THE SPORTS TRAGIC.

Do we have to love them because their Aussies?

2013-01-17T18:50:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

It's been a while, but I'm back in action. The emotional toll of the Lance Armstrong circus has lead me to lay off the keyboard for a while. Now that Lance has decided to man up and come clean, I can get on with my life and get back to venting my spleen!

Lately I have been wondering whether there is an unwritten law stating that all Australians must support all Australian athletes or teams no matter how they behave, compete or generally represent us. I consider myself very patriotic and love our flag and what it represents, but as you all know by now, when it comes to sport, I have standards!

Bernard Tomic is the catalyst behind my thoughts. The young tennis prodigy from the Gold Coast, whom I once bumped into in Coles, has gone from hero to zero, then back to hero faster than I can say Phillipousis. Bernie is a young bloke with a pile of talent, a pile of cash and a pile of attitude. The way he behaved during the last half of last year made me want to stick an un-ripe banana up the exhaust of his yellow Ferrari. He was such a brat - everyone disowned him and it appeared there was no way back.

Fast forward to the new year in which Tomic beat Novak ,won the Sydney International, then declared he is a new man with a new attitude.....all is suddenly forgiven! Sure he's young and he deserves a chance, but what has astounded me, was the speed at which public opinion completed it 180 degree u-turn. The biggest brat since McEnroe wins a few games and he's a tennis darling once again.

I have never liked little Lleyton. His on court demeanour is cringeful to me and always has been. Before all the bogans out there tear me a new one - I admire Hewitt's tenacity, fight and grit. I understand his on court persona is a weapon he uses to unsettle opponents. He gives his all every match and makes himself available for national duty at all times.

It's these traits for me that cancel out my negative views and make me feel comfortable about getting behind the little crow eater, but the question remains: Am I obligated to support someone I don't like?

Arrogance is another trait that has been creeping into Australian athletes and teams. The swimming at last years Olympics was a prime example. Magnussen and company competed like a bunch of school kids on their first overseas trip. They thought talk alone was enough to collect a swag of medals, but reality hit hard and our teary swimmers under performed.

There is little doubt about the ability of "The Missile", but I'm sure there were more people than me that bristled every time he pumped air into his own tyres. Jana Pittman's dramatic behaviour was a car crash, but we were obligated to back the green and gold......not me!

All the things we say we stand for don't seem to matter any more if there's a possibility they might obstruct a win.

Sportmanship, being humble, fair play and giving your all. Once upon a time pre-requisites for all Australian representatives. Popularity, self promotion and social media now dominate the sporting landscape. Sport is such a business driven industry and in my opinion the little things that once captured my imagination are being squeezed out.

Anyway tragics, I'll be interested to hear your opinion, but I must get back to watching the third-string Australian cricket team take on Sri Lanka.....C'mon Aussie...Tragic!

Black Caviar.

2012-07-05T18:43:00.002+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Most of us grew up listening to tales about that legendary nag, Phar Lap. The feats of this magnificent animal are part of Australian folklore and represent an important segment of our identity.

People of all ages speak passionately about "big red", almost as if they personally saw him race or even hand fed him a carrot. Phar Lap's hide is mounted at the Melbourne museum, his skeleton across the ditch and his heart in Canberra, all of which are visited and admired by thousands who simply want to be close racing royalty.

Never in my life did I think I would get the chance to witness a horse of this calibre....but guess what? I was wrong in a big way!

Black Caviar has captured the imaginations of people the world over. As her unbeaten streak sits proudly at 22, we can only marvel at what this extraordinary mare has achieved.

What I really love about having a horse as a national sporting hero is:

- She has absolutely no ego.
- She doesn't have a facebook or twitter account.
- She is humble.
- She never has to go on the news to apologise for being a dickhead.
- She doesn't demand more money than she is worth......but deserves to.
- She is happy with a simple existence.

Would I be wrong if I said that Black Caviar is so popular because people are embracing this anti-Christ of the modern day sports personality. This horse is an object of beauty that provides moments of pure adrenalin, followed by ecstasy and then doesn't spoil it by opening her mouth - unless she wants some hay!

I wish Caviar fever would last forever. I'd love to have a beer with trainer, Peter Moody or even a milkshake with jockey, Luke Nolan.

Nolan went within a whisker of being the most hated man in Australia, but saved his bacon. These blokes are my kind of sporting legends. Moody, a knock about larrikin, who openly acknowledges that he's won the lottery and Nolan, who has ridden the majority of 'Caviars wins going as far to say that riding the mare is better than sex!

I love their passion and I love they way they love the horse. It has taken me back to a time when fame and fortune wasn't the heart and sole of sport. It's about a story and the characters that capture our adoration.

I hope she's got a few more gallops in her and I hope we get to see another sea of salmon and dots packing Australian tracks. Either way, we must bottle the Black Caviar experience. Never forget how we felt when she crossed that line in front of the Queen. It was a special kind of rush that we may never see again.....although she has got siblings.....Tragic!

Where Teams Go to Die.

2012-05-31T06:28:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Sun, bikinis, nightclubs, meter maids, theme parks and Warrick Capper are some of the things that spring to mind when we think of the Gold Coast.

One of the things that isn't so well know is the fact the the Goldy is fast becoming Australia's biggest graveyard for national sporting teams. The Coast is a revolving door for a string of glamour organisations that have have rolled into town with all guns blazing, then crashed and burned in a very short period.

The Rollers, the Seagulls, the Bears, the Cougars, GC United and the Chargers are teams just off the top of my head that have been and quickly gone on the Coast. The Titans and Blaze are currently on thin ice and the Indy/V8's race has done it's absolute best over the years to crash and burn.

Why do these teams fail in an environment that loves its sport and an has everything a successful team needs to succeed? In my humble opinion there are a number of factors that have contributed to making my home region a national laughing stock in sporting circles. Here are a couple:

1. Fickle fans
Gold Coasters are cool, laid back people, that love anything shiny and new. They get wrapped up in the excitement and flock to new enterprises, one-offs and have been know to attend the opening of someones fly. On the downside if a team starts losing, or doesn't begin winning (Suns I'm looking at you), Gold Coast fans will drop off and find the next big thing.

Sports teams shouldn't be offended. It's the same with nightclubs, restaurants and fashion. Gold Coasters will love it, do it and then ditch it. They need be convinced to hang around for the long haul.

2. Shocking Management
The carnage of the Gold Coast's sporting landscape is massively due to the arrogance and flamboyance of some of the management teams. Clive Palmer and Michael Searle are two recent examples. One a big man desperate to show how big he really is and the other wanting to be bigger than he really is. Both claimed to be passionate about their respective organisations, both have rode them into the ground. Palmer has robbed the Coast of ever getting a chance in the A-League again and Searle will have done the same for league if the Titans crumble under the weight of massive debt.

Palmer is a miner - not a sports administrator. GC United was a toy and his lack of touch with the game, fans and the sport itself, eventually extinguished a promising enterprise. He figured cash alone would buy success, but his style and arrogance scared the fans off and effectively destroyed soccer in the region. I don't think big Clive gave a rats arse.....shame.

Searle on the other hand started off strong. The Titans were the envy of the league. They built a sensational brand in their early years. On field they displayed heart and grit and their wonderful Stadium brought in the fans. A passionate Searle had done well, but wanted to grow too fast too soon. He wanted to be the big man on campus, without taking any classes. He threw around cash the club didn't have. The place was a Ferrari on the outside but was running on a Daewo engine.

Once the on-field grit started to fade, the crowds thinned and gloss on the shiny Titan's helmet had worn off. Only a miracle will save the Titans and I hope they get one. Time will tell.

These only a couple of botched efforts in a sorry roll call of disasters. How can so many teams in the one area be so mis-managed? For sports lovers like myself it is a tragedy. Up until recently we had the Suns, Blaze, United and the Titans all on our door step. Admittedly, I didn't go every week, but to have so many options on the Coast was a sports lovers dream. It may be partly my fault....nah.

Golden ticket
The nutty professor of soccer, Miron Bleiberg came up with an idea for a Gold Coast sports lovers pass. A golden ticket that would give purchasers the choice to attend one of the four major sports codes for a pre-selected amount of games. I thought it was genius. Perfect for a place that can't make its mind up, ideal for people that want to go to sport sometimes, a winner for those new to sport and wanting to try before they buy. The media tore Bleiberg to shreds, critics said he was nuts, but at least he could see the rot setting in and was trying to come up with an answer.

