Mate.. yer rings are blown!

15 08 2012

Let’s get this straight, this is NOT a post about mechanics diagnosing the state of my Delica’s engine. Nor is it a post about Doctors diagnosing any body part after a vicious night on the Vindaloo (why the plural, anyway?? ooo.. that would be a really bad night on the Vindaloo!).

No, ladies and gentlemen, the gleaming hues on the Olympic rings have faded as we drift into the thirty first Olympiad, waiting for another taste at their conclusion in Rio. Talk of the country here down under is, of course, why we didn’t do any bloody good this time, despite finishing 10th (?), having more medals than all but 5 countries and with our athletes leaving London with a 1:10 ratio of medals to athletes. Australians have an amazing way of boasting even in virtual defeat, don’t you think.

Folks, I am not going to waste any more digital ink on how ‘goodweshouldadone’. We all know that there are deeper issues that must be addressed:

1. Why is there always so much damn gymnastics???????????????????????

2. What were the English thinking with those “Gary Glitter” suits in the Opening Ceremony?

3. Why are some ‘sports’ actually even AT the Olympics?????????????????????

Yeah. Serious. I have finally worked out why people in Australia, especially, get so perplexed with the choice of ‘sport offerings’ at the Olympics. First, however, let’s consider those noble sports that grace our screens for 16 brief, sleepless days ever leap year. Ah, Fencing, (the type with an Epee not a nail gun, Bourgeois renovator!) such grace, such poise, such skill! Yes, and Horsies doing all that Horsie stuff, lovely, cheapest way to ever enjoy those large things that, as it turns out, aren’t really dogs. What about sailing? Grand, challenging, tactical, windy! Rowing, white water canoes! Archery! Clay pigeon shooting! Hurrah! (why are they pink, with no wings or discernable internal organs??)

We LOVE the 100m sprints, pole vaults, high jumps (any jumps!), diving, marathons, volleyball, USA Dream team basketball, man! The BEST in the world man, the BEST!

Then we see badminton (even when they ARE playing properly not being retarded nongs trying to lose), ping pong and, hey, wait a minute… syncronised swimming, and we start looking at our loved ones begging the question on our collective minds…”WHY IS THIS AN OLYMPIC ‘SPORT’?”

Well, fair and noble readers, I know EXACTLY why it irritates us Australians, that most professional of Olympic viewing audiences worldwide. In short, if you can do it at home, it ain’t an Olympic sport. Simple.

I had no idea that trampolining was a sport until this Olympics and now I can’t believe it. Syncronised swimming is what Australian girls spend summer doing with 8 hours a day in the pool to fill. A trampoline is what EVERY Australian kid gets to do any bloomin’ time he  or she feels like it. You bounce. You bounce on your bum. You bounce on your bum and turn 180. WOOO. You double jump, sending your little sister 10 feet up due to Hookes amazingly linear law. She breaks both arms and you are halfway to getting a pool instead of a dumb trampoline.

Badminton is to tennis as playing squash with a soggy wet lettuce is to playing squash. No sensible people persevere with the concept. Let me get this straight. You tap the bloody thing, it moves slowly. You whack the living crap out of the thing and it moves slowly??? Where is the return on metabolic investment here IOC? Faster? Higher?Stronger? Quod Erat Demonstratum! NEXT!

If that is a sport then so is ‘totem tennis’.. a stick with a ball on it.. and we make games out of these things?? Sheesh! Ping Pong is a rumpus room game, seriously. Yes you can squint (glasses are eschewed in this intense ‘sport’ in any attempt to squeeze coolness out the discipline but it doesn’t help when locating that celluloid ball ten feet away travelling at 1/10th the speed of a tennis ball!). Yes, you can stomp on serve, kissing your ball with your pencil-grip tight. You can even elicit ‘OOOH’s and ‘AAAH’s from the crowds with your amazing spin, but, when it comes down to it, you are playing on painted plywood, there is no one passing you wimbledon towels to mop your saturated brow and should you resent a call, you haven’t got a hope in hell of smashing that wooden paddle to pieces on that hollow table. Not with the tiny muscles developed smashing a 2g hollow ball across your rumpus in gruelling training sessions. Fun? Yes! Sport? Not so much!

So , we could lament the inclusion of any rhythmic gymnastics with balls, hula hoops, nunchucks (sorry, I don’t know the proper name of those nunchuck-like objects that get thrown around!). Not sport, sorry. BMX? Gee, I don’t really know, if you are on acreage any bozo can have a stack on a mound of gravel. NEXT!

