports them and anyone who says 'I don't vote for them but I think they have some great ideas' or anyone who says 'I'm not racist, but...' or anyone who is anti-immigration just because they don't like foreigners or anyone who thinks all Muslims are terrorists, or all Aborigines are no-hopers or all Asians are drug-smugglers, to be transported on crowded, diseased, rotten timber ships, to a specially designed island made of dogshit and drunken teenagers' vomit, somewhere in the southern ocean. There, nobody will want to migrate to your country, you slime-bags.

Let us now praise Senator John Faulkner.

Senator John Faulkner is a man of many talents.

He’s from the left of NSW politics and survived, which proves he is a man of some talent and passion and also has the hide of an elephant.

He was one Labor’s best performers while in opposition and his intelligence and skill during Senate estimates hearings was wildly discussed by Canberra watchers.

His early performance as Special Minister of State in the first Rudd cabinet was admirable and he introduced many important reforms which, if passed into legislation, will go a long way towards making the Federal Parliament more transparent and accountable.

But most importantly, I’m told he’s an absolute fiend on the dance floor.


Also - Senator Penny Wong's not wrong!

Myf gets stiffed.

In what could be described as a “surprise to few” Myf Warhurst and the other one, the greasy fat cunt, what’s his name, Peter something, have been given the arse finish up on air from “dick rock” radio station Triple M.

The Herald Sun notes;

Guy Dobson, head of content at Triple M's parent company, Austereo, yesterday said the pair would finish up on air on Friday July 31 with a new show expected to be launched this year.

Triple M breakfast hasn't resonated with our audience, so we're going to work on creating a brand new breakfast show that is different to everything else on offer in this city and one that is aligned with the Triple M brand," Mr Dobson said.

The show “hasn't resonated with our audience” eh? Well, durr.

Why they thought the few remaining hipsters who listen to Triple J would switch over to said “dick rock” station just because of Ms Warhurst’s “zany rock chick” shtick when they had a perfectly good d-grade “zany rock chick” replacement in Marieke Hardy is beyond me.

Happily Ms Warhurst is an ABC mate and I’m sure she’ll be looked after – possibly doing the drive programme for Radio Burnie; the ABC equivalent of internal exile.

But Myf, here’s a hint. Never believe your own bullshit.

As for the other one; the greasy fat cunt, what’s his name, Peter something - who gives a fuck.

Why? I really want to know.

Why do people watch reality television? Is it voyeurism? Is it a desire to see the underdog win? Is it because they think they might see real talent, or real personality? Is it an opportunity to rub one's hands together in glee at the traumatic politics of a group of people from diverse backgrounds coming together in a high pressure environment? Is it to see people succeed? Is it to see people lose? Is it because there's nothing else on and books, music, films, conversation or rooting aren't an option? Fucked if I know. What I can say is this:

Up until recently I had never, ever - and I mean it sincerely - I really never have, I promise, seriously, without falsification, embellishment or exaggeration, watched an entire episode of a reality television program. Never. Ever. Never had the desire. Never had the interest. Never thought I had the time. However...

I somehow got caught up in the MasterChef brouhaha. I like cooking. I'm interested in it. I cook at home. I cook reasonably well, if not a little conservatively. And despite the myriad cooking show options available, I found myself tuning in. Sure enough, after a few episodes, I was hooked. I know everyone's names, I have favourites, I have enemies. I wish for the demise of some, the success of others. I get tense prior to eliminations. I scoff at bad meals and cheer for the great ones. I plan my own dinner to be ready on the dot of 7pm, so I can sit with the missus with plates on laps and watch the whole drama unfold. And talk about it as if we personally know the contestants. As if it was of great importance. As if the future of mankind depended on it.

The thing is, I see it for what it is. I know how these shows are made. I understand that it's all contrived to maximise ratings. I know there's the token Asian, the token spunk, the token black man. I hate the incessant repetition, I hate the bad editing, the melodrama and the cliches. I hate the hypocrisy, the product placements and the inane and superfluous semi-host (er, the 3 judges are men, better get a woman in there, even if she is vacuous).