Too many sit on their hands and fail to see the urgency in a problem - Not the mighty Bleiberg!

My ingredients to a successful team on the coast (or anywhere really) is as follows:

1. Engage a new audience early. (marketing, advertising, public interaction)
2. Start ticket prices off sensibly low. (a full stadium of $10 paying fans creates more buzz than an empty stadium of $50 paying fans - no shit!)
3. Be strong on junior development.
4. Get players that aren't tossers.
5. Grow the club gradually.
6. Make the fans the number 1 priority.
7. Win!

The Gold Coast Suns are the great white hope for long term success and currently have ticked all the boxes, but one. Point number 7 is the hardest of all to obtain, but once they do start winning the club will explode and hopefully become the benchmark for any future teams that are lucky enough to get a sniff on the Coast in the future.

As I said earlier, the Gold Coast is a sporting graveyard. The Commonwealth Games could be our chance to gain some street cred. The bumbling we've seen so far by the games committee has me quaking in my duds. I just have a fear in my guts, that the Games will be embarrassing....so negative...so GC.....so Tragic.

Tweets or Twits?

2012-05-09T11:11:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Few would argue that social networking has changed the world forever. For the better or worse is the grey area that many ponder. Gone are the days when wiping your bum was a private matter.....it now is an activity that needs to be shared with ones friends, followers or disciples.

The world of sport has embraced social networking, with athletes, coaches, team owners and media using facebook, twitter, fango etc to give a behind the scenes insight into a world of sport that was previously out of bounds to us mere mortals.

Granted some of the glimpses behind the scenes have given sport another dimension, but on the negative it has also highlighted the fact that some sports stars are air-headed ratbags that are lucky enough to be paid squillions for the god-given talent they posses.

Gary Ablett Jr is a huge fan of facebook and twitter and appears to use it in a way that promotes his brand, keeps his nose clean and gives his fans a sneak peak into his private world. Ablett runs competitions, answers questions, posts photos and recently provided a phone number, so fans could ring him for an hour and have a chat.

By putting himself out there, Ablett avoids the rabid journalists that drove his famous father into hiding during his career. Recently Ablett was criticised for sharing his feelings on Fremantle tagger, Ryan Crowley's tactics on twitter. Comments that added spice to a possibly dull contest between the Suns and the Dockers. Marketing maestro Kevin Sheedy would have loved Ablett's work.

For a negative example of twitter trouble we can look no further than darling of the pool, Stephanie Rice. Who could forget he very unlady-like tweet of "Suck on that faggots" following a Wallabies victory over the springboks. Is that what girls speak like these days?....Goodness gracious!

So many athletes feel the need to shoot off at the mouth on facebook or twitter and some are beginning to act as if there opinion ranks up there with Gillard's or Obama's. Social networking is transforming sports personalities into stars and not in a good way.

How sick do we get of movie stars meeting the President about orphans in Siberia or similar. These people's egos have been pumped up to the point where they believe their own publicity and forget where they come from.

American athletes jumped off the humble train years ago and unfortunately Aussies are chasing them down. Fame is fast becoming number one - above loyalty, teamwork, hard work and the love of their sport that gifted them their popularity.

At the time of writing this, I am an active facebook and twitter user, for how long I don't know. I am highly concerned with sport and society in general heading toward a catastrophic narcissism driven implosion.

Social networking does have a place in society and sport, but it needs to be used for good not stupidity. I wonder how long it will be before organisations start training athletes in Facebook etiquette? #hopefullysoon........Tragic!

Jimmy Stynes - R.I.P

2012-03-20T17:56:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

What a sad day for not only sport, but Australia and Ireland in general. One the great gentlemen, Jim Stynes, succumbed to cancer after long and very public battle with the brutal disease.

I'm sure all sports fans are feeling for "Dublin Jim's" family, friends and colleagues - the world has been left a much poorer place for his loss.

From a personal point of view: I was just a lad when the Melbourne Demons took a punt on the big Irishman. At the time, the Irish experiment had it's doubters, but Melbourne's shamrock connection of Stynes and the mustachioed Sean Wight proved them all wrong. Jim also played with his brother Brian at Melbourne for a short time, but Brian didn't take to the game quite like Jim.

What Stynes lacked in skill, he made up for in determination. You would often see him fighting for the ball with a rover at the bottom of a pack. He went a long way to revolutionising the ruck position. Ruckmen today are so much more than just a beanpole in the middle. They are everywhere men that are required to do everything. Jimmy was ahead of his time.

What I best remember about Jimmy, was his consecutive games record....200 plus. On the footy show they would joke about Stynes having a leg cut off during the week, but still being able to play...classic! I can picture him wearing giant "mattresses" on his thighs as he bravely masked injury. So much like his final days.

I loved Jim's temperament on the field. He played with passion, but dripped sportsmanship. He was dominant, yet humble...the perfect role mode. I can remember when he ran across the mark in the 1987 pre-final vs the Hawks, gifting Gary Buckenara a goal and a spot in the Grand Final. My heart bled for him and I'm sure he used it as fuel to fire the rest of his career.

It was truly amazing for him to come from another code and another land, work his backside off and win our top honour, the Brownlow medal. It's the ultimate fairytale and a true inspiration to anyone who has a seemingly impossible dream.

Without doing any research, it is well known that Stynes always put others first. He tireless charity work and care for battlers is as legendary as his on field heroics. So many lives were improved directly from the work and care of the shy kid from Ireland.

Whenever you saw him speak, you knew it was heart felt and genuine. You could sense his pride every time he presented a gurnsey to a junior Demon. He loved the Melbourne football club and it loved him. I'm sure the D's will turn their grief into something positive and do their former champion proud.

Jim is in a better place now, looking down on those that he touched in his short time. He can be proud of what he achieved and the difference he made. Thanks for the memories Jimmy, you were truly an all round hero......Tragic.

A Football Club is Not a Toy!

2012-03-11T17:11:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Unless you have been living under a rock, it has been impossible to escape the ludicrous antics of mining billionaire, Clive Palmer. Single-handedly the big fella has ripped the heart out the Gold Coast United Football Club, by ignorantly thinking that his huge fortune has gifted him brains to go with his helicopter........wrong!

Time and time again we see high rolling saviours swan in and flash their cash around a footy club, but rather than being a supporter and silent force in the background, they let their mammoth egos run wild and try to take over the joint.....wrong again.

Palmer is a miner and a very good one, but this doesn't make him an authority on running a football club. Right from the word go, the Gold Coast was set to fail. They over charged fans to attend early friendlies at a time when they had the opportunity to win over public support and enthusiam.

Palmer treated the club like a business, which it was, but it was a business that would only thrive with the support and love of it's fans. The club had fans....all 5000 of them. Nowhere near enough for a national team. The clubs marketing was pathetic, you'd struggle to know they existed. The interaction in the community was dwarfed by the Suns and the Titans. Ironically on the pitch the team was successful in the early days, but the damage was already done.

For an outsider like myself, Clive Palmer looked like a bloke that wanted to say "Look everybody I've got my own football team.....isn't that cool!" Look at your football team now Clive....they go bye bye.

Sometimes rich blokes can bring success and hope to a team. Rusty Crowe and Nathan Tinkler (so far), are good examples. Both enjoy a hands on roll in their organisations, but both also know their football limitations. I'm sure Crowe could play a convincing coach in a rugby league blockbuster, but in real life he let's the football people handle the football.

Crowe and Tinkler also share a deep personal passion for their teams. Crowe shamelessly flies the Rabbitohs flag whenever he can and although it hasn't created a premiership, it's cemented South Sydney as an exciting and established piece in the NRL Puzzle.

Tinkler has delivered Wayne Bennett to Newcastle in the league and has made the A-league Jets a team of the future. His aim is to create a buzz around Newcastle through sport. He has dropped ticket prices for families and as a result, the Knights are packing the stands like they did when Johns, Chief and co. ruled the roost. This is good, very good.

Overseas soccer teams are riddled with Russian billionaires, Texan oil magnates and 15 year old Arabian Sheiks - buying up soccer clubs, spending shitloads on players and then driving their century year old institutions into debt. Fans are left devastated and angry, while these rich pricks skip off to their next big splurge.....maybe a small country?

