I remember the first time we met – I was a young, naïve student in Australia. We met at a friend’s house and I was totally blown away by you. I think there may have been a rugby match on, or something we had all come to watch. I was dazzled by you – couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were a Fox. You were so different from anything I had experienced growing up in Zimbabwe. I saw you several times over the four years I spent here as a student but never thought I would ever have you. I wanted you badly. You were beyond me. I couldn’t even pluck up the courage to talk to you, or email you, instead resorting to gawking at you across the room whenever we crossed paths.
I moved to London in 2001 and wondered if I would ever have the pleasure of seeing you again. Amazingly, I met your sister Sky. I shouldn’t have been surprised, she was so popular, and everyone knew her. Everyone loved her. And she loved everyone. She wasn’t like you, but she did look a lot like you. She was more arrogant, more aloof, further out of reach. Just like you she loved her sport and movies, but from what I heard she liked money the most. I must have seen her in almost every pub I ever visited. Slag.
When I moved back to Australia for good eight years later you were still on my mind. I wondered what you would be like if we ever bumped into each other again. It wasn’t long before I found out – I saw you in a shopping mall. You hadn’t changed much; you were more breathtaking than you had ever been – like you were in HD, or something. You were promoting an end-of-financial-year sale. I couldn’t resist, I simply had to talk to you. There was no point asking if you remembered me, I knew you wouldn’t, but I told you I remembered you very well and had thought about you all those years in London. You were flattered but didn’t have time for small talk, so I cut to the chase and asked if you wanted to get together. You said yes! I was so, so happy.
The first six months together were bliss. The early months were in winter 2009 and we spent as much time as we could indoors at my flat, remember? Those were the days. You were happy to let me watch whatever I wanted and we had those infinite comfortable silences. Watching sport with you was amazing. Sometimes we would have to record it if there were other things to do, if you know what I mean. Of course you know what I mean, you always did have a great IQ. Coming home from work was the best – you knew when I didn’t want to talk and just left me to control the remote undisturbed. Sometimes we would go for months with hardly any conversation. I know I shouted at you once in a while, and to your credit you never once talked back. And at least I can say that it didn’t take me long to work out how to press your buttons. People say your kind is complicated, but you really aren’t. You don’t want or need much, just to be turned on once in a while, right? A little … electricity every now and then? A little spark? I thought that was enough. Sadly, I was wrong.
I don’t know what happened to us after the first six months. We hit a rocky patch. I wish it was as simple as the batteries just running flat, but it wasn’t. I started to ask if I really needed you in my life. I know you didn’t need me, I could tell. We were beginning to turn each other off. Your movie selections left a lot to be desired. I took to reading, jogging, golfing, watching DVDs and going to the cinema. You just sat there. Square. Boring. So we decided to take a break from each other.
Well, life just wasn’t the same. I kept seeing you out and about and people kept asking about us. We must have been apart for a year or so. I eventually broke – I couldn’t take it anymore. I called you and begged you to reconsider, but I didn’t have to beg, did I? You wanted the same thing! I was over the moon when we got back together! It was a crazy time … I wanted to have you in every room! We were insatiable together, like something off Animal Planet! I promised to spend more time focussing on Lifestyle and less time on ESPN, you promised not to demand so much financially. I promised to pay more attention to TLC, you promised not to cut me off all the time. We had a good run. We had a lot of laughs. We spent a lifetime watching Seinfeld re-runs, but the question always lingered, didn’t it? Was this right? Was this meant to be? Was this love? No. Emphatically, no.
