Saturday, December 26, 2009

Ali Williams eh? What a fountain of wisdom he is. It seems the big All Black lock has declared that we New Zealanders should be more positive. From this statement, I am positive that Williams is positive that we should be more positive.
Having arrived home from his overseas hiatus, Williams, it seems, is not a happy chappy. Having clearly been off in search of that northern most tip of positivity, he apparently has found it. And it isn’t here in New Zealand. Williams is not amused.
You see, while all of his fellow pros were slugging their guts out on the field, Williams was having a rest and relaxation period, in America. What does he need rest for, you ask? For the 2011 world cup of course. Wouldn’t want to catch one of those injuries you can sustain from actually playing, would you. That would be negative.
And not for Williams one those negative playing stints in Europe, like Dan Carter. So much easier to go to America and delight in their cultural positivity. At least, that is where I’m hoping he went and not searching along the yellow brick road. Let’s just hope he hasn’t come back too rusty from his trip to a faraway land and is ready to roar when the 2010 season begins.
To be fair though, at least Williams has something to say. Which being positive, I have to say is a rather good thing in today’s homogenised sporting climate. But we certainly should be more positive, as he claims. After all, let’s look at the positives of his hiatus. It gave others a chance to shine in his absence. Good thinking, Ali. No injuries for Williams. More good thinking, Ali. And the most positive thing of all for Ali? Well, he’s on a rather large retainer, which means he gets paid regardless of whether he plays or not. Magnificent thinking, Ali. The man is truly full of tremendously positive ideas.
How dare we, the public, be negative about Ali’s performance? I mean, how we can say anything bad about his on field displays when he is very rarely on the field. Duh.
Let’s search for some of the positives in the sporting year of 2009, shall we?. As Williams has said, there is much to be positive about. Take Tiger Wood’s for example. Taken a bit of a battering of late hasn’t he. A little unfair, I think, when you consider that he has clearly taken the time to be positive and teach his wife, Elin, how to swing a golf club properly. What’s even more positive, for Elin at least, is that one swing could net her $US300 million dollars. Now that is one hell of a positive payday.
And while on Tiger, why be so negative as too restrict yourself too only your lovely wife, when you can find a positive use for your spare time by sleeping with fourteen other women.
Ali would certainly be proud of this kind of positivity.
Rugby league has a lot to be positive about. Newcastle Knights prop, Danny Wicks, has obviously found it in his heart too be extremely community minded. How else can you explain his actions of allegedly selling drugs as a sideline earning. No wonder he was prepared to sign a lower contract. And what a positive service to the youth of his local community he provides.
Admittedly not this year, but a couple of years back, in cricket we have had Jesse Ryder putting his fist through a window. The owner of the window, I’m sure, must have been mighty pleased, as it is always a positive to be able maintain the upkeep of one’s property. And what better opportunity, than to have Jesse put his hand through a window to do this.
Tennis has got in on this positivity act as well. Serena Williams (no relation to Ali, I’m pretty certain) decided that she would get rid of the nonsensical grunting that resides in Tennis and be positive in a forceful way, by hurling a barrage of abuse at a lines woman. Serena, the caring soul that she obviously is, must have decided it would be a positive for this lines woman to learn a few extra choice words. Nothing so positive as too enlarge one's vocabulary, is there.
There, you see, Ali Williams is right, there is plenty to be positive about in the world today. As someone once sang,we don’t know lucky we've got it.
And you know what? I’m absolutely sure that Ali Williams would positively delight in all this positivity.
Positive.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Tiger's Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
A blond cocktail waitress

On the second day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the third day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Eight redhead maids a milking
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Nine secretaries a dancing
Eight redhead maids a milking
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the tenth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Ten blonds a bouncing
Nine secretaries a dancing
Eight redhead maids a milking
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Eleven piping hot nightclub hostesses
Ten blonds a bouncing
Nine secretaries a dancing
Eight redhead maids a milking
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
And a blond cocktail waitress

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me:
Twelve hookers a drumming
Eleven piping hot nightclub hostesses
Ten blonds a bouncing
Nine secretaries a dancing
Eight redhead maids a milking
Seven brunettes a swimming
Six Blonds a laying
Five golden rings
Four 6ft calling birds
Three brunette hens
Two redheaded strippers
and a blond cocktail waitress