But I watch it anyway. Religiously. What have I become?

At long last! The tractor poem!

The role of the Soviet tractor, as previously advertised, will be played by an American tractor.

There will be no refunds.

Snub nose, the guts of twenty mules are in your cylinders and transmission.
The rear axles hold the kick of twenty Missouri jackasses.
It is in the records of the patent office and the ads there is twenty horse power pull here.
The farm boy says hello to you instead of twenty mules—he sings to you instead of ten span of mules.
A bucket of oil and a can of grease is your hay and oats.
Rain proof and fool proof they stable you anywhere in the fields with the stars for a roof.
I carve a team of long ear mules on the steering wheel—it’s good-by now to leather reins and the songs of the old mule skinners.

Thriller vs Purple Rain

Jackson could dance, oh yes, and his film clips were well produced and engaging, but in Year 8 / Year 9 at the time of Thriller's release I was more a Prince fan than a Michael Jackson fan. As far as black solo artists were concerned, young teenagers at the time had to pick one in a Holden vs Ford manner. I was in the Prince camp. Purple Rain was guilty of self-aggrandising twaddle, and the film was fucking shithouse, but I dunno, the music had edge. So just like St. Kilda vs Geelong this week - two unbeatable titans up against each other - allow me to pitch these two mammoth records against each other.

First Quarter
'When Doves Cry' vs 'Billie Jean'

One is about a relationship breakup, one is about a false relationship and paternity claim. Both have random 'yeeep' and 'hoo' squeals to punctuate the lyrics.

Both rely on a very basic thump-shuffle beat with stripped back music in the verses, then a catchy singalong anthemic chorus. However, once we get past the first chorus of BJ, there's not much to look forward to. It just stays the same, unless you happen to be watching the film clip where you have the moonwalk to look forward to, whereas WDC has the arpeggio synth build up in the final verse and chorus.

BJ has more vocal range, but WDC has better lyrics. WDC also boasts a more global theme (we've all had relationship failures, and not so many paternity confusions).

Winner: When Doves Cry

Second Quarter
'Let's Go Crazy' vs 'Beat It'

These are the more upbeat rockier songs from the albums. LGC is about living life to the fullest and being a bit reckless because yo' gunna die 1 day, and BI is about trusting in your own strengths and not letting yourself be bossed about. Both reasonable themes for a song.

BI is a very tidy pop-rock song, again with the polished film clip with great dancing. It's got a great stupid chorus that 14 year old boys can sing along to while punching the air, and with it's kind 'gang in da hood' feel it's delightfully rough n tough, while still being safe.

LGC is kinda more sleazy than tough, and Prince, obviously keen to show off his music talents, muddies the song with way too many instrumental quirks, but where he gets an edge on MJ is with the 'sermon' at the start complete which church organ (and that distinctive Prince beat kicking in after about 45 seconds) and that awesome fucking outro where his guitar solo is so fucking rock ... Led Zep and Hendrix would be proud to have composed it.

In body, maybe BI wins the battle, but as a whole piece, LGC wins.

Winner: Let's Go Crazy

Third Quarter
'Thriller' vs 'Purple Rain'

Though they are very different musically, they need to go head to head because they are a) The title tracks and b) The epics of each album.

Thriller is about monsters in the dark (with sexual undertones) and PR is about trying to keep a relationship together.

Yet again, both with the epic choruses, but Thriller is to dance to, where as PR is all about swaying your cigarette lighter in the air.

As a lighter-sway song, PR does the trick, and 'Purple' rain is an intriguing visual, but when it comes to intruguing visuals you can't beat monsters comin' at ya in the dark. Add to that, even I remember being totally hooked on the Thriller film clip when I first saw it in its entirety (I would've been about 13).

I'm not such a big fan of the Thriller chorus though... it's a bit lame after such a good build up, but then again, Purple Rain goes on just a little bit too long. Prince made his point early, and gives us nothing more other than endless chorus repetition.

