Hi all. I'm back. Well rested after a Christmas break.
No rest, though, for Australia's Test cricket team, who happily thumped Pakistan in the First Test at the MCG. And wattobout Watto? Yes, I know I berated him in my previous blog over his carry-on in the Perth Test against the West Indies, but that was then. Watto wasn't embarrassed about his behaviour, and neither am I about my assessment of his actions.
It never ceases to amaze me at how sensitive sportsmen can be over criticism. In cases like this, when widespread acclaim follows shortly after universal criticism, commentators and the sports-watching public are often accused of being turncoats, or jumping on a rollicking bandwagon.
Not so, I'm afraid. Credit where credit is due and criticism where the reverse applies. And so it is with Shane Watson who responded from a childish act in the previous Test to complete a breakthrough and well-deserved century at the MCG. No-one begrudges Watson success in the Test arena after all the setbacks he's endured. So long as he keeps his nose clean, commentators and spectators alike will applaud his achievements.
To be fair, Watson hasn't been heard to complain about commentators who pass judgement in the negative one day, only to swing positive the next. But this is a typical situation where the apparently aggrieved would give the verbal bird to his critics.
Take Dave Mitchell, another affable bloke who coaches A-League team Perth Glory. After beating Newcastle this week, Mitchell referred to non-believers who'd been 'throwing darts'. The win, he said, might silence a few of them.
The reason the darts had been thrown, as Mitchell suggested, was because his side had suffered a run of outs leading up to the Newcastle victory. Lose and the critics will ask or suggest why. Win, and the same observers will acknowledge excellence.
It's not a case of being fickle. It's the role of a commentator, critic, observer or Joe 'general public' Blow.
Anyway, well done Shane Watson. Well done Dave Mitchell and Perth Glory. We're all delighted to see you succeed. Please accept our congratulations.
And should you not succeed, or should you stuff up in any way, simply draw a deep breath and look in the mirror. Are you happy with that? If not, should the rest of us?
That's just the way it is. Nice to be back.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
EMBARRASSED?? ABOUT WHAT??
Shane Watson has had a couple of days to reflect and he says he's not embarrassed by behaving like a buffoon during the Third Test in Perth last week.
Which is pretty embarrassing in itself. Not only did Watson make a fool of himself with his mid-pitch in-your-face ranting celebration at the dismissal of Chris Gayle, but he's almost matched it with his self-assessment of the puerile act.
During the Test series, four other players found themselves in hot water with the match referee for on-field indiscretions. Doug Bollinger for his explosive reaction to a denied appeal, Mitchell Johnson and Sulieman Benn for the bumping and resultant bad-mouthing, and Brad Haddin for his bat-wielding intervention in the same incident.
None of it was particularly becoming of Test cricket. But, coming hot on the heels of those events, the crazed celebration of Watson was the bitter icing on the cake. It wasn't physical and, according to Watson, it was the consequence of baiting by the West Indian captain. But it was public. Very, very public.
No matter who instigated the affair, Watson was the one who came out looking like a right old goose.
But that's only my opinion. A couple of things to add here. Shane Watson is a fine cricketer, having finally overcome a spate of injuries which may have short circuited the careers of lesser characters. And as for the Australian team in general, while behaviour is far from perfect, I'm of the view that the players are subject to more criticism from than is warranted.
But none of that can excuse Watson from his embarrassing behaviour at the WACA. Embarrassing for some of us, that is. Thankfully, though, not for the man himself. No doubt he'll proudly show his kids that bit on his highlights tape in years to come.
Which is pretty embarrassing in itself. Not only did Watson make a fool of himself with his mid-pitch in-your-face ranting celebration at the dismissal of Chris Gayle, but he's almost matched it with his self-assessment of the puerile act.
During the Test series, four other players found themselves in hot water with the match referee for on-field indiscretions. Doug Bollinger for his explosive reaction to a denied appeal, Mitchell Johnson and Sulieman Benn for the bumping and resultant bad-mouthing, and Brad Haddin for his bat-wielding intervention in the same incident.
None of it was particularly becoming of Test cricket. But, coming hot on the heels of those events, the crazed celebration of Watson was the bitter icing on the cake. It wasn't physical and, according to Watson, it was the consequence of baiting by the West Indian captain. But it was public. Very, very public.