Who could forget Geoffrey Eddleston, the nutty doctor that purchased the Sydney Swans in the '80's. It was an explosion of fanfare in the form of helicopters, pink cars, the Swanettes and Warrick Capper's testicles dangling out of his shorts. It gave the team attention, which is fine, but that attention later became embarrassment - totally unnecessary.

In this day and age, sporting clubs need outside dollars to survive and remain competitive, but they don't need overpaid nut bags hooking them up to their limos and dragging their good names through a giant paddock of cow dung. When will they learn? Football teams are not toys!.....Tragic.

Base Camp Morzine

2012-03-01T19:37:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

In life there are some people that are dreamers and some that are doers. My brother Joe and his wife Amelia are both...they dream it, then they do it!

Joe is a multi-tasker to the extreme, his abilites range from teaching, electrical work, house renovation, massage and beer tasting just to name a few.

His better half, Amelia is an elite tri-athlete, originally at Olympic distance, but more recently at the torturous Ironman. She has gained national selection and has a 2nd and 3rd at the prestigious Port Macquarie race - this only touches on her achievments.

Both are very successful in their chosen endevours and after years of hard work in every aspect of their lives, they have decided to take a year off and combine two of their favourite elements...triathlon and adventure.

Having already travelled extensively, Joe and Meals have been to some breathtaking locations...but none captured their imagination quite like Morzine, a small skiing village nestled at the base of the Rhone Alps in Eastern France.

Located adjacent to Switzerland, the mountainous Morzine district is a cyclists playground. The scenery packed, soul destroying climbs will make pedal pushers giggle like a hacker teeing off at Augusta.

The town boasts its very own stage of the Tour de France. It is a leg that is best remembered for drug cheat, Floyd Landis' super human performance in the 2006 race. His brilliant climb, set up his victory, but also led to his ultimate undoing. He tested positive and was stripped of his crown.

Anyway, back to Joe and Meals. The food, the location and the culture planted a seed in the minds of the dynamic duo a few years back. This seed has been watered, fertilized - Joe drowned it in beer a few times, but eventually it began to sprout. It grew branches, leaves and in a few months time will bear the juiciest fruit in France.

Joe and Amelia wanted to share the thrill of free-wheeling down one of Morzines death defying (slight exaggeration) slopes, they wanted to share a glass of red while absorbing one of the worlds great panoramic vistas and they wanted to share the joy of simply biking, swimming and running with a bunch of people that love it as much as they do.

Base Camp Morzine is that idea. Joe and Amelia have hired a 5 bedroom chalet in Morzine for June and July. They are inviting anyone and everyone to come and stay with them. As hosts, they will pick you up from Geneva, cook you brekky and give you as much or as little advice about triathlon as you desire. Joe will massage your tired legs, Amelia will pace you on a leisurely run around the village.....they will both do what it takes to ensure an experience of a life time!

This isn't a sales pitch, it's more of a pat on the back to my bro and sis in law. You can only be jealous.....not of the amazing adventure they are about to tackle, but the fact that they are brave enough to do it. It takes a special type of person to make dreams reality and Joe and Meals are leaders in their field.

There is still plenty of room at base camp Morzine, I suggest you get your act together and get on board http://www.basecampmorzine.blogspot.com.au/...it will be bloody sensational. If you can't make it this trip, then maybe it's a good opportunity to plant a seed of your own....Tragic.

COMPETITION!!!!!!!!!

2012-02-25T13:11:00.001+10:00

WIN a years subscription to Australia's top sports magazine by writing in 500 words or less a small piece that describes your sporting passion. Use any angle you like....there are no limits!

Send your entries to adzyp3@gmail.com

Competition closes on 30th April 2012.

Best 3 entries will be published on the Sports Tragic Blog and the winner will take the prize! You must become a blog or twitter follower to win.....show me your sports passion!!!!

Entries accepted world wide - I'll get a translator if I have to!!!!

Sports Tragic.

Tasmanian Sports Safari!

2012-02-16T20:25:00.002+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Part 1

Last week three mates and yours truly did something exhilarating, mind blowing and awe-inspiring....No, we didn't go sky diving, we didn't swim with sharks and we didn't arm wrestle Serena Williams.

Give up?...We jumped on a plane at a ludicrous hour, flew south to my home state of Tasmania, hired a car, drove for an hour and a half, then strapped on the spikes, polo shirt and knickerbockers to finally tackle the jewel in Australian golf's crown, Barnbougle Dunes.

After two holes of typical Tassie rain, we slid our umbrellas back in their holsters and settled in for the ride of our lives. Barnbougle has been praised in every golf publication available, so our expectation was sky high - boy did it deliver! Hole after hole we stared at each other blankly on the tee. We were dreading to be the first to hit and all wanted to learn from someone elses mistakes.

Barnbougle was not only challenging, but beautiful. The course was delicately woven into the landscape, with great care being taken to not over power the raw natural appeal of this hidden oasis. The rough was like a pick-pocket, waiting for your ball to drift off course....in the blink of an eye, it was gone, never to be seen again. The greens looked like a heard of elephants were buried under them...intimidating, but spectacular.

Being a proud Tasmanian, I was chuffed to see my companions giggling like school girls at the majesty of the course. Their golf was solid under the conditions without being spectacular, but form meant nothing and the experience everything. I'd pumped up the place like a supermodels rack and it had done me proud.

Six hours later we were spent but happy. We'd searched for every lost ball....and there were shit loads. We'd been hammered for 12 rounds and lived to tell the tale. The next day we were tackling The Lost Farm course down the road....more of the same...bring it on!

The Lost Farm was equally mind-blowing. You could say it was like going from Disneyland to Disneyland Paris. The holes were brilliant, but not quite as intimidating as day one. Up, down, round and round....what a rush. This was golf at its finest. You would be hard stretched to find two courses that are so brilliant sitting side by side anywhere else in Australia, if the World.

Before I dribble too much more, I must also make mention of the the accommodation, the club houses, the pro-shops and the staff. Every element of the two days of golf we spent at Barnbougle was superb. If you love golf and don't play these little rippers this year, it will be a scandal of Tiger sized proportions.

Part 2

We drove North West after the golfing shenanigans, bound for my home town of Ulverstone. We called in on the folks as every good son should, then went for a few beers at my old stomping ground the Ulverstone Football Club. Ulverstone is a small town on the North-West coast of Tassie and has dominated in many areas of local sport - such as cricket, golf and basketball.

I showed my mates some old footy photos, that showed me muscled up and tanned....much the same as I am today. After a good feed and a sleep we were off South for the second leg of our Tasmanian sports odyssey, the mighty Hobart Cup.

Because this is a sports blog, I'll leave out he skulduggery that occurred in the few days before the cup. In summary a pleasant time was had by all. We had now been joined by 8 more blokes from around the country, 4 had become 12....let's go racing!

Our little group had a $20 outfit limit for the cup...some of the lads thought this was an invitation for fancy dress. So amongst a group of disgusting retro suits, we were graced with the presence of a cow, horse and a guy riding an inflatable bull. Not a good look.

The Hobart cup is Tasmania's premier horse race. It is held at the picturesque Elwick race course. With the river and mountains serving as the backdrop, the track could be described as a boutique track and this word would also perfectly sum up the meet.

A healthy crowd of all ages, shapes and sizes enjoyed some cracking weather. The horses did their bit on the track, while the fashions of the field fought it out with the dagwood dogs for off-track honours. The atmosphere was a blended mix of family and fun. The Boags beer flowed freely and the dickhead count was low. Bookies were plentiful, so laying a bet was a breeze. Best of all there were no lines...none... not even the ladies dunnies. Hooray!

Again seeing my crew enjoy themselves swelled my little chest with pride. It was my first Southern Cup and I genuinely loved it.

When you think of Tasmania, you think food, scenery and incest, but not necessarily sport. The golf and the gee gees are just a taste of what occurs on the local sporting calendar.

Targa Tasmania, Symonds Plains V8's, the Sydney to Hobart, not to mention cricket, AFL and world class tennis, make my little home state a hidden gem for a sport themed holiday.

If you haven't been, get your backsides to Tassie...We might go back next year.......Tragic.

Tossers of Tennis.

