I used to like this site, but this is just rubbish.
They posted a link to this crap....Real Aussies my hat.
Any TSShers who give a ******** might recall that I have, in my more serious moments on this site, complained about how predictable, cyclical and shallow our media are. Whilst this perhaps has the air of someone complaining about the blueness of the sky and the wetness of water, I must yet again lament this phenomenonemonemon in relation to our soccer team.
A methodological note, first: soccer is not the proper name for this game, as people as varied as the late Johnny Warren (who hated the word) and Senator Stephen “I don’t wash my hands after ********ing” Conroy will tell you. The correct word for the game is in fact Wogball.
Apparently on the weekend our national Wogball team went to some ********ant country in South America where the locals paused briefly from running their economy into the ground, bagging globalisation and complaining about the latest crop of military dictators to hand our lads a woopin’. Nevertheless, our meeja has taken a “not as bad as it could be” angle on things and declared that the Socceroos can hit back on the home leg (apparently in Wogball they make you play twice, rather than once, which seems rather unique in sport but not a bad way to maximise ticket sales). The only thing missing from the coverage, for my money, was the subtle suggestion that the Uruguayans are probably terrorists.
But come on chaps, haven't we been here before? Is this 2001? Didn’t we go through this four years ago? And four years before that? And then further back? Sorry, hang on, eight years ago it was Iran, who paused briefly from threatening Israel, savagely repressing its women and enjoying possibly the world’s highest smack usage to cane our Crusader-fascist arses. Seems we have our very own quadrennial ritual in which the meeja and the weird collection of misfits who run Wogball in this country tell everyone we’re going to qualify for the World Cup this time, before failing miserably.
With that in mind, I propose that, for the record, in four years’, eight years’, twelve years’ time, to state certain facts regarding ‘The World Game’.
1. For a start, Wogball isn’t ‘The World Game’. It’s hardly played in China, India and the US and, by golly, that’s about a third of the global population right there. Sorry.
2. It is evidence of failure to evolve. The story – probably apocryphal – is that William Webb Ellis at Rugby School in the nineteenth century picked up the ball during a soccer match and ran with it, inventing rugby. This moment can be compared to the apemen touching the monolith in 2001, the moment when an evolutionary leap to a higher level was made. Suddenly people realised that they had four limbs, not two, and that all four could be used during an activity.
3. Wogball in Australia is a collection ethnic fiefdoms primarily designed to perpetuate internecine strife rather than play sport. The only score half the people attending soccer matches in this country are interested in is how many Serbian/Croatian/Greek/Turkish heads were kicked in during the ensuing riot. This is the key reason why I think we need to get a team of African-Americans or Hispanics from suburban Los Angeles to set up shop in Sydney. Come match day, there wouldn’t be anything left of opposition fans except piles of bullet-riddled corpses.
4. Come to think of it, funny how there’s rioting everywhere soccer is played. Wogball can claim the proud mantle of the sport that invented the hooligan – or at least reinvented it after the decline and fall of chariot-racing.
5. WTF is it with soccer and flares? This is a genuine mystery to me. Even in footage from peaceful soccer matches in this country, there’s always, but ALWAYS, a ********ing flare on display. Where do you get flares from anyway? And why do they let them off? Is it like a pauper’s fireworks? The Chinese scare away evil spirits with pyrotechnics. What sort of confused and easily-frightened spectre is going to be discomfitted by a flare?
6. Whenever anyone wins some international competition, the local fans seem compelled to go out and block traffic in Sydney by way of celebration. Of course, this gives me the opportunity to write trolling letters to the Herald, but still – it’s the principle, isn’t it?
7. No danger of REAL Australians doing that of course because Australia will never win ******** at soccer. Never. Ever.
On the other hand, there are a few positives in Wogball, and it’s only fair to identify them
1. The diving. The theatrics on display in soccer are marvellous – gentle collisions that see players being propelled to the ground as if hurled by Lovecraftian forces from beyond; the accidental knocks that have an effect similar to being shot in the head; the impersonation of a falling tree that follows a faint swish in the vicinity of someone’s boots – it’s all brilliant, and far from decrying it, there should be more of it.