I know the precise moment I realised things weren’t going to work out between us. I was supposed to be cleaning one morning. I couldn’t motivate myself. I was doing some half-hearted dusting in the bedroom. I thought I would go and put the kettle on, but what the hell did I stumble across? I’ll tell you what … your Discovery Turbo Max +2. What the hell was this? I was speechless. Livid. I’d never felt so betrayed. Just when I was trying to figure out how to talk to you about it, you got your friend Bethany to call me at work. That was a low blow. I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say to her. When she told me this relationship was unsustainable in its current form, I was devastated. Who is she to tell me? Bethany explained that you were leaving on July 8th, and that nothing I could say would change your mind. I was helpless. My paltry offer of $57 a month to get you to stay in all your glory just wasn’t enough. It was like I was on the verge of losing a part of me. I went home and slumped into my recliner, and stared at the wall. And you know what? I got out of that recliner and made a Thai red curry. I turned on the radio and listened to the BBC World Service – they had a report on about how a German pianist was redoing AC/DC’s entire collection as classical concertos. I put some pictures up on the wall. I set up internet. I went for a walk. Washed the car. Phoned my family. Rode my bike. Booked a holiday. And you know what I realised? That there is a whole world out there without you! I HATE you Foxtel! I never want to see you again, ever! I HAVE the entire Seinfeld collection on DVD, for God’s sake. Why the hell would I watch it with you? I’m free! Free [view] at last!
Ahem … does anybody know what the score is in The Open Championship?
Friday, 20 July 2012
Monday, 19 March 2012
Hey Adam, can we have our football back?
Rarely is my patience for idiocy stretched to the point where I feel I must dust off the keyboard and clear my virtual throat for a rant. And seldom do I express a loathing for anything relating to sport, notwithstanding my previous berating of Elderick Tont Woods – and yes, that is his name; a name that befits an ageing has-been. Sadly, however, idiocy and sport too often meet. They have, once again, eloped into a sordid sunset for a brief and catastrophic romance, which, on this occasion, has resulted in the national icon, Eddie McGuire.
Before I continue, allow me to douse the flames of abuse already crackling in the mouths of Eddie-lovers out there. I have nothing against the man. I have always admired his autocue and earpiece skills used with aplomb to give the impression of being intellectually gifted on Millionaire Hot Seat. I have watched in awe at the restrained, eloquent advice he often metes out to umpires when proudly wearing a Collingwood tie. It is along this AFL vein, however, that I take umbrage. The season is finally upon us and this year we have been subjected to countless instalments of Eddie’s supposedly rousing AFL promotional message.
In this glossy marketing video, we are treated to a string of astonishing marks that defy gravity, a montage of emotional moments from the 2011 season and a series of references to pride, strength, grit and determination that appear to make up the modern-day player. However, the last line out of Eddie’s multi-chinned mouth suggests that the things we love about football today – the drama, the excitement, the skill, the sublime, the unfolding seasonal stories of success and failure – have absolutely nothing to do with the game’s natural, historical evolution. Apparently, according to Eddie, old Tom Willis was not one of the founding fathers of this great game back in 1858. Apparently, according to Eddie, the origins cannot be traced back to rugby or the even older “foot balle” played in Ireland in 1527. According to Eddie, this game’s origins go much farther back, to the dawn of time, in fact. According to Eddie – wait for it – footie is “the greatest thing God ever invented.”
Yes people, footie is not just the greatest sport God invented, but the greatest thing He invented. Never mind the apparent genius behind the construction of a woodpecker’s tongue. Never mind the deft touch it must have taken to knock together the Great Barrier Reef. Evidently, as God was engineering an entire planet – in the dark, as Ricky Gervais so brilliantly points out – He amazingly had time to suggest a quick backyard Garden of Eden kick-about for Adam and Eve. Of course! It wasn’t an apple, it was a shiny new Sherrin!
What an absurd, ill-advised and ignorant thing to say about a sport. I say ill-advised because I can only assume, somewhat in Eddie’s defence, that some ad agency flunkie with a scraggly beard, a John Deere cap and Onitsuka Tiger trainers, who is convinced he sits somewhere near the Stephen Colbert end of the wit scale, has stuffed these pearls of wisdom into Eddie’s mouth. But more fool Mr. McGuire for uttering the words without protest! Isn’t it bad enough we invented the idea of a God, let alone the notion he returned the favour with an oval-shaped leather ball? Are we delusional? Why can we not just give ourselves a pat on the back and say, “footie is the greatest thing we’ve ever invented”? OK, it’s not, but you get my point.
