A choice between the Devil and the deep red sea...

With 2 weeks to go in this farce of an election I have reached a point of utter dejection - there's almost nothing that I can see anyone doing about the fact that I just can't in good conscience cast a vote confidently for anyone at all.  The only people making the slightest sense is the Australian sex party, which as fun as it might sound is obviously no basis for serious government.

I completely trust the Liberal party under Tony abbot to competently and cost effectively implement policies that deeply shame me and make me question my very decision to live in Australia - just like the seven years of Howard Government I lived through before.  At the same time, I trust Labor to have principles I wholeheartedly agree with, but to develop policies that are half-cut compromises to satisfy various factional vested interest and then completely fail to competently implement them.  In terms of leaders, it's a choice between Mad Monk Abbott and Julia Gillard's 'government by Kath and Kim' - with the mercurial Ruddbot lurking spookily in the shadows and the delusional Mark Latham popping up randomly like some Pythonesque jack-in-the-box. 

(Come back Malcolm Turnbull and Kim Beazley – all is forgiven!)

And the greens? While I would like to donate my very first Australian vote to the Greens, I cannot forgive them for conspiring with the Coalition to kill the ETS (in a remarkable case of ‘letting the perfect be the enemy of the good.’ ).  I can't remember if they could or couldn't provide the numbers to get that through - but its the principle of the thing.  Besides, I do find that to a man and woman, their self-righteousness is stomach churning.

Its a depressing and exasperating proposition which leaves me mulling a really bizarre set of options since voting in this country is mandatory

- the positive: vote green purely to keep the Liberals out while making sure Labor gets a bloody nose
- the creative: turn up to vote but defile the ballot paper. The main challenge here is to decide what to defile it with.  All suggestions welcome in the comments box below
- the negative: not turn up and register a protest by paying the $100 fine
- the comical: vote for the Australian sex party afteral; (somewhat dependent on whether they sell out to share preferences with the puritanical 'family first' party)
- the insane: lobby the Queen to revoke Federation so we can re-establish British rule

The last option of course is an echo of this comical letter from the Queen circulated after the debacle of the 2000 US election. 

On the wagon...

"My rule of life prescribed as an absolutely sacred rite smoking cigars and also the drinking of alcohol before, after and if need be during all meals and in the intervals between them. "
Winston Churchill

I signed up for Dry July - foregoing alcohol for a month for charity.   No minor charity either: The Cancer Unit of the Prince of Wales Hospital in Sydney. You wouldn't think it would be so hard would you?

Actually, while its been tough, certainly not easy, and of course boring; it's not exactly been an ordeal *.  It's ridiculous of course that any of this is serious self- denial. I have a decanter of whiskey and a rack of wine at home and never have I been seriously tempted. We aren't talking about a key nutrient. It's not major deprivation. I mean, this isn't a hunger strike. If you deprived a prisoner of alcohol, it wouldn't be considered a human rights abuse. It's not even a diet.

In fact, there have even been some benefits. The hangovers.  Haven’t missed those obviously.  I have lost a tad of weight, and people keep telling me I’m looking well.  I’m on top of my laundry.  I’ve saved money.  I’ve done some exercise.  I've even developed a taste for ginger beer!

Aside from an intense feeling of dullness, an exceptionally sweet tooth and a noticeable lack of blog inspiration...I think I've survived.  I didn't completely lock myself up either.  I did go to the "footy"...and drank tea.  Went to a gig...and drank lemonade.   Have done a lot of driving.

So why the big deal?  Well there is something really important missing.

It's only when you aren’t having any of it that you realise how much of daily life revolves around alcohol. Not just involves, but entirely revolves around. In fact, I more or less cancelled my social life for a month. (Or rather it cancelled me!)  When you get together with people in Australian society, you tend to do it in a pub or a bar - at least for many people I think.  Even if you visit someone’s home  it's usually got  a glass of wine or beer involved. People get together around the BBQ or in the park- grog.  Dinner = wine.  A drink before a film...a drink after a film.  You can even drink to waste time while you wait for someone.  