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Get ready everyone; it’s the first week of the new NRL season. It’s been a long time coming. What? You say there is another three months until it starts. That is simply preposterous. I mean, one can always tell when week one is here by simply reading about a player who has embraced controversy. And this week, Newcastle Knights prop, Danny Wicks, has done just that. Obviously he was not content to wait until early March to make a monstrous goose of himself, instead preferring to get arrested and charged with allegedly supplying drugs, now. What a jolly holly holiday season for you, huh.
Well done, Danny boy. Why not get in early? Wouldn’t want to let other players beat you to a dose of notoriety, would you. Obviously training does not keep you busy enough. A few hours spare each day to fill in, was there? Hey, what better way to keep you busy. They say everybody should have activities outside of work, to keep themselves busy. And, if you need an excuse to get off training, then what better reason to give to the club doctor, than you have a case of the sniffles.
Wicks is just one of a long line of footballers doing their utmost to, not only bring shame on themselves, but, ultimately bring the game of Rugby League into disrepute. Earlier this year there was Brett Stewart charged with assaulting a young lady. We also had Greg Inglis doing his bit for the cause, and, we certainly couldn’t forget Nate Myles efforts in defecating the corridor of a luxury hotel. Top notch effort there, fella. I guess, despite supposedly being a luxury hotel,the hotel's owners still don’t charge enough, as they clearly cannot afford to put toilets in their rooms. They could have at least had the decency to put a longdrop outside the hotel for its clients to use. Ah well, can’t have everything in life, can you.
When will some of these addled dopes realise that the game can only take so much? That sponsors and the fans of the game are getting fed up with this type of nonsensical behaviour. And if the sponsors withdraw their support, not to mention the fans no longer paying to go to games or they stop paying pay television subscriptions, then the players incomes will start to dry up. Less money coming into the game means less money for the clubs to pay players.
Admittedly, the problems are caused by a small minority of playing personnel, but all the same, they are causing a rather large amount of trouble, as well as a headache, for NRL officials. One feels sorry for the likes of NRL CEO, David Gallop. They are clearly trying to eradicate such players from the game and to educate young players coming into first grade. But as fast as do this, someone else comes along to display the IQ of a brick wall.
The sad thing in this case, is not just that Wick’s could lose his career and, if found guilty, end up in jail, but if he has indeed supplied drugs, then, going out on a limb here, presumably there are young people out there buying this garbage and wasting their lives away. But, don’t think about that will you, Danny Boy. I mean, who cares about the lives of the young, or, for that matter, anyone? After all, you will get your money. Which will help in these hard financial times, won’t it? I’m only guessing, but I would presume you earn 200kpa playing for the Knights. Must be hard to survive on that piffling amount.
Or is it that you and some of that minority have let the fame of being first grade NRL players go to your heads. Surely societies laws, that the rest of us little people have to abide by, were not designed to apply to you. Why, hell, you are football stars. You can do anything you desire. Why should the laws of the land be the same for you?
Oh, that’s right; I forgot there for a moment, you can run forty metres to score a try
What a hard life it must be playing football for a living. Playing the game you love. Don’t get me wrong here, I admire all rugby league players for what they put themselves through. It hurts just watching some of those bone rattling tackles on television, so I can only imagine what it is like in the reality. And, I accept that you only have at most probably ten years in the sport as a professional to set yourself up financially. But come on, it’s still good money. Trust me on this fact too; there are thousands (probably millions) of people out there that would give an awful lot to be able to earn a living as a professional sportsman or woman. Despite this, some of you treat the game that has given you so much, with utter contempt.
There have been players that have, of course, made mistakes and come back. No one is perfect, after all. One of the greats of the game, Andrew Johns, has admitted using drugs. Difference in his case, though, is that he did not supply drugs. Whats more, he accepted he made a mistake, apologised for it and has gone on to become a respected voice in his role with Channel Nine in Australia. And good on him,too.
Lets hope that Danny Wicks, if he is found guilty, can make it back. Best way of doing that is to admit your mistakes.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Tiger, Tiger, Tiger, one Swede not enough for you, eh. Hell, why settle for a caring loving relationship with a beautiful, intelligent lady when you can sleep with fourteen random mistresses instead. Maybe you could even aim for the stars and try to double that number. Although, you should be careful, as you may just get what you wish for. At the very least, though, that should keep you ahead of the good majority of your fellow pros.
Wondering why your personal life should become so public, aren’t you? You can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t make $US110 million per annum from sponsorship deals and endorsements, and then, heaven forbid, have too be answerable to those companies and even worse, the public. Upsetting isn’t it, that some of your deals are starting to fall through. But don’t worry, if the cash dries up, you could always make a living from giving dating advice. You seem good at picking up the ladies. Must be that easy accessibility that you allow people. You have obviously worked out that showing people your true personality has its advantages.
But don’t worry about been seen to be a hypocrite. After all, going on television and telling the rest of us what we should buy and how to live our lives is most charitable of you. Why should you actually have to do what you preach? I guess it’s a case of do as I say, not as I do. I hear also, that you were deeply sorry for your indiscretions, because they hurt you and your family. Apparently you have said that what you have done is not what your morals and values are. So Tiger, could you tell us what those values are? I gather what you mean are that your morals dictate that you stay loyal and faithful to the woman that you married and love so dearly. I mean, cheating on your wife is something those wonderful morals of yours just wouldn’t let you do. Isn’t that right, Tiger?
It’s not the money, is it? Putting you under stress, never knowing where the next paycheque is coming from? Sending you running into the arms of fourteen mistresses. It is still fourteen? I wouldn’t want to get my facts wrong here, Tiger. Reputedly you’re worth one billion US dollars, Tiger. It must be unbearable, all that financial uncertainty. I did a quick bit of arithmetic for you Tiger. See, if you invest one billion at two percent interest rates, you would have an annual income of twenty million gross. With all that tax to come off, I can see where the stress is coming from. It’s fair to say that no one could realistically be expected to survive on such a paltry sum. I have genuine sympathy for you Tiger.
You must be miffed that you are losing the support of sponsors, not to mention that once over-adoring public. The PR war is not going well, the opposition is forging ahead and you are trapped in a bunker with enemy fire coming from all directions. And bunkering down is exactly what you are doing. Putting a giant disc over your life from prying eyes, only to discover that the attack is wounding your once impenetrable defence. What have you possibly done, that so many people are starting to wonder whether you are all image and no substance. What with all those super family morals that you possess.
I’m sure you’ll comeback though. Several months away and we will all forget about your past sins. Forget about what you did to your lovely wife and family, after all, once you’re back playing at the top of your game, that’s all that will matter. Won’t it? We’ll be yelling “go in the hole” as loud as ever. We’ll be applauding wildly when you get that approach shot within a centimetre or two. The wins will start coming, even if the wife might be going. The endorsements will emanate in again. More than make up for the several hundred mill wifey will walk off with, won’t it?
Financial security was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