2012-01-28T07:06:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

I had to write this while it is fresh in my noggin. It comes after last nights epic Australian Open semi between Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray.

There is no doubt that the Serbian can play tennis....the lad is a gun, but is there a bigger drama queen / wanker than the world number one?

In my eyes, there a quite a few tossers floating around in the ATP and WTA currently. I shouldn't just settle on giving Novak an uppercut. The Scotsman is a bigger sook than most of the contestants on the "Biggest Loser".....anyways.

Before you tennis lovers come and burn down my house, let me explain myself. Some of the traits that give tennis players a direct ticket into my hall of shame are as follows:

- Faking injuries - C'mon Novak! Enough is enough buddy. I made and cancelled your funeral arrangements 16 times during last nights match. At least take some limping classes, it looked like you had one of Bagdahtis's rackets stuck up your base line. The moaning and groaning, trainers time-outs and hang dog demeanour is a joke. Nadal plays with knees that are worse than Betty White's and just grits his teeth and gets on with it....have a cup of cement and harden up!

Novak isn't the only one....you know who they are.

- Mouthing off at officials - It's fine to let off a bit of steam every now and then...professional sport is a high pressured, tense environment. Feel free to question a call every now and then by all means, but please don't threaten the officials with violence or even death please Serena.
Holy crap, does this girl go off like a frog in a sock! If things aren't going her way she becomes extremely scary (sorry scarier). Yelling and screaming, mixed in with a pinch of crying. A huge tanty chucker to match her huge glutes. While her mum sits up in stands like a freaky queen of Sheba, Serena decides whether she will eat the lines woman with or without ketchup. Not a pretty sight.

- Smart arse press conferences - This one is for you Andy. Every now and then a journalist will ask a dumb question like: "How did it feel when you got smashed in the nuts?"
It happens, no big deal. If I was getting over a million bucks a year to play a sport I love, I would smile and answer every question with humour and grace (maybe a little sarcasm).
My point is, Roddick carries on like a spoilt brat almost every time he opens his trap. Is he pissed off because he looks like Stiffler from the American Pie movies and everyone keeps calling his Mum a M.I.L.F? Who knows? The brat thing is not cool and never really was (don't tell McEnroe - he will just die).

The sport does need characters - not giant penises that call themselves a tennis players.

-Shrieking during points - For some reason some girls find it necessary to fake an orgasm every time they hit a ball. Is there something we don't know about going on? Is hitting the perfect forehand equivalent to sitting on the spin dryer or riding a horse on a very bumpy trail for the ladies? I highly doubt it!

Let's pick on Miss Sharapova (surprise, surprise). Her grunting or shrieking makes it impossible for me to sit through one of her matches without looking up hit-men in the yellow pages. There is nothing more painful in sport than listening to the Russian glamour doing her vocal gymnastics. She doesn't do it at all in the warm up, so it can only be classed as dirty, rotten, stinking, filthy cheating.
For me it's the same a a cricketer skying a catch, then running over to the fielder under it and screaming "Drop it wanker!". There is no place for such crap. Shut the f$%k up!

Tennis stars are people and are entitled to mistakes, but it seems like more and more are turning into selfish twits that think they are as important the ball boys and girls...they'r not! There is no shame in being classy. The match between Roger and Raffa was a stunning example of great tennis and sportsmanship. This is what the fans really want, so come on guys and girls - leave your egos at the door and play some figgin' tennis....Tragic!

My TOP 5 Worst
1. Djokovic
2. Roddick
3. Sharapova
4. Serena
5. Murray (Sad sack)

My TOP 5 Best
1.Nadal
2.Federer
3.Li Na
4.Wozniacki
5.Clijsters

WHO ARE YOURS?

My Opinion on the Aussie Test Cricket Team.

2012-01-17T17:39:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

As the saying goes - "Opinions are like arseholes....everyone's got one".

The make-up of the Australian test cricket team has made every Tom, Dick and Harry come out of the woodwork with their 2 cents of wisdom.

After some horrible defeats, mind boggling selections and some in-house back stabbing the team has settled into some solid cricket against the woeful Indians and looks to be finally heading in the right direction.

Whether you want it or not, I'm going to share a few of my thoughts about Aussie cricket and hopefully you can tell me how right I am.....or not.

Selectors.
Selectors are blokes that have been hired to identify the best talent in the land and then give them the opportunity to become Australian cricketers. This honour is a huge one and can not be handed out lightly...did anyone tell Andrew Hilditch this. I know he's gone now, but I'm going to dance on his grave a little more. Hilditch was a tremendous opener for Australia, playing many a gritty innings for his country. Why did he have to trash his reputation by taking on a job he wasn't cut out for?

Australian cricket cleary had to rebuild and find a spinner. We had some good, but not great spinners going around, some young, some not so young. Off the top of my head, their was McGain, Hauritz, Krezja, Beer, Doherty, Cullen and a few others that escape me - they came in and out of the Aussie team like hookers on a booty call. Some of these guys had some success (Krezja 11 odd wickets on debut) and some struggled. Either way, none of them were given a real chance and even before that stage were picked after doing jack shit for their state. Hilditch and his boys were looking for an instant Warnie and if they failed to rapidly deliver they were sent to the glue factory.

Post Hilditch the selectors have settled on Nathan Lyon, who to me looks alright. He forces batsmen to play and constantly asks questions. If he has a quiet game, the rumours of a Warne return drift around like an uninvited fart and lately the ever green Bradley Hogg has stuck his beak in. Hopefully Lyon with be backed and given a chance to prove his worth...time will tell.

Batting wise it's been a similar story. Hasty selections of blokes that could be superstars one day, but have done stuff all currently. Steve Smith springs to mind. He might be a nice young man, but I'd imagine he'd probably be 6th picked in primary school lunchtime cricket. He could field a bit, but it was almost like he was on a "learn to bat as you go" type contract. Blonde hair and an earing does not make you a test cricketer....he needed some tatts also.

Knee jerk changes could summarise the disasterous selections of the past few years. I admire the investment in youth, but for me those chosen were too raw. Phil Hughes may have been an exception. Weight of shield runs, made Hughes impossible to ignore, but his flawed technique was not ready for the test arena. He was shuffled in and out, was hammered by the media, it was a total train wreck.

Selection is a tough job, but for a nation that led the way for twenty years, our policies and practices fell apart and guess work took over. Boonie and Merv should stick to sinking cans!

20-20
There is no doubt that 20-20 cricket is an excitement machine that is here to stay. It is an opportunity for average young cricketers to make obscene ammounts of cash. There is no doubt that the abbreviated form of the game has had a dramatic impact on test cricket already. I have just finished watching the Aussies smash the Indians in 2.5 days and early finishes have become common place in the long form. Watching 12 wickets fall in a day is a common occurance and this can safely be attributed to the rash shots top order batsmen are playing early in their innings. It's almost like Warnie with a choccie muffin (back in the old days), they can't help themselves. Flashes outside off peg are automtic movements, like a doctor wacking your knee during a reflex test.

Cricket Australian have to factor in the 20-20 effect. They have to ensure a separation between the 20-20 and test squads (excepting Davey Warner maybe). They have to keep a leash on the youngsters and their massive IPL contracts to ensure their heads don't explode.

The Coach
The coaching roll has always been a controversial postion on the cricket landscape. Bobby Simpson in my mind was hugely influential in turning round Aussie cricket. His dedication to fielding excellence played a huge part in our cricket becoming world conquering and the players instilling a huge dose of self confidence in themselves.

Since those days different coaches have come and gone. Each offering their own snippett of wisdom or improvement into the team. Over time the money, fame and stature that is now enjoyed by players has caused many to think they don't need a coach to tell me how to train and what to do. Shane Warne has led the attack on former coaches, which to me is as week as piss by Warney. Leave that sort of stuff to Aker Shane.

Not being much of a cricketer, I'm unsure of how much a cricket team needs to be coached, but every sports team needs a mentor or such. Can anyone out there in tragic land tell me why one of the biggest and most successful cricketing nations in the world can't find one bloke in this country that can do this job. It embarrasses me, makes me cringe, makes me wish I had put in for it. No offence to Mickey Arthur, but come on!

My Continued Success Formula
- Less contracts - Cricket Australia hands out contracts to blokes that aren't even playing shield cricket. It's a disgrace. Make the players fight for one and earn it. It makes me want to vomit when I see blokes on the KFC adverts that i wouldn't give a nugget to, let alone a game for Australia. This is something the Poms have recently got right.