Being a T-totaller in this country must be an incredible challenge. (Afterall it's the Official currency of the Beer Economy, apparently) Its not alcohol thats the temptation, its other people.  If everyone overnight gave up alcohol, not having it would be easy. Even 'designated drivers' have a couple of drinks.   Fact is, it's the way we celebrate life. It's ingrained. When you get together with someone, you celebrate their company.  When you eat together you celebrate the food.  Birthdays, weddings, births.  We even celebrate the mere fact that it's Friday!  Every significant event in life is celebrated with a drink.  It's how we say “HURRAY!"

So it struck me that this is an appropriate sacrifice in sympathy with those for whom this effort is in aid of; who apart from everything else, probably don’t get to celebrate as much anymore.  And that’s sad.

So for them please take the time to sponsor me - thank you.  And next time you take a drink, drink to their health.

Go to: https://www.dryjuly.com/profile/garethllewellyn

*Disclaimer:  On the 2nd July I did take a “Golden Ticket” (for the price of $25 to charity) for a long-planned celebration of  my recent 40th birthday with very close friends who weren’t in town for it.  Not had a drop since, and...haven't really said "HURRAY" a lot either.  Kind of proves my point.

Same as The Old Boss?

“Frankly, the nation is being governed by amateurs.”

Nothing pains me more than to agree with Tony Abbot but on this observation, we seem to be in agreement.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortably left of centre and with the Greens’ self-righteousness perennially turning me off supporting them, Labor is really all I’m left with.  But this government has lost all of my faith.  I am struggling to think of anything they have done that has been well thought-through, suitably socialised and then well executed.  If anything, were Homer Simpson to be Prime Minister, its unlikely there’d be fewer laughs.

They will immediately point to their management of the GFC, which admittedly is without parallel in the world in terms of its success.  However, I am one of those people that believe they benefitted from a strong Liberal Party legacy – albeit mostly ill-gotten.  Furthermore they were for once decisive and acted very quickly and secured a complete avoidance of recession in either the literal or the conceptual sense.  However, they did hurl a staggering amount of money at it – somewhat I feel like a father and householder losing a bet for $100 and mortgaging the house to pay for it.  It must also be remembered that much of that execution has been abysmal.  One can;t of course forget the disastrous “pink bats” scandal which, far from being badly managed almost seems not managed at all.  Not only did people die – about as bad an achievement a project could score – but untold amounts of money have been wasted in training, litigation and damage.

Fundamental to their management of the GFC has been the Buildings for schools program, and we must never forget who was responsible for that if we are to suitably judge just how much of an improvement we can expect in Labor’s change of leadership.  Appallingly run – or rather again, not run at all – the program has not only wasted hideous sums of tax-payer’s money, but is highly questionable in the way it provided Labor with countless valuable local photo-opportunities around the country.  For a period of time Kevin Rudd disappeared from the national press but instead scored a front page photo-story on the front page of every local rag coast-to-coast.  In time, it may be that in the dictionary they may define the term “pork barrel”  with the simple reference: “...see BER

Outside of this, the Health reforms are stalled with the whole of West Australia refusing to be part of it.  The still-born Resource Profits Tax was antagonistically announced by-passing any kind of consultation and then desperately diluted in fear of a damaging fight with the mining industry.  There was the Apology and Kyoto of course, and they should not be sniffed at, but in terms of execution – Kevin saying a word or signing a all-but-superseded and impotent Treaty – they are not going to be remembered as radical reforms.