No matter who instigated the affair, Watson was the one who came out looking like a right old goose.
But that's only my opinion. A couple of things to add here. Shane Watson is a fine cricketer, having finally overcome a spate of injuries which may have short circuited the careers of lesser characters. And as for the Australian team in general, while behaviour is far from perfect, I'm of the view that the players are subject to more criticism from than is warranted.
But none of that can excuse Watson from his embarrassing behaviour at the WACA. Embarrassing for some of us, that is. Thankfully, though, not for the man himself. No doubt he'll proudly show his kids that bit on his highlights tape in years to come.
ANIMAL INSTINCT IN A CAGE
You'll be relieved to know that eye gouging and groin attacks have been banned from the world's fastest growing sport.
The world's fastest growing sport, you may wonder. Football? Netball? Skate boarding? Surfing? Fly fishing??? Not sure you're all that close, but it's that exhilarating bloodfest called UFC, or Ulimate Fighting Championship.
This is today's version of the lions and the Romans at the Colosseum or, as one-time US presidential hopeful John McCain described, as 'human cock-fighting'.
It's where a couple of blokes are hauled off the streets, shoved inside a cage and, to the roar of the 'fans' (I don't think it's the same mob who sit in the Members at the MCG or play polo at Windsor), they are told to go for it. Anything short of outright murder seems to be the goal here. Aim to maim. The more blood the better.
Boxing is suddenly looking about as tough as badminton.
Everyone's into it, so we're told. The TV networks in the US can't get enough of it, and the sports lovers are, excuse the pun, fighting over tickets to the live performances.
Everyone except me. By my reckoning this is the most barbaric expression of sport to emerge since the fall of the Roman Empire.
To quote an American fighter by the name of Joe 'Daddy' Stevenson: "You don't really have to know the rules... Everyone understands about instinct.. Everyone understands about survival."
Animal instinct. Enough said.
The world's fastest growing sport, you may wonder. Football? Netball? Skate boarding? Surfing? Fly fishing??? Not sure you're all that close, but it's that exhilarating bloodfest called UFC, or Ulimate Fighting Championship.
This is today's version of the lions and the Romans at the Colosseum or, as one-time US presidential hopeful John McCain described, as 'human cock-fighting'.
It's where a couple of blokes are hauled off the streets, shoved inside a cage and, to the roar of the 'fans' (I don't think it's the same mob who sit in the Members at the MCG or play polo at Windsor), they are told to go for it. Anything short of outright murder seems to be the goal here. Aim to maim. The more blood the better.
Boxing is suddenly looking about as tough as badminton.
Everyone's into it, so we're told. The TV networks in the US can't get enough of it, and the sports lovers are, excuse the pun, fighting over tickets to the live performances.
Everyone except me. By my reckoning this is the most barbaric expression of sport to emerge since the fall of the Roman Empire.
To quote an American fighter by the name of Joe 'Daddy' Stevenson: "You don't really have to know the rules... Everyone understands about instinct.. Everyone understands about survival."
Animal instinct. Enough said.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
THE YEAR OF THE BRAT
The year 2009 will go down as many things in sport. Records, rewards, achievements et al, as per usual. But it will also be remembered as the year of the brat.
Sport remains very much an important and enjoyable part of our lives, and it is reflective of the times in which we live.
As such, the world has become a hotbed of hotheads highlighted by a disrespect for authority and a wanton absence of discipline. You see it on the streets, in the schools, on the beaches, in the shopping malls, all magnified by the ever-presence of television and social media outlets.
That's society. And, sadly, that is an unsavoury part of sport as we now see it.
At the US Open, Serena Williams exploded with expletives in an outburst which surely would have resulted in a long-term ban for a less-marketable player. This was an outburst that would have made even John McEnroe blush in his heyday, but more of that later.
We were wrong on Tiger Woods. Touted as Mr Clean before his world imploded, more detailed analysis of Wood the golfer reveal him towards the top of the list in, not only women and wins but, his on-course indescretions as well. The club-tossing episode in Melbourne during the 3rd round of the Masters was just one example, the 5-iron clubbing a spectator in the process. This was an act of defiance glossed over by a loving media because it was Tiger. Imagine if it had been John Daly 12 months ago?