2. The pushing of the ref. Look, we all hate refs. Even refs hate refs. In ever sport except soccer, the person of the official is sacrosanct, and the merest act of touching a referee will earn a suspension. In soccer, particularly if the ref has given a penalty kick, the entire team will crowd around him, pushing, shoving and jostling him. The reasons for this are unclear, as no referee has ever been known to change their mind about a penalty, but they are assaulted nonetheless, and good thing too.
3. The chanting. Australians are absolutely ********ed at sporting chants. Proper chants are things of wit and beauty, and you’ve only got to hear our pathetic ripostes of “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi, oi, oi” (or, in Bondi, “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi vey oi vey oi vey”), to Barmy Army chants such as “Union Jack’s on the Aussie flag” to know we can learn a thing or twelve, if there was any point.
4. The single-handed maintenance of the Australian flare industry. Flares are emergency aids, for use only in dire circumstances, so there tends to be very limited turnover of these products. Letting tonnes of them off every weekend is what keeps flare manufacturers in business.
5. It massively expands the vocabulary of sporting journalists. Unused to, and uninterested in, soccer for the other three years and nine months of the quadrennium, Australian journalists suddenly discover a passion for and knowledge of the finer points of Wogball. To hear Peter “have they found a cure for lockjaw yet?” Wilkins regaling us yesterday with the fluid style adopted by the Wogeroos in Uruguay under their new coach was simply marvellous.
So in four years’ time, when Australia get beaten by some Asian team to miss out yet again on the World Cup; when once more the corpse of Johnny Warren starts high rotation in his grave at the antics of the latest sap who has been employed as coach, when once more Les Murray offers his magisterial insights into 22 grown men toeing a bit of leather about some grass, just remember one thing – get some shares in flares.
They posted a link to this crap....Real Aussies my hat.
Any TSShers who give a ******** might recall that I have, in my more serious moments on this site, complained about how predictable, cyclical and shallow our media are. Whilst this perhaps has the air of someone complaining about the blueness of the sky and the wetness of water, I must yet again lament this phenomenonemonemon in relation to our soccer team.
A methodological note, first: soccer is not the proper name for this game, as people as varied as the late Johnny Warren (who hated the word) and Senator Stephen “I don’t wash my hands after ********ing” Conroy will tell you. The correct word for the game is in fact Wogball.
Apparently on the weekend our national Wogball team went to some ********ant country in South America where the locals paused briefly from running their economy into the ground, bagging globalisation and complaining about the latest crop of military dictators to hand our lads a woopin’. Nevertheless, our meeja has taken a “not as bad as it could be” angle on things and declared that the Socceroos can hit back on the home leg (apparently in Wogball they make you play twice, rather than once, which seems rather unique in sport but not a bad way to maximise ticket sales). The only thing missing from the coverage, for my money, was the subtle suggestion that the Uruguayans are probably terrorists.
But come on chaps, haven't we been here before? Is this 2001? Didn’t we go through this four years ago? And four years before that? And then further back? Sorry, hang on, eight years ago it was Iran, who paused briefly from threatening Israel, savagely repressing its women and enjoying possibly the world’s highest smack usage to cane our Crusader-fascist arses. Seems we have our very own quadrennial ritual in which the meeja and the weird collection of misfits who run Wogball in this country tell everyone we’re going to qualify for the World Cup this time, before failing miserably.
With that in mind, I propose that, for the record, in four years’, eight years’, twelve years’ time, to state certain facts regarding ‘The World Game’.
1. For a start, Wogball isn’t ‘The World Game’. It’s hardly played in China, India and the US and, by golly, that’s about a third of the global population right there. Sorry.
