RIP Cricket: Australia's Shame

I used to look forward to Cricket season. It meant that I could dust off my scorebook and special scoring pencil and spend my holidays in front of the telly diligently marking the score during another enthralling Test Series. What’s more I could get shit faced while doing it. However, that was last summer. This summer I’m over Cricket. I’m divorcing myself from the game. She is dead to me.

I did try watching some cricket but I finally released why non-cricket fans found it so painfully boring. The first test between SA and NZ was, lets be honest, of a pretty poor standard (Amala, Kallis, Steyn and Bond excepted) and the AUS Vs Sri Lanka was downright tedious. Nope, Cricket is no longer a part of my summer diet.

There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly, the last of the great personalties has gone. Shane Warne is now text messaging full time and that means that the game is being overrun with the cricketing equivalent of accountants – The Mike Hussy’s, Raul Dravids and Michael Vaughn’s, of this world - Men with all the appeal of a knitting circle. Even those that remain are censured. Flintoff left his personality at the bottom of a Caribbean bay, Smithy’s growing up and evolving into Keppler Wessel’s and Pieterson has finally made the jump from pretentious prick to sullen faced knob.

But that is not the only reason Cricket is dead. No she is dead because she was poisoned. Slowly. By the Australians. Over a period of time. They administered a slow realising toxin that gradually killed her. Bit by bit. It attacked her nervous system and killed her. By degrees.

It began when Tubby Taylor was replaced with Steve Waugh as captain of the Baggy Green’s. Suddenly they started applying Science (yes science) to the gentle art of cricket and have never looked back. Nowadays they win everything, and convincingly, but at what cost?

All that “science” and “progress” has turned the Aussie into the most boring 11 men in the world outside of a Star Trek convention. Their sound bytes sound positively scripted and their play methodical. And if have to watch Brett Lee celebrate a wicket by ‘who-hooing’ like a ten year girl one more time I will move to Alabama or Brasilia or anybloodywhere where they don’t have cricket. Shame on you Australia for being too darn good and too darn boring. For shame.
No, Cricket is dead. This summer will be spent on the front deck, using my special scorebook and pencil to play car cricket (Red Car = 6, Black = Out etc). If you see me, give me a wave. And some booze. Don’t forget the booze.

Health Warnings on Small Talk

Just what is the bloody etiquette for small talk at work and over the fence? How many times a day do I have to talk about the weather or field questions about my state of well-being before I can just answer with a "F**k off!"

Take our neighbour and her new found love for gardening along the fence line. I have nothing against her but I really don't care if it looks like rain or not. Nor do I give monkeys if weeds are a real problem this year. What I want to say is that small talk leaves me weary and is possibly even damaging my health. In fact I'd like to have a Doctor's note excusing me from making any small talk at all. That way I can drink my morning cuppa in peace and not have to hear about your Grandkids, or dog, or your golf score or anybloodything.

In fact, I'd like that note to excuse me from any social interaction except footy games, fishing, pubs and lap dancers. That way I could legitimately avoid Christmas, shopping centres and work in general. Furthermore I wouldn't have to watch the weather report or Dancing With The Stars just to feel included.

By the way, for the most up to date and accurate weather report in your area, see my neighbour.

Public Personas: Would the Real Martina Please Stand Up...

Now I’m the first to admit that I’ve always thought of Martina Hingis as surprisingly hot (not everyone agrees with me) but I was a little taken aback by the thought of her snorting Charlie of a toilet seat in Soho. She always struck me as virginal pure, like Britney before the Redneck genes kicked in, and frankly such an image has me questioning the public persona of all celebrities.

For example, is Roger Federer really the boring, nerdy, somebody please bully me, type that we the people see or is he something else? Could he be a closet S&M freak? Could he be the faceless owner of the penis from Streetfilth.com? Might he sniff petrol to avoid the urine tests.

This is dizzy stuff folks.

Therefore in the interests of the publics right to know I have compiled a list of the private personas of well-known celebs:

Tony and Cherrie Blair: If they’re not swingers then I don’t know swingers. Rumour has it that Tony likes to go ‘dogging’ with good friend Stan Collymore and that Cherrie likes a pearl necklace or two.

Bono: Likes nothing more than extravagant twelve course feasts while reclining on a real fur sofa in a climate-controlled room. Food, which includes some of the worlds most endangered animals, delivered by starving children.

Michael Moore: Votes Republican and is a Klan member.