- Stick with the current crop - The squad we now have, has everything we need to become a power again. We have to stick with these bloke (Haddin excepted). When some of the young blokes have cemented their spots in 12 months time, it may be time to move on Huss and Punter, but right now they are needed to induct the youth, that is a perfect blend of attack and stability (Cowan, Marsh, Warner, Kawaja, Watson).

Our bowlers are looking awesome at the moment. Barring injury we have the most potent attack in world cricket (Hilfy, Patto, Starc, Sidds, Cummo, Harris). These blokes must be nurtured and developed, they will get us through for the next 10 if we look after them.

Lyon is our spinner, we need to dig up a leggie and develop, but other than that, bowling is rock solid.

Haddin must go when Paine is fit, or give Matty Wade a go. Hadds has been a good servant, but when your byes tally is higher than your own average its time....enough said.

-Ditch one dayers.

One day cricket is dead in this era for now. It is a waste of time and money. Let players play the long form or hit and giggle. The death of the 50 over version is painful and agonising. Do the humane thing CA.

Well I hope you found my thoughts insightful or on the flip side you may thing I leak more crap than a broken sewage pipe. I think we've currently go it right, but we have to keep the ball rolling.....Tragic.

The Human Side.

2011-12-01T21:49:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

A somewhat sombre tale this time round...one for reflection and taste of reality.

Today's passing of League legend, Artie Beetson and the recent tragic suicides of cricket personality, Peter Roebuck and English soccer great, Gary Speed have again served as stark reminders that the stars we love and hate are mere mortals...just like us.

It's easy to forget that sports people who've lived and flourished in the public eye, battle problems, issues and bad luck similar to any poor sod. Over time there have been so many champions that've had their lives and careers cuts short by illness, accident or dare I say it... fate.

One that springs to mind, is the tarnished figure of South African cricket, Hansie Cronje. The man that shattered the hearts and minds of all cricket fans by being ousted as a match fixer and cheat. Cronje died tragically in a plane crash not long after his name and reputation were completely shit-mixed by his greed and poor judgement. The guy stuffed up...do you think death was his punishment?...Spooky.

On the other side of the coin, who could forget the emotional wave ridden by 38 year old Aussie Mum, Kerryn McCann as she entered a packed MCG to win the marathon at the 2006 Melbourne Commonwealth games (she won in 2002 also). It will be burnt into the memory of everyone that was old enough to witness and enjoy one of the bravest performances I can remember. McCann would be diagnosed with Breast Cancer a year later and live for only one further year. Gone too soon, but the memories left are priceless.

When someone famous dies it always seems to come as a massive shock. Celebrities and especially sports heroes appear immortal to us. It's like they live in a parallel universe where they are destined to be admired forever. Their deaths snap us back to planet Earth and we realise their private lives mirror the trials and tribulations we roll with every day. They are flesh and blood....surprise!

Marco Simoncelli and Dan Wheldon both died doing what they loved. An overly used cliche. Did they really love their sports enough to give their life. Maybe it was the risk they loved... who knows? A duel tragedy that gets forgotten about as soon as the next big sports scandal crashes the back page.

It seems so unfair that a death in sport stays in our minds for only as long as the media allows. It's sad to dwell on - don't you think?

Flo Jo, Phar Lap and Australian cricket are sporting deaths shrouded in mystery. Intriguing stories that are part of folklore. Let's hope our cricketers can rise from the ashes.....sorry that was terrible. Early sporting deaths add to the mystic, brilliance, adoration and even infamy of the departed. Early deaths have transformed the good into great, the hated into loved and the larrikins into angels.

There are so many that enjoyed glittering careers, but struggled once the ride was over. Speed obviously had some hidden demons, while Roebuck was engulfed in a moment of madness. Another that springs to mind is poor old wrestler Chris Benoit who hung himself after killing his wife and son. On the surface they had it all - fame, money, popularity.....but I guess those things don't complete the package.

As I mentioned, the recent string of sporting deaths have made me think about things. My conclusion is that whatever you do with your life, it is ultimately going to be just as important as what Michael Jordan did with his. Just Do It!

R.I.P.....Tragic

Good Things Must End!

2011-11-17T08:06:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Remember that bully at school that used to punish you with wedgies and intimidation? That guy/girl would always be bigger, tougher and hold a blanket of fear over everyone that crossed their path. School life for them was a breeze...they were kings of the castle.

Fast forward 20 years and you may see that bully walking down the street, overweight, shy and the same size that they were in Primary school. Things flip and they now kiss the footprints you leave behind. Life's funny like that and so is sport. All good things must end.

Currently there is a wave of once dominant forces in world sport that have lost that "bully like" aura and have slipped back into the pack with the "also rans".

The Australian cricket team dominated world cricket for 15 years and didn't the Australian public love them for it. A batch of superstar retirements, a nutty selector, the quagmire 3 forms of cricket has caused and in my opinion a batch of young players with heads the size of Texas, has launched Australian cricket into freefall.

Never has the Australian cricket team been less popular and on the nose. You would think that such a long period of success would buy some slack from the cricket loving public, but success breeds a hunger for more success, it appears that eventual failure is not an option.

Tiger Woods and Roger Federer are a pair of individuals that have had no peer in their respective sports. Lately and for very different reasons, both have been struggling to stay balanced on top of Everest.

We have always expected these chaps to win or be at the very top of their game. To watch them flounder is uncomfortable...like introducing your missus to an ex....it's awkward. This may be why "experts" are floating the idea for these lads to hang up their Nike deals. Bit silly isn't it?

So it's OK for a bunch of unknown mud crabs to ramble along on the golf or tennis tours ranked at 137 for 15 years, going completely un-noticed like a muppett-like ninja, but the blokes that have been number 1 for 10 years and have "crashed" into the top 20 should give the game away? Sport is funny isn't it.

People can't handle seeing their sporting heroes fall from the top of the tree. Fans take it personally and live their sporting dreams through their heroes. You're not a true tragic if you disagree with this.

Being a proud Tasmanian, it's been devastating for me to watch Ricky Ponting carry on like a tool at times and not make any runs. Sad thing is, he is still in Australia's top 3 batsmen. Time to go Rick?

Knowing when to give the game away and go out on top is a skill. In a team sport this is impossible. Team sport success, like interest rates is cyclic. There are periods of winning, but the natural evoloution of a team will see low patches roll through. Only the exceptionally managed teams have long periods of success (eg. Yankees, Man U and Geelong).

Back to individuals. Retiring on top is ideal, then moving on completely is the best option in my book. Too many of my sporting idols have made complete dicks of themselves by becoming commentators or media personalities. This is how I'll remember them and it hurts.

The more I see of Boonie, the more I can't stand the 5 foot 2 Tasmanian with the flared pants....and the diamond earring....So many try to go out on top, then ruin it with a comeback, Tony Lockett, Michael Jordan and even Hingis spring to mind.

In sport, all good things come to an end...it's just so hard for athletes and fans accept.....Tragic!

Middle Age Madness!

2011-10-30T11:36:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

When you slide into your mid thirties it is more than likely that you have given away playing sport at a competitive level and have traded in the "weekend warrior" tag for a more suitable "midweek marshmallow" label. You have a hit of golf with the lads, play a social game of basketball and even whack a tennis ball every blue moon.

This brand of sport is fun, keeps you active and is a good release of stress from the daily, weekly and yearly realisation that you are past your sporting prime. Sorry, I know that sounds a bit melodramatic, but that's exactly how I feel and I know I'm not alone. Men especially need competition by nature. No matter what age you are, you need a metaphorical fight to the death every now and then. You have to compete for something real. My mates and I thought we had concocted the perfect antidote.

Seven sports in a day. A heptathlon if you will. Points on the line for each sport and money on the line for the whole tournament.   Bring it on! Golf, squash, ping pong, tennis, darts, pool and ten pin bowling.
We planned out the times required to complete each event on a pretty spreadsheet....it looked do-able and to make it even more mouth watering, we all fancied ourselves to take out the title. This was the contest we'd been craving.

Four of us were competing. Ages of 33, 35, 46 and 53. The only handicapping for our heptathlon was our official golf handicaps. The other sports were man on man.