I’ve already described  how Kevin Rudd lost me after his scrapping – or rather never-never-ified – the ETS.  But after only a few weeks we can see that the style of this government has not dramamtically changed.  Bad process, a lack of consultation, spin-obsession and no stomach for an argument seem already to remain key planks of this government’s modus-operandi.  The Internet Filter has finally been shelved after two years of ever-circular debate and procrastination.  The Green Loans program  has also been dumped on the basis of, not surprisingly, poor management and budget blow-out.  Julia Gillard’s Regional Solution to the immigration problem (which isn’t really a problem with a flow equal to filling the MCG every second decade )– started off with a ring of quality.  To co-ordinate a program fastened to the UNHCR has an aura of credibility and seemed almost to seek the higher ground for a 24 hour period.  Her speech did almost seem as if it might be a watershed in the miserably xenophobic tone of the traditional migration debate.  However, as soon as the surface was scratched a wave of disappointment swept across the nation – as if they had all been collectively let down by the same scratchy card.  It was a nice-sounding though-bubble that was not properly consulted and given Labor’s track record, has almost zero chance of getting properly executed.  It wasn’t a solution, it was a political fantasy that had been brought no more reality than the voicing of someone’s “desire” to travel the world.  The East Timorian Prime Minister’s reaction to questions about the plan summed up its integrity – “Plan, what plan?”

For me, this sounded too much like The Old Boss.  Lots of high-minded rhetoric primarily focussed on generating satisfyingly positive and applauding headlines.  There’s nothing unusual about that in politics but that’s more or less where the Labor’s Party machine begins and ends.  There’s very little policy execution and what policy execution there has been has come to a grinding halt in the last six months.

The Prime Minister said, “I’m happy to be judged on what I say.”  Sadly Julia – like your predecessor - you’ll be judged on what you do, and to date your government has achieved very little of lasting quality but abject incompetence.  Expect more eggs.

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Total Recall.

This is a bit of a “you had to be there” thing but...here it is anyway. Its my blog.

This evening a bus in Artarman, on the North Shore of Sydney, inexplicably burst into flames  at the rear on the Gore Hill Freeway.  It was a very small event constituting about 3 lines in the news.  But it suddenly and vividly put me in mind of something that happened to me 15 years ago.  I’m still chuckling thinking of it now, as if I was there.

It vividly put me in mind of the White Horse Pub half way up Brixton Hill in London.  It’s a great pub, some doors up from The Fridge Nightclub and across the road from the church there.  It was an evening after work and we were outside the pub near the road – drinking away our spare time as you do in London in your twenties.

Anyway, it wasn’t one of those ordinary evenings. There was a not inconsiderable riot going on just down the hill in the centre of Brixton, near Electric Avenue and the Tube.  It wasn’t one of those Brixton riots you understand.  Not one of the cataclysmic riots of the 1980s  that seemed to stop the nation and raised the spectre of racial warfare and a breakdown in law and order.  No this was quite Mickey Mouse by comparison.  This was to that what mini-me is to Dr Evil. No this was far more meagre.  It was, nevertheless, a riot  .  It made all the usual riot type noises.  Police sirens, shouting and screaming, garbled orders barked down megaphones.  Occasionally you could hear (I think) glass smashing and things being thrown about, but I could be imagining that.  We responded to this civil collapse the natural, responsible way you do in your twenties.  We were getting drunk and laughing.

Anyway, quite late in the evening and as the perception was that order was beginning to prevail, the strangest and most incongruous thing went passed.  A deep red, No.2, double-decker bus – that great London icon...

...with flames pouring out of the rear half, sped up the hill accompanied by a police car of the flashing blue light variety.  We all stood gob-smacked as it roared up the hill, frozen in time by the drama until a quite drunk friend of mine staggered towards the road while taking a large mouthful of beer.  He stopped, swallowed it and with a genuinely puzzled expression on his face pointed at the bus and said, “Hey thats funny, the No.2 doesn’t go up Brixton Hill!”

The thing is, he was right, it didn’t. The Number 2 bus goes up Effra Road.

Well I found it funny anyway.

World Cup 2010: The Nightmare Club

It seems to me that Nigerian Sani Kaita is the latest member of an already crowded group of players I have taken to calling The Nightmare Club. 