2. It is evidence of failure to evolve. The story – probably apocryphal – is that William Webb Ellis at Rugby School in the nineteenth century picked up the ball during a soccer match and ran with it, inventing rugby. This moment can be compared to the apemen touching the monolith in 2001, the moment when an evolutionary leap to a higher level was made. Suddenly people realised that they had four limbs, not two, and that all four could be used during an activity.
3. Wogball in Australia is a collection ethnic fiefdoms primarily designed to perpetuate internecine strife rather than play sport. The only score half the people attending soccer matches in this country are interested in is how many Serbian/Croatian/Greek/Turkish heads were kicked in during the ensuing riot. This is the key reason why I think we need to get a team of African-Americans or Hispanics from suburban Los Angeles to set up shop in Sydney. Come match day, there wouldn’t be anything left of opposition fans except piles of bullet-riddled corpses.
4. Come to think of it, funny how there’s rioting everywhere soccer is played. Wogball can claim the proud mantle of the sport that invented the hooligan – or at least reinvented it after the decline and fall of chariot-racing.
5. WTF is it with soccer and flares? This is a genuine mystery to me. Even in footage from peaceful soccer matches in this country, there’s always, but ALWAYS, a ********ing flare on display. Where do you get flares from anyway? And why do they let them off? Is it like a pauper’s fireworks? The Chinese scare away evil spirits with pyrotechnics. What sort of confused and easily-frightened spectre is going to be discomfitted by a flare?
6. Whenever anyone wins some international competition, the local fans seem compelled to go out and block traffic in Sydney by way of celebration. Of course, this gives me the opportunity to write trolling letters to the Herald, but still – it’s the principle, isn’t it?
7. No danger of REAL Australians doing that of course because Australia will never win ******** at soccer. Never. Ever.
On the other hand, there are a few positives in Wogball, and it’s only fair to identify them
1. The diving. The theatrics on display in soccer are marvellous – gentle collisions that see players being propelled to the ground as if hurled by Lovecraftian forces from beyond; the accidental knocks that have an effect similar to being shot in the head; the impersonation of a falling tree that follows a faint swish in the vicinity of someone’s boots – it’s all brilliant, and far from decrying it, there should be more of it.
2. The pushing of the ref. Look, we all hate refs. Even refs hate refs. In ever sport except soccer, the person of the official is sacrosanct, and the merest act of touching a referee will earn a suspension. In soccer, particularly if the ref has given a penalty kick, the entire team will crowd around him, pushing, shoving and jostling him. The reasons for this are unclear, as no referee has ever been known to change their mind about a penalty, but they are assaulted nonetheless, and good thing too.
3. The chanting. Australians are absolutely ********ed at sporting chants. Proper chants are things of wit and beauty, and you’ve only got to hear our pathetic ripostes of “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi, oi, oi” (or, in Bondi, “Aussie Aussie Aussie, oi vey oi vey oi vey”), to Barmy Army chants such as “Union Jack’s on the Aussie flag” to know we can learn a thing or twelve, if there was any point.
4. The single-handed maintenance of the Australian flare industry. Flares are emergency aids, for use only in dire circumstances, so there tends to be very limited turnover of these products. Letting tonnes of them off every weekend is what keeps flare manufacturers in business.
5. It massively expands the vocabulary of sporting journalists. Unused to, and uninterested in, soccer for the other three years and nine months of the quadrennium, Australian journalists suddenly discover a passion for and knowledge of the finer points of Wogball. To hear Peter “have they found a cure for lockjaw yet?” Wilkins regaling us yesterday with the fluid style adopted by the Wogeroos in Uruguay under their new coach was simply marvellous.
So in four years’ time, when Australia get beaten by some Asian team to miss out yet again on the World Cup; when once more the corpse of Johnny Warren starts high rotation in his grave at the antics of the latest sap who has been employed as coach, when once more Les Murray offers his magisterial insights into 22 grown men toeing a bit of leather about some grass, just remember one thing – get some shares in flares.