Domestically, the names roll off the tongue like last chance warnings from football officials. Just this week, as the footballers were supposed to be in hibernation, Sydney Rooster Jake Friend had his third appointment with local police, all in 2009.
And Paul Gallen, he with record of alleged testicle-grabbing, racial vilification and the attempted re-opening of an opponent's stitched head wound, was pinged by the police for urinating in public and near the head of a mate. A mate!!? Lucky he liked the bloke. There were extenuating circumstances, according to Gallen, but he copped his $5000 fine regardless. After-all, Gallen is a former captain of the Sharks, so leadership is required here.
Then there's Brendan Fevola, whose drunken Brownlow Medal night antics proved to be the final straw for long-suffering Carlton coaches and officials, and he was sent packing. Good luck Brisbane.
There are plenty more examples. Many, many, many. Fortunately, they are vastly outnumbered by the good deeds and fine behaviour exemplified by the majority of footballers, but there are enough bad ones to make the head spin. Why, oh why, do so many continue to behave like boofheads?
Did we ever hear of Jack Nicklaus or Peter Thomson behaving badly on or off the golf course? Or Margaret Court or Evonne Goolagong on the tennis court? Or Pele on the soccer field? No, and very few of their contempories, either.
McEnroe is one of the few exceptions of times dating back beyond the last quarter of a century. Indeed, he has a lot to answer for, with his rantings and ravings defying authority and infecting a whole new breed of impressionable brats in sport and in society in general.
Gone are the days of unquestioned compliance in homes, the classrooms and the training pitches. Youngsters have been encouraged to, not only be seen, but heard as well. To question authority. And, as an extension, to disrespect rules and discipline.
Over the same period, sports management and marketing has undergone exponential growth, resulting in burgeoning pay packets for those who put on the show. The sports stars have become commodities, and with commodities we have minders and a raft of people to repair the odd bit of collatoral damage created along the way.
It's proving to be a poisonous cocktail. A flagrant dumbing down of community standards and expectations, and kids who can kick, hit, tackle or throw well lauded as celebrities.
The time has come for them to understand, like so many of their peers, that they in a privileged position. The best moment of their lives. The $300,000, $400,000 or even, in the case of Fevola, around $800,000 a year contracts won't last forever.
Time to make the most of it, and grow up.
Sport remains very much an important and enjoyable part of our lives, and it is reflective of the times in which we live.
As such, the world has become a hotbed of hotheads highlighted by a disrespect for authority and a wanton absence of discipline. You see it on the streets, in the schools, on the beaches, in the shopping malls, all magnified by the ever-presence of television and social media outlets.
That's society. And, sadly, that is an unsavoury part of sport as we now see it.
At the US Open, Serena Williams exploded with expletives in an outburst which surely would have resulted in a long-term ban for a less-marketable player. This was an outburst that would have made even John McEnroe blush in his heyday, but more of that later.
We were wrong on Tiger Woods. Touted as Mr Clean before his world imploded, more detailed analysis of Wood the golfer reveal him towards the top of the list in, not only women and wins but, his on-course indescretions as well. The club-tossing episode in Melbourne during the 3rd round of the Masters was just one example, the 5-iron clubbing a spectator in the process. This was an act of defiance glossed over by a loving media because it was Tiger. Imagine if it had been John Daly 12 months ago?
Domestically, the names roll off the tongue like last chance warnings from football officials. Just this week, as the footballers were supposed to be in hibernation, Sydney Rooster Jake Friend had his third appointment with local police, all in 2009.
And Paul Gallen, he with record of alleged testicle-grabbing, racial vilification and the attempted re-opening of an opponent's stitched head wound, was pinged by the police for urinating in public and near the head of a mate. A mate!!? Lucky he liked the bloke. There were extenuating circumstances, according to Gallen, but he copped his $5000 fine regardless. After-all, Gallen is a former captain of the Sharks, so leadership is required here.
Then there's Brendan Fevola, whose drunken Brownlow Medal night antics proved to be the final straw for long-suffering Carlton coaches and officials, and he was sent packing. Good luck Brisbane.
There are plenty more examples. Many, many, many. Fortunately, they are vastly outnumbered by the good deeds and fine behaviour exemplified by the majority of footballers, but there are enough bad ones to make the head spin. Why, oh why, do so many continue to behave like boofheads?