With Nigeria approaching half time one goal up and more than in control of the match against Greece, Kaita saw fit to pointlessly lash out with his boot studs on an opposing Greek player.  The victim of this unprovoked attack naturally made all he could of it and very quickly the referee broke Nigerian hearts with a small piece of card which he brought out of his pocket and showed to Kaita.  The colour of the card was red.  Greece quickly equalised, and later scored another to record their first ever World Cup Win and to consign Nigeria to an early trip to the airport.

Already a week into this World Cup and the Nightmare Club has a rich membership.  While the vuvuzelas and even the ball have emerged as the chief inanimate villains of the show, there are a handful of players who have learnt why this competition so consistently grips the attention of billions.  Under the spotlight of the most intense pressure and focus, and with only 90 minutes to shine, every four years a handful of players will fail and so dramatically – and often quite innocently – define their career, their team’s efforts and even their nation’s footballing history. 

A professional footballer can only hope for one world cup in his career.  Maybe two.  Even David Beckham only made it to three with his recent Achilles tendon injury ruling him out of his last chance for World Cup Glory.  (In fact David Beckham himself is a Nightmare Club Allumni member.)  So when the moment of truth arrives, anything can happen under the intense pressure the World Cup delivers.  It is really a spotlight on humanity rather than football.  Football is really just the conduit.  When the whistle blows we see heroes, we see villains and we see mediocrity...all in High Definition Technicolour Dolby stereo.  

Naturally I think we find the failures more compelling.  A moment of football brilliance, even genius, is to be celebrated and enjoyed – savoured even.  But is this not what these men have trained for all their lives? It is perhaps the failures that evoke the most emotion within us – for there but for the grace of god go we.  It validates our own humanity as the crowd screams gasps of shock and the pundits rain down derision.

•    Naturally, Rob Green springs to mind as the Chairman of The Nightmare Club – the so-called “Hand of Clod” .  With England one goal up and fairly in control of their opening Group match in a group fairly certain to deliver them a top place after three matches, Rob Green decided to make the game – and indeed the group – far more interesting by bundling the ball over his goal line while collecting what was a completely un-challenging save .  (A moment perhaps better enjoyed in Lego ) In that moment he gave birth to a hatful of jokes, my favourite being this one

•    Simon Poulson of Denmark quickly joined Green with his own efforts to make own goal history for his nation.

•    Then of course there’s Tim Cahill, whose clumsy late tackle against Germany cost him a red card, making a miserable 4-0 thrashing even more miserable by ruling him out of the The Socceroos’ second match

Some might argue that the entire French team have joined the club after their defeat to Mexico.

I’m sure there’s going to be more and more of this, and the Nightmare Club will swell its ranks no end before the final whistle blows and the victor (Germany or Argentina?) raise the Cup.  But no one will ever manage hero and villain in the same deed as this man did in 1986 .

UPDATE: After an emotionally exhausting weekend of World Cup Football, we have a flood of applications to join the NIghtmare Club:

The School of hard Football knocks...

When I first arrived in Australia ten years ago, emigrating from a nation with some  of the richest football traditions and heritage in the world left me hungering to see the Socceroos graduate to the top table of football.  I felt that such a nation with a rich sporting tradition deserved to have a side regularly competing at the highest level in the world’s favourite game.  I imagined that with such an appetite for sport, Australia would embrace the sport with a new vigour and “Soccer” could take its place alongside AFL NRL and Union as part of the sporting tapestry.

