I would like to congratulate FIFA on for this step in the right direction:
The referee who sent off Harry Kewell in the Socceroos’ match against Ghana is one of four referees who have been sent home from the World Cup.
But this should only be the beginning of the process. He should now be shipped to Abu Ghraib, waterboarded, stiripped naked and piled on top of other inmates, have electrodes strapped to his balls and be led around on a leash.
Only then, will justice be served.
Some timely revision for World Cup referees.
adjective |di?lib?rit|
done consciously and intentionally : a deliberate attempt to provoke conflict.• fully considered; not impulsive : a deliberate decision.• done or acting in a careful and unhurried way : a careful and deliberate worker.
So was Harry Kewell’s “handball” “fully considered” or “careful and unhurried”?
The difference between the intellectual class warriors and average blokes like me is that I know I’m a genius. Intellectuals just think they are Intellectuals. Which brings me to my Topical Debate of the week: Intellectual Dioramas. The post-Millennium term “Intellectual Diorama” was just invented by me five minutes before I typed it. And it’s a theory that I’ve been studying since then that I think applies to average smart thinkers like me who are able to put into reality what our brains are thinking when you don’t think they are working but they are. Like when you are on the Centrelink and you do cashies on the side.
The first Intellectual Diorama was invented by Jesus who made a model of his birth in a stable for show and tell: an existential look at the womb. Now, this is my Intellectual Diorama:
Oil Spill
This Intellectual Diorama presented itself to my brain during the time of the Exxon Valdez oil spill when I was watching Warrick Capper (a show pony for the Sydney Swans) take a magnificent mark against Carlton. It’s called “Oil Spill”. For those ‘Intellectuals’ who need further explanation of my Intellectual Diorama the tyre represents a bi-product of oil and the swan represents the birds that got covered in it and the wings represent the bird’s legs that Warrick Capper spread to spill his oil inside.
A living room. Somewhere.
“THEY’RE TAKIN’ THE BLOODY SPORT AWAY!”
“What, dear?”
“They’re takin’ the BLOODY SPORT AWAY! The communists, they’re takin’ the bloody sport away and all the bloody money and they’re givin’ it to the blacks!”
“New Zealand, dear?”
“No! The blacks, the blacks, the bloody blacks in the desert, they’re givin’ the money to them! … ”
I’ve waged a fairly dogged war against horse racing (NSFWS: not safe for weak stomachs) over the years. I hate it and I’m incapable of calling it a ‘sport’. It’s a corrupt, antiquated, gimmick which reaches a crescendo every year with the Spring Carnival and of course, Tuesday’s Race 7 at Flemington. As you can imagine, this is a difficult time of year for me.
So this year I won’t speak about my disappointment that PETA doesn’t protest the Spring Racing Carnival; that fixed horse racing continues unchecked or that Your ABC is totally flogging the race for all it’s worth.
Instead, I’m going to make an observation about what happens on the other side of the track. And that is, the giddy feeling our nation gets all worked up about on race day.
Having watched people get dressed up, wearing ill-fitting suits and unspeakable hats. Having observed people passed out or projectile vomiting in the mid-afternoon sun. Having heard on countless occasions people bemoan their sudden loss of dough, I’ve realized that the Melbourne Cup experience is nothing but a school formal for grownups.
It first becomes obvious on the Tuesday morning. The crowds self-consciously adjusting their clothing, like an astronaut trying on their space suit for the first time. You look like a clown and no amount of floral appendage or hair product is going to change that.
Then there’s the charity element. The over the top production with soulless event coordinators and PR flacks, spruiking their token charity…doing something for a ‘good cause’ when the reality is, we’ll direct millions of dollars to the TAB.
And worst of all is the elitism of this whole façade. The ‘sport of kings’ includes a bird cage, the Emirates tent and the Flemington car park. This is not dissimilar to the forgettable school formals of our youth, the cool kids in one section and the riff-raff elsewhere.
So when you head off to your Melbourne Cup social function with some B-grade celebrity host or spend money you don’t have on something fruitless and unsatisfying; just reflect for a moment on the fact that the Melbourne Cup is a regression. That it is neither remarkable nor rewarding. It’s time Australia grew up and finally left school. And if you need another reason to undestand why the race at 3pm should be unwatchable, check out the short informative video on the site here.
And if that’s still not enough, we all agree that as a nation we have to prevent this.
team@groupthink.com.au
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