Golf was first on the agenda, teeing off at 5.30am. You didn't have to be Bruce McAvaney to predict it would be a massive day.

The four of us play golf every fortnight. There is plenty of sledging and the atmosphere is fairly relaxed....not on heptathlon day.  We were much quieter, spent an eternity planning shots and beat ourselves up more than usual when things hit the skids. We were well and truly in competition mode and loving it.

Why do men need to play for the win? I get upset if my wife beats me at scrabble. Why do we take it so personally when we lose?  It could stem from caveman days, where men used to fight it out for a cave chick's affections. That will to win has stuck. Win at all costs....we are wired that way i guess.

Golf was intense. Winners were grinners and losers gutted. One event down, six to go. Squash was next and I was personally concerned...definitely not my strong suit. As anyone who's played squash knows, it is brutal, especially if you're shit at it. You run around like a headless chook, sweating your arse off, running into walls, running into each other and occasionally getting smacked in the face with the racket or hit in the balls with ...the ball.

When the dust had settled, the leader for the day was further in front and the loser (myself) was further behind. The heckling began and the enjoyment of the day was transforming into a blood lust. This was no longer a social day out with the boys, it was all out war.

On the fitness side of things after 2 events, we were all rooted. Squash had smashed us up badly and the realisation that the day had only just started began to sink in. Had we bitten off more than we could chew....stiff shit, we were committed....Onwards!

After munching down a dodgy lunch we arrived at the ping pong/darts arena (one of the boys garages). It was a bloody sweat box, but the relief of tackling two midly draining events compensated. Over lunch there was a few rows/discussions regarding rules and prize money. Tension grew proportionately to fatigue, as did poor skill execution.

Darts and pong were as tight and competitive as ever, but the results did little to the overall leader board. I was sitting in 4th and by this stage was completely demoralised that these three has-beens (sorry boys), could have the wood over me in sports that I thought I had mastered. The thought of 2 hours of tennis in the Gold Coast sun was as appealing as getting a prostate examination from John Hopoate.

Tennis was a nightmare. We had stiffened up to the point of no return and the quality of rallies were embarrassing at best. We were all sitting the mental toughness exam and none of us had the cheat sheet.
The results again had little bearing on the overall standings and the day was becoming a survival of the stupidest. We were dead men walking.

Showers and a few beers before the final two events was tonic enough to regenerate a final charge. We started to remember that what we were doing was fun, but three of us were secretly seething simply because: we weren't winning!

A few more beers during pool lightened the atmosphere and we enjoyed each others company as we should have been all day. We started to speak about improvements for next years events and which sports should stay and go. Surprise surprise, everyone wanted to ditch something they were crap at and bring in something they couldn't lose. Kind of defeats the purpose, but we didn't care...we wanted to win!

Ten pin bowling was a bit of a blur. It wrapped up at around 11.30pm We'd been at it for 17 hours. The after party we'd planned was cancelled. It was bed time for the heroes of yesteryear. We'd proved something to ourselves...I'll let you decide what it was. One of us was happy and the other three distraught. Once the three days of pain had wore off, it was time to reflect on the day. Was it worth it? Did it scratch an itch? Will we do it next year?   Five seconds to think....Of course!

To my fellow gladiators : Peaky, Lukey and G.O, well done boys and thanks for a great day and for goodness sake....act your age!.....Tragic!

Spring Means Racing!

2011-10-10T19:56:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

How good is the Spring Racing Carnival? Hordes of closet race fans explode from the woodwork, clogging up TAB queues Australia-wide. Punters confidently armed with unique betting systems based on jockey colours, lucky numbers and catchy names.

Mum “going berko” after her “fifty cents each way” favourite comes in third. The freaks in the office arguing over who picked the best horse in the one, two and five dollar sweeps. So many things make this time of year truly unique.

My pet group of spring carnival experts are none other than my mates. Granted these boys know their sport, but to put it mildly, the gee gees are well out of their jurisdiction. Undeterred, they still unashamedly spew out phrases like “good over the last furlong”, “I think my nag’s thrown a shoe” and “I was going to box those three”.

Banter between the boys is far more entertaining that any photo finish. By the time the Cup rolls around, the lads are comprehensively baffled by each other’s bull dust and have secretly converted to one of the juvenile methods of horse selection I mentioned earlier. Their confusion does little to stem their torrent of macho horsey dribble.

What about the fashions on the field. Priceless! It’s a time when anything goes and usually does. Who can resist watching the racing telecast as “B” and even “C grade” celebrities’ gush about who they’re dressed by and which envelope opening they’ll be attending next. Pass me the sick bag please!

It’s pure gold watching the dregs of the Australian talent pool swanning around like Hollywood buffoons. It’s impossible to beat the avalanche of colours and textures that are associated the spring racing carnival, even if the majority of them are expelled in the car-park by the masses of intoxicated youth.

Rubbish aside; it’s the jockeys, trainers, owners and especially the magnificent animals that capture the hearts and minds of the nation. Whether you’re a punter, clothes horse or just get infected with “racing fever,” it’s a time on the sporting calendar to be cherished and enjoyed, no matter which category you slot into.

Bets please!.....Tragic.

My Grand Day Out.

2011-10-04T20:41:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

I have been a rabid Geelong supporter for as long as I can remember. My Dad followed the Cats for some reason and that was good enough for me. My brother, Joe and I were mascots for our local club, Ulverstone. The mighty Robins wore Essendon colours, but I insisted on running out in my navy and white hoops...I'm sure some people thought I'd eaten too much sherbet.

I love the Geelong footy club and like all footy fans have been through some tough times supporting them. The last 5 years have more than cancelled out 20 years of frustration...it has been pure bliss!

Once we disposed of the brave Weagles in the pre-final, it hit me that we were in the Grand Final against the mighty and revered Magpies. I decided then and there that if a ticket came my way, I would jump on a plane and head South to the "G".

A combination of the planets aligning and some great mates being great mates, I was blessed with a ticket. My wonderful wife knew what it meant to me and almost packed my bag for me. Even before the game I was very lucky. My third Grand Final was on the menu, and it was easily going to be the biggest feast I'd tackled.

An elaborate function on the Friday was the perfect lead-up to a relaxed Saturday morning. I caught up with a few mates, picked up some merch, to ensure everyone knew I was a "crazy cat". I made my way to the famous Melbourne Hilton Hotel for a few nerve settlers...the anticipation was a cocktail of butterflies and vomit. It was almost game time!

If you've ever been to the MCG and you're a mad footy tragic like myself, you are well aware of the magic that borders the historic arena. The trees, the car parks, the houses surrounding the ground, all play a big part in the experience of attending a match at the scared site. I was soaking it up like it was my last day on earth.

My seat was in the Olympic Stand....very back row. I didn't give a rats....I'd made it this far without losing my ticket. Once Meatloaf finished strangling a chicken and Vanessa Amorossi did her best Cameron Ling impersonation, it was on!

The game is a blur....so much tension, so much excitement, so much emotion was going through me the entire match. Both teams were giving their all and 96,000 fans were riding every bump with them. It was different to the other granny's I'd been to, there was just something special about it.

I have to be honest, I had the same sick feeling in my guts that was present when Hawthorn rolled us in '08. There were times when the bounce of the Sherrin just wasn't going our way. My mind flashed back to that losing feeling I'd experienced as a player in my day....it scared me. C'mon boys tough it out!

Tough it out they did! Our guts and spirit was exhilarating. I not ashamed to admit tearing up a few times during the day...tears of pride and tears of gratitude that my life had taken such a path that I was able to be present at this once in a lifetime event.

The last quarter was a hammering and the Cats faithful waved off the Magpies fans as one. Our tail end dominance allowed me to finally relax and enjoy a quarter of footy like I never have before. It was ecstasy!

The siren sounded and we all sang the theme song until they kicked us out...it was brilliant....just brilliant. It will be very hard to top in my life (sports wise) and I don't think I'll need to attend another AFL GF....but I might.

Surely watching your team beat Collingwood for the Premiership is the AFL Everest?....Tragic.

Chokers!

2011-09-04T14:49:00.002+10:00

G'day Tragics,

The Wallabies sensational defeat of the All Blacks last week has got me all pumped up for the upcoming Rugby World Cup and the thought of the World Cup got me thinking about how the mighty All Blacks have spectacularly failed as raging favourites in numerous quests to capture the "Billy" Webb Ellis trophy.