Did we ever hear of Jack Nicklaus or Peter Thomson behaving badly on or off the golf course? Or Margaret Court or Evonne Goolagong on the tennis court? Or Pele on the soccer field? No, and very few of their contempories, either.
McEnroe is one of the few exceptions of times dating back beyond the last quarter of a century. Indeed, he has a lot to answer for, with his rantings and ravings defying authority and infecting a whole new breed of impressionable brats in sport and in society in general.
Gone are the days of unquestioned compliance in homes, the classrooms and the training pitches. Youngsters have been encouraged to, not only be seen, but heard as well. To question authority. And, as an extension, to disrespect rules and discipline.
Over the same period, sports management and marketing has undergone exponential growth, resulting in burgeoning pay packets for those who put on the show. The sports stars have become commodities, and with commodities we have minders and a raft of people to repair the odd bit of collatoral damage created along the way.
It's proving to be a poisonous cocktail. A flagrant dumbing down of community standards and expectations, and kids who can kick, hit, tackle or throw well lauded as celebrities.
The time has come for them to understand, like so many of their peers, that they in a privileged position. The best moment of their lives. The $300,000, $400,000 or even, in the case of Fevola, around $800,000 a year contracts won't last forever.
Time to make the most of it, and grow up.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
BARRY'S HALL OF FAME
The sporting wheel of fortune can spring up a surprise, depending on where the rotation comes to a halt.
Just ask Tiger Woods, whose popularity knew no bounds when he stopped off in Melbourne just a few short weeks ago. Next stop on the wheel of fortune was not quite so kind.
For Barry Hall, the reverse has been the case. For much of it, 2009 was a year to forget, when the monicker of 'Big Bad' returned in any description of the Sydney Swans' star. Just when it seemed he had exorcised his demons of on-field indiscretions, he did it again with an unprovoked punch to the head of an unsuspecting Adelaide Crow Ben Rutten.
And so ended the career of Barry Hall at the Sydney Swans and, seemingly, in the AFL fullstop.
But the wheel of fortune wasn't finished yet. Slowly, it began moving to a point of redemption, passed the signpost called boxing, and on to the Western Bulldogs, with whom he signed a contract to prolong his career by at least a further two years. Just over a week ago, he was warmly embraced by Bulldogs fans at the kennel.
And now, Barry Hall's face is gracing advertising billboards in major metropolitan areas spruiking Telstra Bigpond. Dressed up in Christmas attire, playing on his very badness.
Two salient points emerge here. One is that it can be good to be bad. In this case, lucrative marketing opportunities arise by being cast as a villian.
More to the point, however, is that the events which have lead to Hall's departure from Australia's biggest city have conspired to make him one of the most recognisable faces in Australian sport.
Look at it this way. AFL is our most popular sport in terms of spectator following and exposure. And yet, its popularity is dwarfed in Sydney, and Brisbane for that matter, by the might of rugby league, where even Gary Ablett, Buddy Franklin and Nick Reiwoldt are barely known or recognised.
For an AFL player to have a significant profile in Sydney, you need to be a Sydney Swan. And, of course, that profile of a star Swan is no less in Melbourne, Adelaide or Perth because, in those cities, the AFL is the unchallenged king of the codes.
So Barry Hall has been able to create a huge profile right around Australia, in both rugby league and AFL heartlands, and cash in on his name, reputation and, his mum would suggest, his good looks. That's something Ablett, for all his brilliance and second generation legendary name, can not do. Nor Franklin. Nor Reiwoldt, Jonathon Brown or any other player.
And neither could Billy Slater, Cameron Smith, Greg Inglis or any of their Melbourne Storm team-mates because, despite their four consecutive grand finals, the Storm remains isolated in AFL-crazy Melbourne.
Barry Hall is back in Melbourne where it all began when he was a young hothead with St Kilda back in the 1990s, having traversed the Sydney market and undergone a metamorphism from bad to good and back to his bad old ways again.
It's probably not the road map he planned to follow, but it's ended up at the right destination. A genuine national football star in a country of football fragmentism.
And that can't be all that bad.
Just ask Tiger Woods, whose popularity knew no bounds when he stopped off in Melbourne just a few short weeks ago. Next stop on the wheel of fortune was not quite so kind.