Well much of that has happened, and I cheered enthusiastically through the 2006 showing and with the eventual re-drawing of Australia’s qualification route, Australia can now be assumed as a regular World Cup participant.  Equally at home, the A-League has rejuvenated the domestic scene and is a screaming success.  So, very good.
However, in recent years Soccer has come to emulate some of the more ugly side of Australian sporting enjoyment as well, something very prevalent in Cricket in particular.  Its an ugly, mean spirited and unattractive form of jingoistic triumphalism that is not becoming and is quite the reverse of what I imagined should develop.  The Indian cricket tour of 2009 that saw Australia cope really quite ungraciously with the prospect of being challenged competitively on their home turf is a good example.  I’ll never forget of course as well the grumpy way in which John Howard dispensed medals at the 2003 World Cup final, unable to rise above his own disappointment and expectations to congratulate the winning side.  I have seen this emerge in Soccer recently, for instance Australia’s behaviour playing New Zealand in the last home warm up before setting sail for South Africa.  Unable to accommodate the fact that the All Whites had obviously failed to read the script about a triumphant departure, they set about savaging the Kiwis with several unsportsmanlike tackles.  I was at the SCG for the final moments of the 2007 Ashes tour where Ponting etc showed that Australia can not only be poor losers, but very ungracious winners as well.  The media as usual are both the driver and the symptom – ordinarily responding to victory with lots of self-indulgent glory bathing; and to defeat with angry navel gazing and castigation – barely even referring to the opposition in either case.  For evidence of this review the limited coverage of the recent 20/20 defeat to England.

Perfectly exemplary of this syndrome is this Daily Telegraph article  by David Penberthy, which incensed me when it was published last week.  Beginning with the ironic and ominous opening, “We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves,” it then wallows in celebration at Australia’s short World Cup history, completely omitting the disasters (such as losing 3-1 to the USA a week ago or failing to qualify for the 2002 World Cup, or for 1998, 1994, 1990, 1986, 1982, 1978...etc).  Subsequently it seeks to cherry pick the blackest moments in England’s recent history, utterly and conveniently ignoring any of the  highlights (semi-finals in 1990 and 2002 or the 2002 5-1 slaughter of Germany). The tedious rant ultimately comes to the audacious proposition that Australia will knock England out of the world Cup. 

The proposition itself is not outrageous – they should meet in the second round and England do have a tendency to self-destruct.  However the reasoning of the argument is essentially that this should happen because Australia is GREAT and England are losers.   Indeed it reaches the height of stupidity by using Tim Henman to illustrate the point – which is as relevant as trying to say Australia should win the world cup because  Stephen Bradbury   is Australian.  (It really is the most ghastly piece of hack journalism, and I told him so )  This attitude seems reminiscent of one of those Vietnam movie scenes where the cocky rookie  joining a platoon of vets naively brags about his courage to those who’ve been to hell and back.

So when I sat down to watch this morning’s Group match against Germany I found myself partly wishing on the Socceroos a dose of World Cup pain of the kind more than familiar to those with more than three Qualification to their name.  The kind of pain that scars and the kind of humiliation that brings realism to the over-confident.  The ensuing 4-0 thrashing by Germany, including an unfair sending off and suspension for Cahill, is more than I would wish on my worst enemy, let alone my adopted country.  Nevertheless, more realism and moderation might perhaps be the result.

The danger of a nation’s chief expression on the world stage being through sport is that winning becomes all important, and a lust to conquer for conquering’s sake can leave you with an unhealthy and uncharitable demeanour.

 

UPDATE: As a footnote, it was very amusing that while my comment above about Stephen Bradley was of course a joke, it wasn't too long before this the greatest of Australian sporting triumphs was actually exhumed by the media (in this case The Sydney Morning Herald) as an analogy for Australian footballing hopes:

"Where have you gone Steven Bradbury, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you … Eight years after the Australian skater famously triumphed for the most unlikely of Olympic gold medals, when the four competitors in front of him crashed on the last turn, the Socceroos find themselves still on their feet at the World Cup in South Africa."

Echoes of Aliyah Bet?