The Kiwi crashes then directed my mind to other great/horrific chokes in sporting history and the causes behind them. We must remember, a choke is a one off capitulation, where a team or individual is unable to cut the mustard when it counts. It's a failure on the big stage, when triumph appeared to be a forgone conclusion.

A choke is not a form slump, a drought, a hoodoo or a collingwobble...do I make myself clear? There have been some rippers in history that are generally the sports equivalent of a train wreck. They're horrible to watch, yet compelling viewing. It's impossible to look away.

Poor old Gregory Norman is a famous choker. He had the coveted US Masters in the bag on a few occasions, only to have it ripped away by the curse of nerves, pressure, expectation and a huge dose of arse from his competitors. Unfortunately the "Shark" has been unfairly tarred with the choker brush, even though his career was dotted with amazing achievements. A few dramatic meltdowns have become a big part of his legacy.

Elite sports people are just that...people and can easily become overwhelmed under extreme pressure. The all time greats are the rare exceptions that are able to block out any distractions, negativity or nerves and produce a business like performance with robotic precision time and time again.

Getting back to the chokers. LeBron James pissed off the entire city of Cleveland last year to join a bevy of stars at the Miami Heat. After strolling through to the finals, it looked elementary that LeBron and co. would give the Dallas Mavericks a pasting. Guess what happened? That's right, the Heat crapped the bed and Mr James produced his worse batch of games for the season. Again unfairly, James was ridiculed and left with egg on his face, the folks of Cleveland were happy again.

There's something we love about seeing the mighty fail or is it the joy in an under-dog victory. Either way, sports chokes are big news and can radiate shock waves through the sports mad community. Another casualty of a catastrophic panic is the high stakes sports punter. Thousands of dollars are wagered on "sure things", in the knowledge that a safe collect is imminent. Chokes often create rumours of foul play or teams/players/athletes "taking a dive".

This season 1 million was staked on the mighty Geelong Cats in the AFL to knock over the struggling Essendon Bombers. A Cats victory appeared certain, but they had an off night, with the Bombers taking the chocolates and the mystery punter losing his mill. Granted, this was probably more an upset than a choke, but it clearly illustrates how much money can be wagered on a supposed sure thing.

Personally I love a good choke every now and then (as long as it's not one of my teams). A meltdown adds to the excitement and drama of a sometimes dull contest. It also reinforces that it's never over until that fat bird sings....tragic.

Rules, Rules and More Rules.

2011-08-21T09:22:00.001+10:00

G'day Tragics,

It's a given in society that we need rules. Without them there would be chaos and things would quickly spiral out of control. The same applies to sport. There must be rules to ensure that games function orderly, athletes are protected and fans get to enjoy as big a spectacle as possible.

My concern is that rules in sport are starting to go mad. Like it or not, these days professional sport is all about the mighty dollar. Most sports are driven by television deals, therefore rules are now tailored to make sport as watchable as possible on the box. This doesn't necessarily mean that it's best for the sport as a whole.

My first sporting love, AFL has been butchered over the last 10 years with constant rule changes that have made some aspects of the game laughable. Don't get me wrong, there have been some positive rules implemented, but the majority of tweaks are needless and merely a way for the rules committee to justify their existence.

There are two types of rules: black and white and rules open to the officials interpretation. The later of the two are necessary, but surely must be a simple as possible for the umpires/referees, players and fans to interpret. Currently there are rules in all major sports that leave people scratching their noggins, swearing and occasionally pegging the remote at the plasma.

The disappointing thing is that the knob shiners who set these rules are former players or officials, who know and love their sports, but are too gutless to do the right thing. The fact that the AFL experiment with 3 or 4 rules every year in the pre-season competition tells me that the fat cats see our great games as a toys they can play with and manipulate until they resembles shiny money making machines. This is bullshit!

It's a sporting pastime to give officials a hard time, but lately i have began to realise that these poor buggers are trying their best to interpret the ridiculous rules that have been dealt to them. Some umpires are definitely shite on given days, but the rules they are force to decipher are shite ever day. You have to ask yourself sometimes: Is it the ref or is it the rules that piss you off? I bet I know the answer.

When you begin to follow a new sport, it's a given that it will take some time to pick up the rules and learn to appreciate the true essence of the game. I have been living in Qld for 10 years now and have grown to love rugby league, however there are still quite a few rules that I am baffled by.

To add to my confusion, when watching a game on telly, they constantly go to the "video referee" for a ruling. During the 500 replays, the "expert" commentators explain what has happened and what the outcome will be. When the video ref eventually makes his decision it quite often turns out to be the exact opposite of what we've been told. Surely this is no way to attract new fans.

It's not only the football codes that are constantly tampered with. Cricket, basketball and tiddly winks have all been molested. I have been so livid this year with some of the rules in the AFL that I've almost...almost been driven to switch off. Those who know me will know this is big, very big. I'm sure I'm not the only passionate sports lover that is incensed by rule changes in their favourite game. Repeated tweaks are putting fans off big time. I hope and pray administrators will eventually pull their fingers out of their money hungry arses and stop vandalising sport.

In conclusion: I really think we should go back in time to when the rules were at their most basic. With the increased speed, skill and technology meshed evenly with these grass roots rules, I'm sure we would end up with a spectacularly pure and watchable product that would makes angry fans like me happy once again...Tragic.

It's a Confidence Thing.

2011-08-10T19:19:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Lately I have been playing a fair bit of golf and I must say I have been hitting it pretty well. You could say my form has been so hot that I've almost burnt the arse out of my golf dacks!

On the weekend myself and a group of lads headed up to the Sunshine Coast for a golf weekend, playing a couple of rip-snorting courses. These courses were tough and I struggled. By the fifth hole my smokin' swing had turned to mush and by the back nine was a basket case. I carried my shattered confidence and a nasty hangover into day 2 and my game was well and truly shagged.

Confidence is a funny human condition. It can turn the average sportsperson into a giant and a superstar into a chump. The yips, chokers, slumps and wobbles are all first cousins of confidence that has gone AWOL. It's an amazing phenomenon and when your confidence is taken in sport it's a very humbling experience and it can feel like being stuck behind a locked door that has no key.(shocking analogy - it's late)

In Aussie rules, goal kicking is the ghost that haunts even the best. St.Kilda captain, Nick Reiwoldt's goal kicking became so bad, that it almost appeared as if the big Saint didn't want to get the ball inside 50m. The more trouble an athlete has, the more it becomes a news story. When everyone knows there's a problem, it becomes amplified and often gets worse before it gets better.

Ian Baker-Finch was a bloody good golfer. He won the British Open and would be regarded as one of Australia's greats. Unfortunately IBF will best be remembered for his golf completely falling apart to the point where he quit the tour and took a seat in the commentary box. Once you lose it, it's not a given you will get it back. Poor Ian.

Sports psychologists love jittery athletes. Their insecurities are a sports quack's gold mine. They make a motza teaching athletes visualization techniques, goal setting and even hypnosis. There is no obvious cure was missing confidence, if there was it would be hotter than Viagra.

Phillipousis, Norman and even LeBron James in this years finals series would have loved a magical cure for sudden deflated mojo. Like love, depression or even the runs....confidence is uncontrollable and comes and goes without warning.

Sports people that have it and harness it are the ones we bet on, buy their merchandise and worship. Those that lose it, we take the piss of down the pub and they allow us to realise that star athletes are human after all.

Let's hope the Wallabies can rustle up the C word before the World Cup.....Viagra might have to do!....Tragic.

The Good Old Days.

2011-08-02T18:50:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

Last week one of the boys at work generously bestowed upon me an old sporting book. It is called "Great moments in Australian Sport" and contains the legendary feats of hero's such as: Bradman, Lionel Rose, Herb Elliot and Peter Thompson just to name a few.

It got me thinking about how different these blokes of yesteryear were compared to the sports stars of today. I wasn't around when these champions were at their peak, but the grainy black and white footage shown on sporting doco's has allowed my imagination to create a portrait of what these guys were possibly like.

I wouldn't imagine that Walter Lindrum, the billiards genius would have sported too many tattoos, or John Landy the distance runner would pop a diamond stud in his ear once his race was run and I certainly don't think that Alex Jesaulenko, the Carlton great would have gave the fans the "handcuffs" gesture after slotting one from the boundary.