Graham Norton: Is actually a straight bloke from Yorkshire who likes motorbikes, footy and the missionary position.

Shane Warne: Deeply religious and sensitive. Prefers to masturbate over a mirror than actual company.

The Beckham’s: Regularly host book club meetings and are patrons of Santa Monica Philosophy Society.

Tom Cruise: Alien worshipping control freak who jumps on furniture at the drop of a hat. (no wait, hang on, we know that already)

Jude Law: Collects Royal Dalton China and bottles his own urine.

I could go on, I really could but I have a feeling that I’ve said too much already. If someone actually read this bloody blog I might even be flagged for this.

Laters

Pedal Guitar Players Unite: Bring Back the Wahka-Wahka

While trawling through the TV guide the other day I came across a show entitled "I Can't Stop Masturbating." At last I thought, a game show the whole family can enjoy. Unfortunately I was disappointed to discover that far from being a game show, it was in fact a serious documentary (just like "Ulrika: Sex Addict" turned out to be very boring documentary and not a call-in show about Swedish nymphomaniacs as I had hoped).

Nevertheless with a title like that how could I not watch?

What I discovered however was not the laugh a minute, bloke wanking in back of cab, documentary I imagined. Instead the film focussed on two men who essentially use masturbation as a coping mechanism and their struggles to overcome (no pun) this affliction. One bloke claims to have once Skinned the Gecko a staggering 25 times in a single day. Call Guinness that has to be some sort of record!

Even in my teenage wanking prime I don't think I even managed to get anywhere near double figures, let alone tonking it 25 times. This bloke says he just keeps hunting the net until something turns him on, and then does the five-knuckle shuffle. This process obviously repeats itself 25 times.

Now I am no stranger to internet porn, what bloke these days isn't? But unlike Mr 25 I get bored pretty soon and have no idea how to use the mouse and wank at the same time. However, what this proves is just how much and how easily porn is obtained online. I feel that this has taken the mystique out of pornography. Our teenage sons will never be forced to stash dirty mags under their beds (or washing baskets) and this is a shame. It is unlikely that our teenage sons will ever have watch any grainy porno made in the seventies and endure the agony of a stretched and overused tape. Just think how much wahka-wahka music they'll be missing out on. Tragic, pedal guitar players have been in the soup kitchen ever since the dawn of the internet.

As if the next generation don't have it all now they'll have porn at the click of a button and it worries me. Why leave home if you know that your mum will never find your porn stash? Why go out if you don't have to purchase a new edition of "Big and Bouncy." I envision a future of 41 year olds still living at home and wanking up to 25 times a day and it worries me.

Who is going to drive you home, you raging bloody lunatic

Yesterday I was tailgated by a young girl in a Toyota Rav4. Despite the fact I was actually a little over the speed limit, this slapper felt that I was taking up far too much of her precious time and not only tailgated me but also give me the one finger salute as she passed by. I couldn't help but wonder what important meeting this low level administrator had to rush off to. Did the photocopier need more toner? Might the printer require paper? The boss a sandwich and coke? Perhaps I'll never know but what I do know is that in my city (Brisbane) the worst drivers on the road fall into the female, 18-24, demographic.

Now of course I have no actual stats to back this up, this is a blog (that nobody reads) and not a current affairs program, but having lived here for three years I am in no doubt. Please do not misunderstand me however; I am not saying that they are necessarily bad drivers in terms of ability; they just seem to be the most impatient and the most aggressive.

It has become so bad that whenever I see a Suzuki Swift weaving in and out of lanes, or a Hyundai with Playboy seat covers (yay for feminism!) pull up next to me, I feel a sort evil masculine monster take hold. I want to yell at this idiot in a death trap, and shake her until she considers other road users. I have a strange desire to ask her if she thinks its cool to kill someone while driving, cooler even then pink Playboy seat covers. I yearn to remind her that the only reason she beat me at the lights in her cute little Yaris is because I wasn't racing. I never race, that's for paid professionals, not tired and cranky drivers like me.

Instead I say nothing and wish that I could work from home.

Things that I should care about (but don't)

There are some things in this world that you should really care about, but no matter how hard you try, you just don’t (care).

The War in Iraq for example is little more than a brief distraction for me while on the way to Calvin and Hobbes in the morning. I know I should care, people are getting killed for heavens sake, but frankly I find it all rather boring.