At the end of the day, I must confess it is neither the fault of Edward McGuire, nor of the Zach Galafianakis-wannabe ad agency flunkie. It is the fault of the AFL’s governing body who commissioned this drivel. The magic of sport, in all its disciplines, is that it is supposed to circumvent all things relating to politics and religion, ensuring it is played in its purest of forms and most natural of manners: competitively; respectfully; enjoyably. If the AFL is aiming to embrace a multitude of cultures and communities in this country, then why is footie not the greatest thing Allah ever invented, or Ishvara, or Yahweh? Well, I’ll tell you why: for the simple reason that we humans, through a period of amazing evolution, invented footie ourselves. As we did the wheel, the second wheel, tiddlywinks, cheese rolling and the ahh-bra.
Before I continue, allow me to douse the flames of abuse already crackling in the mouths of Eddie-lovers out there. I have nothing against the man. I have always admired his autocue and earpiece skills used with aplomb to give the impression of being intellectually gifted on Millionaire Hot Seat. I have watched in awe at the restrained, eloquent advice he often metes out to umpires when proudly wearing a Collingwood tie. It is along this AFL vein, however, that I take umbrage. The season is finally upon us and this year we have been subjected to countless instalments of Eddie’s supposedly rousing AFL promotional message.
In this glossy marketing video, we are treated to a string of astonishing marks that defy gravity, a montage of emotional moments from the 2011 season and a series of references to pride, strength, grit and determination that appear to make up the modern-day player. However, the last line out of Eddie’s multi-chinned mouth suggests that the things we love about football today – the drama, the excitement, the skill, the sublime, the unfolding seasonal stories of success and failure – have absolutely nothing to do with the game’s natural, historical evolution. Apparently, according to Eddie, old Tom Willis was not one of the founding fathers of this great game back in 1858. Apparently, according to Eddie, the origins cannot be traced back to rugby or the even older “foot balle” played in Ireland in 1527. According to Eddie, this game’s origins go much farther back, to the dawn of time, in fact. According to Eddie – wait for it – footie is “the greatest thing God ever invented.”
Yes people, footie is not just the greatest sport God invented, but the greatest thing He invented. Never mind the apparent genius behind the construction of a woodpecker’s tongue. Never mind the deft touch it must have taken to knock together the Great Barrier Reef. Evidently, as God was engineering an entire planet – in the dark, as Ricky Gervais so brilliantly points out – He amazingly had time to suggest a quick backyard Garden of Eden kick-about for Adam and Eve. Of course! It wasn’t an apple, it was a shiny new Sherrin!
What an absurd, ill-advised and ignorant thing to say about a sport. I say ill-advised because I can only assume, somewhat in Eddie’s defence, that some ad agency flunkie with a scraggly beard, a John Deere cap and Onitsuka Tiger trainers, who is convinced he sits somewhere near the Stephen Colbert end of the wit scale, has stuffed these pearls of wisdom into Eddie’s mouth. But more fool Mr. McGuire for uttering the words without protest! Isn’t it bad enough we invented the idea of a God, let alone the notion he returned the favour with an oval-shaped leather ball? Are we delusional? Why can we not just give ourselves a pat on the back and say, “footie is the greatest thing we’ve ever invented”? OK, it’s not, but you get my point.
At the end of the day, I must confess it is neither the fault of Edward McGuire, nor of the Zach Galafianakis-wannabe ad agency flunkie. It is the fault of the AFL’s governing body who commissioned this drivel. The magic of sport, in all its disciplines, is that it is supposed to circumvent all things relating to politics and religion, ensuring it is played in its purest of forms and most natural of manners: competitively; respectfully; enjoyably. If the AFL is aiming to embrace a multitude of cultures and communities in this country, then why is footie not the greatest thing Allah ever invented, or Ishvara, or Yahweh? Well, I’ll tell you why: for the simple reason that we humans, through a period of amazing evolution, invented footie ourselves. As we did the wheel, the second wheel, tiddlywinks, cheese rolling and the ahh-bra.
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