Now, I have probably offended billions of the Earth’s inhabitants (if only they’d read this blog.. in which case I am remarkably safe from harm! :)) with the comments above, but I’d like to petition the IOC for the inclusion of the following as Olympic Sports if they will not capitulate to removing these non-amazing competitions from the schedule:

1. Darts. Seriously. Come on… “John Henderson draws the forearm back. Gentle release, lovely motion, excellent choice of dart ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY!!!! What a magnificent athlete!!

2. Cluedo. “This for the Gold Medal. One guess. He knows it’s Colonel Mustard.. deduced turn 4. Likewise the candlestick, weapon in question, round 7. He calls the Library…waiting for the card…the audience is willing him to win..NO. It’s the Ballroom, it’s always the Ballroom, he’s come undone, four years wasted and instead Klemenickov takes the win for the GOLD MEDAL!

3. Sleeping Lions. Might need to start early in proceedings to get a result after 16 days perhaps.

4. Slip and slide. With 10m, 20m and 50m marathon events, of course we’d expect the Jamaicans to reign in the glamour 10m event and you’d need random vaseline checks but this sport could seriously rock!

5. Marco Polo. Face it. This beats anything else you can do in a pool at the olympics with lots of people (who are not swimming in straight lines). The world has waited long enough.

Well, I anticipate penning my letter to the IOC in time to get the legwork done on these events before Rio, so if you find any other negliected domestic recreational pursuits that deserve elevation to Olympic level, please let me know as soon as possible. Please forgive me if there is a delay getting back to you, I am currently training hard with my dog at present with “competition fetch” for 2016 in Rio and I’ve just broken in a bald tennis ball… you should see that mutt run! He’s like lightning I tell you!


QCS poetry.. not sure it’s “Gold, Jerry, gold!!”

30 08 2011

Ok so pacing up and down a room of adolescents doing purportedly one of the most important tests of their lives is not exactly front row action in all that silence, dread panic and very clear instructions not to talk. So what do you do when you’ve planned your day, counted the lefties (9) and spotted the OCD students carefully spelling out the words “help” in 13 shades of Cerise pencil.

So you look. It’s a writing task. On Gold. Walking too fast to read the stimulus on the coloured printed pages without looking like a cheat or a sicko. So, OK, a writing task. “GOLD” and twenty five minutes to go. So I did what any sane, 40 year old Chemistry teacher would do.. I wrote a poem *shiny grin*. Maybe Jason Boyce could mark it and send it to me secretly, lest I would fail the test that I swore to 109 students would be “dead easy”!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:  Au7

my QCS writing task supervision poem, an attempt to link the seven deadly sins to the stimulus: GOLD!


The golden curl, dainty loop

swinging low on ivory neck

As that gaze

Amazing pins him. Heck.

His tarnished ring alerts. Now in darkened pocket


He flirts and saunters over, rising as the man he was stoops..

His ticket bought, ritual weekly.

Life on hold for chance

Vain vapour hope of increase

He’s saved his dreams, her dance.

She clasps his hands. Yellow ping pongs fall,


His future fixed, ‘Her freedom’, she whispers, meekly.

In hidden green and red, tiny jewelry,

Fruit mince pie crumbs on the floor

The paper rip

eclipses carols…adore

the hyperactive shiny band, inscribed with someone else’s


His pallour stark, next to her fury..

Butter bright and gliding, tails melt.

Sizzling across the pan

Another dozen cookies bake

Making up for absent man.

The girth increasing. Adipose tourniquet,


Lemon lard, A broken cardium, felt.

Solar disk on wall, resplendent.

Swansong recognition, proud.

Muted hearing birthed of crashing cymbals

Symbol of a younger crowd.

Rock King, a god amongst adoring fans,


Hollow history, ego, id now codependent.

Crunching warm canary beach at noon

Another late-start nameless day.

His board at home uneaten dole check feed

needs met, his ganes strays.

Aimless leaden body worships, faithful skin


As the days pass quicker to the final tune.

Spadeful praise the sister saves neatly

Smart and wise, dutiful daughter.

Familial standard lofty, lucky, creepy.

heaps coals on ‘you know you oughta..’

Raining streams of light from butthole,


You wish her dead, or gone, discreetly.