For Barry Hall, the reverse has been the case. For much of it, 2009 was a year to forget, when the monicker of 'Big Bad' returned in any description of the Sydney Swans' star. Just when it seemed he had exorcised his demons of on-field indiscretions, he did it again with an unprovoked punch to the head of an unsuspecting Adelaide Crow Ben Rutten.
And so ended the career of Barry Hall at the Sydney Swans and, seemingly, in the AFL fullstop.
But the wheel of fortune wasn't finished yet. Slowly, it began moving to a point of redemption, passed the signpost called boxing, and on to the Western Bulldogs, with whom he signed a contract to prolong his career by at least a further two years. Just over a week ago, he was warmly embraced by Bulldogs fans at the kennel.
And now, Barry Hall's face is gracing advertising billboards in major metropolitan areas spruiking Telstra Bigpond. Dressed up in Christmas attire, playing on his very badness.
Two salient points emerge here. One is that it can be good to be bad. In this case, lucrative marketing opportunities arise by being cast as a villian.
More to the point, however, is that the events which have lead to Hall's departure from Australia's biggest city have conspired to make him one of the most recognisable faces in Australian sport.
Look at it this way. AFL is our most popular sport in terms of spectator following and exposure. And yet, its popularity is dwarfed in Sydney, and Brisbane for that matter, by the might of rugby league, where even Gary Ablett, Buddy Franklin and Nick Reiwoldt are barely known or recognised.
For an AFL player to have a significant profile in Sydney, you need to be a Sydney Swan. And, of course, that profile of a star Swan is no less in Melbourne, Adelaide or Perth because, in those cities, the AFL is the unchallenged king of the codes.
So Barry Hall has been able to create a huge profile right around Australia, in both rugby league and AFL heartlands, and cash in on his name, reputation and, his mum would suggest, his good looks. That's something Ablett, for all his brilliance and second generation legendary name, can not do. Nor Franklin. Nor Reiwoldt, Jonathon Brown or any other player.
And neither could Billy Slater, Cameron Smith, Greg Inglis or any of their Melbourne Storm team-mates because, despite their four consecutive grand finals, the Storm remains isolated in AFL-crazy Melbourne.
Barry Hall is back in Melbourne where it all began when he was a young hothead with St Kilda back in the 1990s, having traversed the Sydney market and undergone a metamorphism from bad to good and back to his bad old ways again.
It's probably not the road map he planned to follow, but it's ended up at the right destination. A genuine national football star in a country of football fragmentism.
And that can't be all that bad.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
WHEN THE WORLD CUP ISN'T No. 1
Rival countries bidding for the rights to host the 2018 and 2022 World Cups must be looking on with some bewilderment at the domestic inter-code bickering which has broken out in Australia.
For the rivals are football-rich, as in soccer-rich, nations and it would seem unfathomable that any rival body would present a barrier to hosting an international event of this magnitude. An event, it should be pointed out, which is regarded in many parts of the globe, as of greater cultural, sporting and economic significance than the Olympic Games.
But Australia is a different market, and the AFL and NRL have every right to adopt defensive lines in the event of a successful bid. A solution needs to be found but it is not easy, and those espousing the concerns need to be treated with more consideration than they are being afforded by the gung-ho FIFA supporters.
Claims of pettiness and vulnerability should not overshadow the real risks forseen by domestic administrators. Sure, forget about the season, postpone matches, take them elsewhere or whatever. Easy to say.
However, both the AFL and NRL and much more than football competitions. They are major corporate entities, and the ramifications of quick-fix solutions are huge. It really is a question of paying the bills, as running costs continue to accrue whether matches are being played or not. Hence, cancelling the season is a nonsense.
Surely the most tenable scenario, in the case of the AFL, lies in a mix of the following:
1) An earlier start to the season
2) A 4-6 week break mid-season from the regular roster
3) During the break, each team to play on a fortnightly basis as venues such as:
* Princes Park and Whitten Oval in Melbourne
* Blacktown
* Darwin
* Bellerive
* Internationally including NZ, China, London
Solutions for the NRL would be even easier to find, given the rectangular configuration of grounds, the smaller spectator capacities required and the regions where league, union or soccer are already played.