It occurred to me that there are strange and ironic echoes of the past in the events taking place right now in off the coast of what used to be called The Levant.  It turns out that I am not the only one this has occurred to  The echoes are of the British Navy’s blockade off the coast of what was then called Palestine.  Baring responsibility for the mandate as a result of the Treaty of Versailles after the First World War, Britain was forced to blockade the coast in order to stop Jewish refugees migrating to what they now call Israel after the Second World War.  Those intercepted were then interned in camps on Cyprus.  Many found this a fairly sick irony considering the kind of accommodation these concentration camp vicitms had just left behind them in Europe. Increasingly the blockade became unworkable as thousands upon thousands of Zionists took part in Aliyah_Bet - driven by belief that after 2,000 years’ history of pogrom upon pogrom since their exile from what was then called Judea by The Romans, the Jews should return to their homeland. (For a unsurprisingly unbalanced view of these events, visit the Israeli Clandestine Immigration and Naval Museum in haifa as I did.)  Some people drew parallels between these events and The Crusades.

The rest is of course history , the Jewish state of Israel was officially recognised by the UN in 1949 as hundreds of thousands of Jews occupied what is sometimes called The Fertile Crescent.  An immediate by-product was the interning of the evicted Palestinians in refugee camps in The West Bank and...Gaza – the area Israel now finds itself controversially blockading today. 

It is certainly true that the blockade of Gaza is unjust – as unjust as the British Blockade before it during and after WW2.  Easily the site of one of the worst collective human rights abuse in the world today, Gaza is in a woeful state – still trying to rebuild after the vicious bombing campaign of last year, and desperately needs the aid activists are and will continue to bring.  However, it must be said that the Strip is ruled by Hamas - a terrorist organisation that would like to see Israel destroyed both as a land as well as a people. Furthermore, that same organisation is bank rolled by a nation whose president himself has expressed his desire to see Israel “wiped off the face of the map” .  This organisation rains rockets on Israel as often as it physically can.  Currently it is not able to as regularly as it would like.  It is understandable how the Israelis might imagine that should the blockade be lifted, that regularity would increase – significantly and fatally. 

Obviously the recent attempt to board an aid ship approaching Gaza was a catastrophic disaster and quite clearly another Israeli crime against humanity.  So Israel’s ability to execute this blockade must now be brought into question, let alone its right to do so.  But given the above reality, perhaps aid convoys to Gaza should be searched as Hamas’ hunger and desire for military muscle is inherent.  So perhaps an international peace-keeping force should conduct the blockade from a humanitarian point of view.  The irony would be complete if the Navy chosen to do so was The Royal Navy.

Lou Reed: Vivid Noise Music...

We wanted to do a night of ‘noise music’ and we just did that,” said Velvet Underground’s Lou Reed after his “Metal Machine Trio”  performance in The Opera House Sunday night  .  They sure did.

As we entered the venue, all you could hear was a single solid note of feedback/distortion as we awaited the band.  What followed was a night of pure feedback and distortion  Reed himself had two guitars in front of speakers with all the noise you can imagine that created, and proceeded to manipulate them with a bank of Effects Units  for 90 minutes while his band-mates abused our ears in other ways.  To the left, Sarth Calhoun - a long haired muzo-geek and self-styled electronics wizard - played with a vast array of toys not even conceived of when Reed first released (and then quickly removed from sale amid extraordinary back lash)  the original and controversial album “Metal Machine Music” in 1975  .  (I’m guessing Sarth wasn’t even conceived then either!)  Two laptops, an electronic drum and strange touch-device - that allowed all sorts of strange noises just by tapping the desk – all combined to take your ears on a journey of profound weirdness.

Reed later introduced his other colleague, Ulrich Krieger, as the first person to actually transcribe “Metal Machine Music” – to which one audience member loudly responded “GENIUS!” - which he said many people at the time thought impossible.  He mainly used a sax, initially not even blowing it, but merely moving it about to create the strangest feedback noises imaginable.  A gong and giant kettle drum also were used at various moments, but barely any recogniseable playing of music was involved. The performance is entirely improvised and spontaneous, no set pieces and echoes of the original album. The tickets and posters warn : “No Songs, No vocals” to carefully manage expectations of those anticipating “I’m Waiting for the man” or “Perfect Day.”