With that in mind I decided to compile my list of things that I should care about but don’t:

Match Fixing in Tennis: So a few tennis players took a dive in five, who cares, it won’t end the war in Iraq.

Princess Dianna Inquest: C’mon already, this must be inquiry number ninety-one. Couldn’t you just let sleeping dogs lie? It was a terrible accident; sadly they happen, even to the rich.

Anything Championed by Bono: I agree with much of what he says but no man in leather pants is going to tell me what bloody light bulb I should use.

Michael Moore’s Films: Who is this fat bloke and why are we watching him? Like Bono, I agree with much of what he says, I just don’t like actually looking at him.

Fundamentalist Christians: I should care that they try and impose their will on everything, but truthfully, I find them rather amusing.

George W Bush: In all the years he has been President of the most powerful nation on earth, my life has not changed one iota.

Tailgaters: I realise that you are in a hurry and that your time is infinitely more important than mine, but I’m still not getting out of you way. Go around.

Elections: I try, I really do, but somehow there is always something else on TV.

Porn Marginalises Women: If the chick is doing it for the cash and doesn’t mind hanging her bits out, then who am I to worry.

Celebrities: I don’t care who Paris Hilton is banging this week because its obviously not me.

International Football Friendlies: Sadly they make fans pay hard earned money for that crap. For shame.

There you have it. I could go on all night but have to get back to work.

We never wanted to win the World Cup anyways, so there" claims New Zealand

New Zealand Whine made from best Sour Grapes

A poor pun I know but I often visit the New Zealand Herald for what is normally excellent and thorough analysis of Rugby. Imagine my surprise when I discovered an article (http://www.nzherald.co.nz/section/4/story.cfm?c_id=4&objectid=10471494) by one Peter Bills in the aforementioned paper dated 23rd October 2007. For those of you too lazy to read the article I will sum it up as thus:

New Zealand are better off without the RWC because at least the All Blacks don't resort to the boring kicking that won it for the jaapies. The jaapies and poms are boring and are big poopy heads.

Now I may have embellished the truth a little on the poopy head line but I'm am pretty sure that had the All Blacks won the Webb Ellis with a three – nil, Dan Carter drop kick victory over South Africa, they would have been dancing in the streets of Auckland as opposed to setting fire to All Black flags. In fact, it has been so long between drinks for our Kiwi friends that a nil-nil draw and a toss of the coin would have probably caused mass jubilation.

Bills goes on to say that "But this isn't rugby as we know it", which leads me doubt his Rugby writing credentials. Just what exactly is "rugby as we know it?" Is it the pleasing but often unsatisfying brand dished up in the S14? Could it be the expansive but ultimately fruitless variety served up by the Pacific Islanders? Perhaps it is the hard nosed, brutal contests seen in the Premiership and Currie Cup? Possibly, just maybe, it is all of these things and more and Bills needs to stop being so blinkered so as to believe that the rest of world wants, or is even capable of playing like the All Blacks. Evidently, Bills would have the rest of World play like the All Blacks in an attempt to help the All Blacks finally win that unwanted trophy.

Bills then launched an extraordinary attack on Springbok fans and the entire nation of South Africa. When he states that
The South African nation will celebrate and claim all is well in their land now the mighty Bokke rule the world once again. They'll be deluding themselves if they believe that,
He may well be right, it probably will only be a brief distraction from the many problems that that nation endures but unfortunately for Bills it reads like little more than a schoolyard temper tantrum than a journalistic observation. To me it sounds as if Bills is saying that "you may have won the RWC, but at least your standard of living is crap, so there" (and this from someone living in London!?). Why bother Pete? Why waste space condemning supporters for bragging a little. Heck, England fans dined out on RWC2003 for four years and some are still dining out on 1966; let them have their fun for now.

What's more, Bills' vitriol extends into the following statement: "Winning a World Cup in such an ugly manner hardly reflects well upon either the ultimate champions or the game itself." Granted South Africa can be a cruel and ugly place but to tarnish an entire nation with the ugly stick is taking it a bit far don't you think? This also brings me back to my original point about just what Rugby as we know it. Bills obviously hopes that Rugby is played in an open and entertaining manner, so do I and I agree that some change needs to take place in the game, but the beauty of the game is that different nations play the game in different ways. If that happens to be a forward driven, safety first approach then so be it. I for one would much rather see that then see a World Cup full of All Black clones. In fact I'd so far as to say that so would many All Black fans, providing that is they won it at the end.