In doing this, both the AFL and the NRL would ensure the financial returns for clubs, and hence their very survival, are largely unaffected, and they would benefit from exposing the games to both an international audience and deserving regional fans.
The rest of the world may not understand this dilemma.
But it says much for this island nation that Australia, as a newcomer to international soccer, is mixing it with the big guns from FIFA and forwarding an imposing argument for hosting rights to the biggest event in the world when, in reality, the game here is still far from the number one choice of codes.
For the rivals are football-rich, as in soccer-rich, nations and it would seem unfathomable that any rival body would present a barrier to hosting an international event of this magnitude. An event, it should be pointed out, which is regarded in many parts of the globe, as of greater cultural, sporting and economic significance than the Olympic Games.
But Australia is a different market, and the AFL and NRL have every right to adopt defensive lines in the event of a successful bid. A solution needs to be found but it is not easy, and those espousing the concerns need to be treated with more consideration than they are being afforded by the gung-ho FIFA supporters.
Claims of pettiness and vulnerability should not overshadow the real risks forseen by domestic administrators. Sure, forget about the season, postpone matches, take them elsewhere or whatever. Easy to say.
However, both the AFL and NRL and much more than football competitions. They are major corporate entities, and the ramifications of quick-fix solutions are huge. It really is a question of paying the bills, as running costs continue to accrue whether matches are being played or not. Hence, cancelling the season is a nonsense.
Surely the most tenable scenario, in the case of the AFL, lies in a mix of the following:
1) An earlier start to the season
2) A 4-6 week break mid-season from the regular roster
3) During the break, each team to play on a fortnightly basis as venues such as:
* Princes Park and Whitten Oval in Melbourne
* Blacktown
* Darwin
* Bellerive
* Internationally including NZ, China, London
Solutions for the NRL would be even easier to find, given the rectangular configuration of grounds, the smaller spectator capacities required and the regions where league, union or soccer are already played.
In doing this, both the AFL and the NRL would ensure the financial returns for clubs, and hence their very survival, are largely unaffected, and they would benefit from exposing the games to both an international audience and deserving regional fans.
The rest of the world may not understand this dilemma.
But it says much for this island nation that Australia, as a newcomer to international soccer, is mixing it with the big guns from FIFA and forwarding an imposing argument for hosting rights to the biggest event in the world when, in reality, the game here is still far from the number one choice of codes.
Monday, December 7, 2009
WHEN TOO MANY BIRDIES BECOME AN ALBATROSS
First, a correction. 'Simply, Tiger Woods does not stuff up.' Wise words penned on this site just a few weeks ago, when a squeaky clean Tiger Woods wowed all of Australia with his visit to Melbourne for the Masters.
Well, things change. In fact, the scenery continues to change as we blog here, with Tiger continuing to rack up the birdies.
At last count, he'd reached the halfway point of the round, with the ninth birdie outed, according to a report in the New York Daily News, as a Los Angelos porn star, Holly Sampson. Her acclaimed works include 'Descent into Bondage' and 'The Diary of a Horny Housewife'.
All of which begs the question of why, oh why, would Tiger even contemplate such a thing. With a billion bucks in the bank, with top looking sorts swooning over him 24hours a day, why Tiger? Can you not resist a little temptation here and there, and here and there, and there, and..
What's wrong with spending more down time in your hotel room reading your favourite book, Jules Verne's 'Around the World in 80 Days'? Again, and again. Keep reading, Tiger.
So Tiger now finds himself in a bit of a pickle. He's reportedly being forced to renegotiate his prenuptial agreement, which could lead to his wife Elin Nordegren Woods receiving $US300 million in any future divorce.
Mind you, this tawdry episode has proved to be a bonanza for the jokesters around the globe:
* He hit a tree and a fire hydrant because he couldn't decide between a wood or an iron
* Tiger's new nickname is Cheetah
* The only person who can beat Tiger Woods with a golf club is his wife
* What's the difference between a car and a golf ball? Tiger can drive a ball 400 yards
* Apparently Phil Mickelson called Tiger's wife asking how to beat him
* Tiger drives well on a firway but doesn't fare well on a driveway
* What do Ernie Els, Jaimee Grubbs, Kalika Moquin and Rachel Uchitel all have in common? They all played a round with Tiger Woods
* Tiger's so rich he owns lots of expensive cars. Now he has a hole in one
And that's just for starters.