This was a genuinely innovative performance sometimes hard on the ears and the brain but ultimately fascinating.  More like watching a strange art-house movie than listening to a piece of music – I was dying to know how it would end!  (Some couldn’t take it and left.)  In fact it finally ended with Reed simply placing a finger to his lips and gesturing to the other 2/3 of the trio to shhhhhhh...with which one audience member chuckled to herself a little too loudly.

After thanking the audience for enduring what many would regard as a surreal practical joke without the context of the original 1975 project, one woman bizarrely threw a book at Reed gesturing that she wanted it autographed.  Suffice it to say she did not endear herself to the rock legend and he left the stage – far more politely than his former Underground colleague, John Cale , whom I saw earlier this year .

His wife is also in town and they are both co-curating the “Vivid Sydney”   festival – the centre piece of which is a brilliantly lit Opera House that brought an added “trippy” aspect to a very strange and marvellous evening.

 

UPDATE: I found a recording of this I made at the time but thought had actually failed.  Sound is not ideal of course but gives you a hint of it...

Listen!Listen!

State of Origin, UK-stylie?

The Australian Media have been delighting in what seems to be a steady process of adopting Australian ideas in the UK.  There is the apparent emulation of Australian Immigration Policy  , the possible mimicking of an Australian voting systems  – even amusingly the appropriation of a catchphrase from Bananas in Pijamas in the 2005 election!  Well, if this is a creeping trend, can I recommend one other feature of Australian Life ripe for the stealing: State of Origin

I attended my very first live State of Origin match last night.  I’m not a Rugby league fan, preferring Union instead, but SoO has always been exciting, engaging stuff – far more for the highly partisan, competitive and usually quite violent spectacle that it provides than for the quality of the sport.  Its a 30 year old tradition and sees an annual three-match series between NRL players playing for the states from which they originally came. Queensland vs New South Wales.  For three matches, everyone becomes either a Cane Toad (Queensland) or a Coachroach (New South Wales) – recognising the more notable plagues each state hosts.

Its a festival of mock-hatred that has completely engaged Papua New Guinea, who tune in as a nation to the mid-week matches as if they were their own national sport.

The expectation all Origin fans happily entertain – and is central to its appeal - is one of Gladiatorial “Biff”.  The rivalry of the two sides – playing not for club success but for State-driven pride – more often than not leads to a break out of unfettered fisticuffs that the whole family can enjoy.  Its an expectation the referees are known to turn a lenient eye to and one the sport as a whole happily stokes   Take 1995 as a perfect example  but also this from last year’s final game set the expectation to be high:

There was none on my visit, although the statium still had a cauldron-esque atmosphere that reminded me of English Premiership derbies of old.  The torrential rain that had poured unrelentingly all day had dampened perhaps the players hatred, but also the pitch.  Still an appreciation of the passion for this game is evidenced by the fact that despite it being a wet, chilly school night, the badly-located Olympic park still saw nearly 70,000 turn out.

However, despite the lack of Biff, it wasn’t a complete loss.  I did win a 9:1 bet on first try scorer which collected me $45 – not bad for a free trip as a Gold Member thanks to a generous friend.  But the game continued down hill after that for ‘Roach fans.  New South Wales would momentarily experience lapses of consciousness as a side, and their attention seemed to vanish just as the Toads approached the try line.  ON a couple of occasions the “Maroons” would simply stroll over the “Blues’” line almost guiltily, aghast at the New South Wales defensive negligence.  Most will agree that the final scoreline of 28-24 to the Toads flatters New South Wales and has put their coach under no end of pressure, depite the fact that a NSW Roach-Coach has not been successful in five years.

All round terrific entertainment and leads me to wonder if the same could not be instituted in England – North vs South:  FA players from north and south of The Watford Gap pitched against each other in an annual  three-match series for charity?