A Grunt Too Many

I was looking into a crystal ball recently and this is what i saw(or should that be heard)in the future.

A Grunt too Many
That’s it. Stop this now. Enough already. Having spent the last three hours watching the Australian Open on TV, I have no doubt of the sinister intentions of this murderous regime of infantile tennis pros indulging in a mass orgy of orgasmic verbal thrusting, more commonly known as grunting, and, quite honestly, if given an option, I would prefer to dip my already rather meagre nether regions in a pot of boiling molten lava, than stomach anymore of this bizarre nonsense.
Murderous, you say. Well, yes, because if one had not yet contemplated suicide by snake bite, or, perhaps diving into a pool full of sharks, having listened to three hours of multi-orgasmic tennis players, they soon will. Once again, murder, I say, on part of the pros.
Napoleon met his demise at Waterloo, but surely, if he had had the help of this groaning bunch of prima donnas,then the piercing sound of this lot would have been enough to see off the enemy. No enemy could possibly withstand this hideous noise. For this bunch- in particular the ladies- would surely have got the better of the opposition and had them retreating faster than you could say grunt.
Monica Seles started this diatribe of the spectators’ senses, back in the early 1990’s. A lot to answer for, has our Monica. It may have been okay if this nasty little infection had stopped with Sele’s retirement. Unfortunately, it created an entire new universe of mini mes, just craving to outdo each other, not only in the match, but, also, in a grunting contest. Good value for money, though, for the spectators. Two contests for the price of one. Wow.
This Pandemic is so widespread throughout the game now, that I fear it is out of control to the extent that the game’s administrators will not be able to rein in the players. It has become such a habit for many that they would now find it hard to stop this crass behaviour. But, this should not stop the governing body trying with all their might. A hefty fine or three, perhaps. Hit the players where it really hurts: in the pocket. This malaise has to come to a screeching halt: and sooner rather than later.
Don’t get too hopeful though. This plague has been around for over fifteen years and officials have not yet remotely tried to do anything. Kind of reminds you of a certain soccer organisation that refuses to bring in video technology, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t want to improve the game now, would we!
The players will claim that the grunting generates more power in their shots. And yet, many have managed to win without so much as making a sound. This particular argument is about as true as saying that the nanny state is the most welcome visitor to our shores in recent history. Let’s examine shall we? The great Steffi Graf never felt the need to exhale so loudly; and she hit the ball with an almighty thud. Won the odd major title, too, if I recall correctly. That wonderful lass, the Swiss Miss, Martina Hingis, who never uttered a grunt on court her entire career (although, could be delightfully terse off it), managed to win grand slam titles aplenty. Maybe she should have grunted; she may have won even more. Here’s where it gets even better. Think of Rodger Federer, who seems to have missed out of this particular strain of the grunting plague. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he hits the ball as hard as most other men and certainly harder than the female players, and yet, oddly enough, does not feel the urge to grunt. Not a bad player is he?
Perhaps, if the tennis authorities will do nothing, then I have some helpful advice for them, that involves collecting up many of Australia’s snake population and dumping them on the court when the offending players are contesting their match.
Won’t have much time to worry about grunting then, will they.