These are tough times for Tiger Woods. All these birdies, and now he has an albatross around his neck.
Well, things change. In fact, the scenery continues to change as we blog here, with Tiger continuing to rack up the birdies.
At last count, he'd reached the halfway point of the round, with the ninth birdie outed, according to a report in the New York Daily News, as a Los Angelos porn star, Holly Sampson. Her acclaimed works include 'Descent into Bondage' and 'The Diary of a Horny Housewife'.
All of which begs the question of why, oh why, would Tiger even contemplate such a thing. With a billion bucks in the bank, with top looking sorts swooning over him 24hours a day, why Tiger? Can you not resist a little temptation here and there, and here and there, and there, and..
What's wrong with spending more down time in your hotel room reading your favourite book, Jules Verne's 'Around the World in 80 Days'? Again, and again. Keep reading, Tiger.
So Tiger now finds himself in a bit of a pickle. He's reportedly being forced to renegotiate his prenuptial agreement, which could lead to his wife Elin Nordegren Woods receiving $US300 million in any future divorce.
Mind you, this tawdry episode has proved to be a bonanza for the jokesters around the globe:
* He hit a tree and a fire hydrant because he couldn't decide between a wood or an iron
* Tiger's new nickname is Cheetah
* The only person who can beat Tiger Woods with a golf club is his wife
* What's the difference between a car and a golf ball? Tiger can drive a ball 400 yards
* Apparently Phil Mickelson called Tiger's wife asking how to beat him
* Tiger drives well on a firway but doesn't fare well on a driveway
* What do Ernie Els, Jaimee Grubbs, Kalika Moquin and Rachel Uchitel all have in common? They all played a round with Tiger Woods
* Tiger's so rich he owns lots of expensive cars. Now he has a hole in one
And that's just for starters.
These are tough times for Tiger Woods. All these birdies, and now he has an albatross around his neck.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
DOING IT BY INSTINCT
Theories abound as to why Test cricket is losing its universal appeal. Perhaps a lot of it boils down to one word: instinct.
Over the past 15 years, Australia has cracked the formula for winning Test matches. A handful of some of the greatest players in history has been a fair starting point. But the renaissance got underway before the arrival of Warne, McGrath, Gilchrist, Ponting and co.
It started back in 1986 with the appointment of Bob Simpson as coach of an Australian team which had reached its lowest ebb. Simmo brought with him a back-to-the-basics, disciplined approach to the game, where fielding become as important a facet as the two obvious principles of batting and bowling. It was the emergence of the professional era in cricket, in terms of preparation as well as the gradually evolving financial rewards.
Under Simmo, followed by Geoff Marsh and then John Buchanan, Australia took the game to new heights by giving due attention to every aspect of the game. This was formulated cricket -- the formula for success. From the early 1990s, the wins came thick and fast, and it seemed everyone was happy.
Conformity was part of the deal. Some personalities were casualties along the way and, occasionally, conflicts arose. Shane Warne, for one, made no secret of his disregard for the studious Buchanan.
Conformity, too, in the form of technique became the Australian way. And that is the crux of this blog.
Ricky Ponting circa 2009 is a far different player than the 20-year-old who made 96 on debut against Sri Lanka in Perth back in 1995. The one speed flair of the youngster has been replaced by a man who is blessed with the ability to adapt his game to the situation at hand.
Michael Clarke is another whose technique has undergone a transformation since he scored 151 in his first match for Australia against India in Bangalore. Again, he made his mark with aggression, as noted by Peter Roebuck in the Sydney Morning Herald.
"Not that the assault was reckless," he added. "Indeed the control was impressive. Clarke calculated the risks and took his brains with him down the track. Of course he need [sic] a bit of luck, was plumb in front in the nineties, but few begrudged him his hundred."
Neither Ponting or Clarke lasted initially. They were reinvented as batsmen with tightened defence and flair to be displayed only on occasions.
The latest casualty is Phillip Hughes, touted as Australia's next great hope after his frolicking times in South Africa to kick-start his Test career. Alas, 3 Tests later he was out of the side after being exposed for his weakness with short-pitched bowling. Now, Hughes is struggling to understand it all. He's a confused young man, betwixt and between.