Winner: Thriller

Fourth Quarter
'The Beautiful Ones' vs 'The Lady In My Life'

This is the battle of the slow love songs. Both are boring as batshit and ruin both albums. These are the ones you skip over. Lyrics are also awful.

From TLIML:

And I Will Keep You Warm
Through The Shadows Of The Night
Let Me Touch You With My Love
I Can Make You Feel So Right
And Baby Through The Years
Even When We're Old And Gray
I Will Love You More Each Day
'Cause You Will Always Be The Lady In My Life

From TBO:

Paint a perfect picture
Bring 2 life a vision in one's mind
The beautiful ones
Always smash the picture
Always everytime
If I told u baby
That I was in love with u
Oh baby, baby, baby
If we got married
Would that be cool?
U make me so confused
The beautiful ones
U always seem 2 lose

Which is worse? I'm not sure. Both should be arrested. Both of them go for an excrutiating 5 minutes as well. But, I'm going to have to give the nod to Prince, mainly because he at least gives us that sonic boom-beat to hook on to during the song, and if you were going to have a shag while listening to these two songs, you'd probably go Prince because he at least sounds like he knows what he's talking about, whereas MJ is not convincing as a Romeo figure.

Winner: The Beautiful Ones

*

Obviously, Jackson's presence in world culture is bigger, and his influce on music history is also a lot bigger - he is largely responsible for the so-called 'RnB' genre that sullies pop music today, with its vocal gymnastics, compulsory dance proficiency and lame, lame lyrical content. But on music alone, Prince wins in my mind.

But I would like to point out that back in 82-84 at High School, there were other pop artists that were comparable. Madonna, obviously, but whack in Culture Club and Duran Duran as well, even Frankie Goes To Hollyood, The Police, and of all of the above, in hindsight, FGTH had the most innovative sound.

But let's also not forget that I grew up in Australia, and I tell you this (and Lewd Bob, who went to Generic High with me may agree): no bands at our school were bigger or more adored than Chisels, Oils, INXS and Angels. If they weren't in your Top 5, you got beaten up.

Mid-week history lesson.

The foreign policy of the Soviet Union between 1928 and 1933 is commonly described by historians of the era as “third period communism”.*

The thinking of the boys** at the Comintern was that western society since the revolutions of 1917 had moved in three distinct phases; the “first period” of the initial revolutionary challenge, the “second period” of seeming capitalist revival characterised by the boom of the 1920s and the final “third period” characterised by the Great Depression and the rise of fascism.

The thinking was that fascism was the “final stage” of capitalism and that as the mask began to slip, more people would embrace the revolutionary policies of local communist parties. To that end, local communists were instructed to bring down democratic governments, even if it meant collaborating with local fascists.

The comrades did as instructed and, to take the example of Berlin, worked happily enough with the Nazis to bring down the local Social Democratic state government.

Gee – didn’t that work out well?

These cunts have form when it comes to backing the wrong horse.

* And unofficially described to me by an historian at a party as “a fucking disaster for all concerned”.

** You note I don’t say “the boyars at the Comintern”. Marvel at my restraint.

Well done, those skinny, naked vegans.

And a big hello to the knuckle-heads at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) for doing what I had previously thought impossible – making me feel sorry for fashion designer and “personality” Alannah Hill.

For those coming in late, PETA in the past have;
* Claimed a spate of shark attacks were “revenge”*,
* Stated parents who fed their children meat were indulging in “child abuse”,
*Said people who bought animals from pet shops were guilty of “genocide”** and
* Nude up at every single protest, thus forcing the world to witness more skinny white vegan flesh than is recommended***

PETA – go away, just go away.

As Morrissey once said “that joke isn’t funny any more”

*Revenge for what, they don’t say. Maybe the sharks were forced to watch Jaws 3

** Or possibly “petocide”.

*** Recommended safe viewing level of skinny white vegan flesh is currently set at zero.