Robin Hood and his bloody past

Although I'm not sure the world needed another one, Ridley Scott’s “Robin Hood” is absolutely worth a watch.  Its a cracking yarn at a rapid pace with a fairly thick plot and a spectacular battle scene at the end that leaves you well entertained and a little enlightened historically.  It clearly sets up a no doubt profitable franchise placing the outlawed Robin Hood and his Merry Men in Sherwood Forest for a predictable series of jovial robin’-the-rich-to-feed-the-poor romps.  It lacks the fantastic villainy of Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham from the 1991 movie (fortunately it also lacks the theme tune!) but Mark Strong's Godfrey villain is a proper rotter. Both Crowe and Blanchet are fairly wooden I feel – and despite his grump, Crowe’s supposedly Northern accent is distinctly dodgy, as one journalist said, portrayed "Robin Hood [as] an Irishman who took frequent holidays in Australia."  But the film stands up regardless.

The history varies in its accuracy.  Richard Lionheart’s Death is accurate-ish, with a bit of poetic license taken to an incident that in truth doesn’t really do the brave warrior-king justice.  All of the Magna Carta stuff was, while interesting, quite wrong I think.  King John did sign the Magna Carta with the English Barons in 1215 and instead of the French King invading England, John invaded France (interestingly marrying off his bastard daughter Joan to Llewellyn The Great to keep the peace while he was away.)  

However, one dark little historical nugget was surprisingly accurate of particular importance to me.  Early in the movie, Richard Lionheart asks Crowe – playing Crusader archer Robin Longstride - to tell him if he thought God would be happy with his the King’s Crusading efforts.  Crowe, controversially, advises the King that he did not think so.  When asked why, he spoke of “the massacre at Acre” and how it ensured the King did not deserve to conquer Jerusalem.  It struck a loud note with me because I visited Acre (now Akko), just north of Tel Aviv, in 1999 and when I learnt of the decidedly disturbing 1191 event, wrote this at the time...

After Richard I seized Acre, he realised that the booty of most importance was not the treasure they had captured from the Saracen occupiers, but the 3,000 or so civilians they had chosen not to butcher as they swamped the city.  He decided to use these to negotiate a truce with Saladin who had watched the collapse of Acre through the Anglo-Norman barrier that prevented his route of rescue.  Richard demanded the release of his captives in an exchange, for Saladin had around one and a half thousand prisoners he knew of and of course the return of the True Cross, which he was given to believe Saladin had brought with.  The negotiations went on for some time, and a deadline of a month that Richard had set for the exchange of prisoners passed without result.  Richard grew impatient and eventually snapped. 

In full view of the watching Saracen hordes, his army and he led the 2,700 men, women and children out of the city under protection of the Knights, and brought them to the top of a hill just outside the citadel.  There they dramatically put all the prisoners to the sword, beheading and then disembowelling them while the Knights held off wave after wave of devastated Saracen soldiers aghast by what they were forced to watch.  Rumours that the victims would have swallowed gold coins to save them from their captors led to the wholesale gutting of everyone.  When not a living soul remained, the army marched back into the city.  Relations between Richard and Saladin soured from that moment, oddly, and the Muslim resolve to rid their land of the Crusader plague grew stronger.  It is a tale that horrifies me.  As the Crusader soldiers returned to their halls - the halls I have just been walking through under the modern town, they would have listened to the screams of woe as the Saladin’s men checked the victims for survivors.  What a horrible story, just horrible, and perhaps hammered the nail in the coffin of Richard’s Crusade, for if either Christian or Muslim God existed surely Richard’s actions would have disqualified him from the halls of fame that house the great conquerors of Jerusalem.

(More of this?)

Richard never did conquer Jerusalem, and after a fairly unproductive campaign, left the Holy Lands empty handed and defeated the following year. 

UPDATE: Something I actually fogot to mention was that it is believed by some that in his anger and disgust at the horrible atrocity at Acre, Saladin buried the True Cross - which he had captured at the battle of Hattin in 1187 - under the door way of the The Ummayad Mosque in Damascus so that every entering Muslim would walk on it!