His greatest strength was his instinct. He was a breath of fresh air. He looked ungainly at times, he was cheeky. But he was doing it his way.
This, however, is at odds with the Australian way, and what has become the way throughout international cricket. The game has become formulated.
The great irony about all of this is that the sole century-maker from last week's First Test in Brisbane was a teenager from the West Indies, where formulated cricket has never been much chop.
Adrian Barath didn't go to a cricket academy. He learnt his cricket in shanty-like nets on a concrete pitch on the outskirts of Port of Spain in Trinidad. Tall guys with long limbs bowled to him, and he hit the ball. His way. By instinct.
Barath's technique is not out of a text book. Will he be given free reign to do it his way, or will he be forced to conform?
Former West Indies great Brain Lara recently made an interesting observation.
"Australia makes ordinary players into great players. The West Indies makes great players into ordinary players," were the sentiments of Lara.
It's all about the system. On that basis, you can't argue with the system, which produces the winning results. But it also produces robots, where instinct doesn't count.
Over the past 15 years, Australia has cracked the formula for winning Test matches. A handful of some of the greatest players in history has been a fair starting point. But the renaissance got underway before the arrival of Warne, McGrath, Gilchrist, Ponting and co.
It started back in 1986 with the appointment of Bob Simpson as coach of an Australian team which had reached its lowest ebb. Simmo brought with him a back-to-the-basics, disciplined approach to the game, where fielding become as important a facet as the two obvious principles of batting and bowling. It was the emergence of the professional era in cricket, in terms of preparation as well as the gradually evolving financial rewards.
Under Simmo, followed by Geoff Marsh and then John Buchanan, Australia took the game to new heights by giving due attention to every aspect of the game. This was formulated cricket -- the formula for success. From the early 1990s, the wins came thick and fast, and it seemed everyone was happy.
Conformity was part of the deal. Some personalities were casualties along the way and, occasionally, conflicts arose. Shane Warne, for one, made no secret of his disregard for the studious Buchanan.
Conformity, too, in the form of technique became the Australian way. And that is the crux of this blog.
Ricky Ponting circa 2009 is a far different player than the 20-year-old who made 96 on debut against Sri Lanka in Perth back in 1995. The one speed flair of the youngster has been replaced by a man who is blessed with the ability to adapt his game to the situation at hand.
Michael Clarke is another whose technique has undergone a transformation since he scored 151 in his first match for Australia against India in Bangalore. Again, he made his mark with aggression, as noted by Peter Roebuck in the Sydney Morning Herald.
"Not that the assault was reckless," he added. "Indeed the control was impressive. Clarke calculated the risks and took his brains with him down the track. Of course he need [sic] a bit of luck, was plumb in front in the nineties, but few begrudged him his hundred."
Neither Ponting or Clarke lasted initially. They were reinvented as batsmen with tightened defence and flair to be displayed only on occasions.
The latest casualty is Phillip Hughes, touted as Australia's next great hope after his frolicking times in South Africa to kick-start his Test career. Alas, 3 Tests later he was out of the side after being exposed for his weakness with short-pitched bowling. Now, Hughes is struggling to understand it all. He's a confused young man, betwixt and between.
His greatest strength was his instinct. He was a breath of fresh air. He looked ungainly at times, he was cheeky. But he was doing it his way.
This, however, is at odds with the Australian way, and what has become the way throughout international cricket. The game has become formulated.
The great irony about all of this is that the sole century-maker from last week's First Test in Brisbane was a teenager from the West Indies, where formulated cricket has never been much chop.
Adrian Barath didn't go to a cricket academy. He learnt his cricket in shanty-like nets on a concrete pitch on the outskirts of Port of Spain in Trinidad. Tall guys with long limbs bowled to him, and he hit the ball. His way. By instinct.
Barath's technique is not out of a text book. Will he be given free reign to do it his way, or will he be forced to conform?
Former West Indies great Brain Lara recently made an interesting observation.
"Australia makes ordinary players into great players. The West Indies makes great players into ordinary players," were the sentiments of Lara.
It's all about the system. On that basis, you can't argue with the system, which produces the winning results. But it also produces robots, where instinct doesn't count.
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