Sure it's a different time and a different age. There's media and there's money. The two most potent factors that shape today's sporting heroes. The fame has turned so many hyper skilled athletes into petulant, narcissistic brats that will never secure our respect like the gentleman of the past.

In the black and white days, sports stars were working class, just like everyone else. Their talent wasn't as refined as today's stock, but it was raw, tough and passionate. There were no multi-million dollar contracts, no sponsorship deals and no T.V. rights.

Hairy chests and moustaches were as outrageous as the fashion got and the vintage pros expressed themselves through their craft and not with their mouths. There was so much to love about sport pre 90's. Sports people were more humble and money mattered less. You could tell they loved their sport and any benefits were purely bonus extras.

I miss those days. Each year there seems to be more strikes by players wanting "their fair share". Just quietly, doctors earn less than England's best darts player. You commonly see rookies acting like they own the joint these days, rather than watching and learning from the pros. The thing that shits me the most is how sports people put more effort into their celebrations, than thanking the team-mates that made them look good.

I really feel that the majority of today's stars know how to play their sport, but know very little about the history or even the heart of the game that pays their bills. They too often forget about the low income fans that part with their hard earned to watch and cheer for them each week.

I think every sport on the planet should develop a programme in which its professional stars sit down with a legend from the past and hear about how it used to be. Maybe then some of that old school charm could blend in with the electrifying talent and brashness that forms the fabric of so many modern day sports stars.

Ah the good old days....Tragic.

The Holy Grails of Australian Sport.

2011-07-25T20:43:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

I don't know about you, but I'm still coming down from the excitement of Cadel Evans' stunning, gutsy, courageous and awe-inspiring victory in the Tour de France. It has to be one of the greatest moments in Australian sport. You have to admire Cadel's unwavering determination following a string of disappointments to ultimately achieve his lifelong goal.

To finally see an Aussie on top of the podium in Paris is amazing and without a doubt has crossed off one of the holy grails of Australian Sport. This leaves us with the burning question: What's next?

Here are some of the things that I think are almost impossible dreams for us Sports Tragics:

An Australian winning the US Masters at Augusta.

It's part of Australian golfing folklore, Greg Norman going so close on numerous occasions. Horrible luck and a gigantic choke cost the Shark from claiming golf's Everest. We all thought he would do it eventually, but his time has been and gone. Allenby, Appleby, Scott, Ogilvy and co. have shown promise for years, but never produced when it mattered.

This year we looked like we had it in the bag with young gun, Jason Day playing out of his skin, Adam Scott getting his broomstick putter humming and Geoff Ogilvy back to his best. With all three playing at a level Sunday hackers could only dream about, a tinny South African was pulling putts out of his backside to ruin it for everyone.

I've got no doubt that the Masters mountain will be scaled in my life-time and I think Jason Day will be the man to do it. Australian golf is too strong to not take this title, it's surely just a matter of when.

An Australian World Heavyweight Boxing Champion

"Aussie" Joe Bugner, the Hungarian born, British Australian boxer was a legend and a gutsy competitor. He went the distance with Muhammed Ali and Joe Frazier. Joe captured one of the minor world titles, but never went all the way. He retired and came back more times than John Farnham, but never really challenged for the WBC, WBO, IBF or WBA titles.

Samoan born Jimmy Thunder also captured a couple of minor belts and was an outstanding competitor, but never scaled the great heights of world domination.

Australia has produced some great champions over the years in all divisions, but the elusive major heavyweight titles have always been out of reach. With no-one on the horizon, it could be a while yet before we produce a legitimate "contender".

World Cup Soccer

Since the beginning of Australia, we had an urge to perform on the world soccer stage. We tried and tried and tried again, but didn't have the depth to qualify for the Cup. As our multi-cultural identity matured and established itself, our soccer talent stocks have gradually soared.

Finally in 2007 John Aloisi buried the penalty that told the planet "we have arrived". We were going to the World Cup! In Germany our boys played their hearts out, cruelly being robbed in the round of 16 by a bullshit penalty (still burns).

The road to South Africa was easier, but a disastrous first game against the Germans put us behind the 8-ball. By the end of the tournament we salvaged our pride and continued to shine. Consistent top 20 rankings show we're on the rise.

Qualification was now not good enough for our hyper competitive nation. We want to win the bloody thing! Soccer popularity has since peaked and troughed. Its development remains a roller coaster, but also a work in progress. With a men's and women's national league we can be proud of, we are continuing to gradually head in the right direction.

I can't see us winning the trophy in my life time, but we saw what Cadel did this week...there's hope.

A special mention in this post must go to indigenous athlete, Patrick Johnson. He became the first Australian to break 10sec for the 100m sprint. This was a huge achievement for Johnson, but unfortunately his form faded and he was unable to qualify for the following Olympic 100m. It has not been achieved since by an Aussie and remains a great moment.

Cadel's performance this week serves as a potent reminder that Australian's can achieve big on the world stage. With the work ethic and support, we are capable of scaling heights we never dreamed of.

I'm not going to go out and buy a Malvern Star, but Cadel has inspired me to try that little bit harder at my passions. I won't be conquering the world anytime soon, but he's made me want to strive to get the best out of myself. I'm sure other Australian's have felt that hunger...even if it only lasts a day....Tragic.

Back on the Horse.

2011-07-19T18:39:00.001+10:00

It was a momentary lapse in concentration and a slip of the circular saw that changed my golf game forever...or so I thought. A few seconds passed between the initial flash of pain and the realisation that I had severed my left index finger. During moments like these, a million things flash through your short-circuiting mind and strangely at the top of my list was golf.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t exclusively golf. While trying to stop the bleeding with a bag of frozen peas and battling to remain conscious, I was secretly hoping that this was an extreme enough situation for me to be able to cry like a 12 year old girl without getting teased by my mates. Somewhere between my blubbering sobs and the arrival of the “meat wagon”, my better half had managed to find my hacked off digit hidden amongst her prize winning lily pillies.

In the back of the ambulance, heavily sedated, my thoughts returned to my golf swing. Like many retired footballers, I had turned to golf to fill a void. Tiger was never going to be challenged, but my handicap had reached a respectable 15 and the noble game was fast becoming an addiction. The anticipation of Saturday tee-off was the motivation that carried me though the weekly 9 to 5 grind.

There must have been four or five doctors curiously inspect my hand and finger while I sat dumbfounded in accident and emergency. Intermittently they stopped bedside and stated the obvious, “it’s a clean cut alright,” then busily whizzed off on their rounds. At this stage I held some hope that they might be able to stitch the little bugger back on. The surgeon that mattered arrived stony faced; I held my breath while he expressionlessly delivered the verdict.

A booming drive was my strength. You can’t hit long ball with nine fingers. Can you even hit a ball at all? I wondered how much I’d get on E-Bay for my clubs. Maybe I can trade them for a tennis racket? So much negativity, I was angry with myself. What about the legendary Jack Newton? He has one arm and still hits a late draw. That guy on “60 minutes”, no arms or legs and he still gets 18 holes in. Snap out of it! Build a bridge and get over it you gigantic sheila!

“We won’t be re-attaching the finger,” said the doctor. He went on to explain that it would be more trouble than it was worth to try without guarantee. The best option was to take the finger down to the middle knuckle, tidy it up and send me home to get on with my life. In no position to argue or negotiate I told the Doc to “do what you’ve got to do”. With that I had mentally accepted my fate. Now comes the hard part.

Two months later the scarring had finally healed. I had a good range of movement and was coming to terms with simple tasks like: tying my shoes, using a knife and picking my nose. Every day I would pick up a club and have a gentle swing in the back yard. My early experimentation with grips proved fruitless; every swing was agony. Patience is not my strong suit and this was going to take plenty. Enough time had passed for my “mates” to start calling me Stumpy, 9.5 or Chopper; but I still wasn’t back out on the fairways. The frustration was suffocating.

Another month had passed and the big day had arrived. It was time to get back on the horse. I hadn’t struck a ball in anger, but my back yard sessions were feeling good. My grip was still in development stage, as was my confidence. The adrenalin was pumping as I carefully positioned my ball on the tee. I surveyed the open fairway ahead, wrapped my sweaty palms around the shaft of my beloved Taylor Made driver and began a slow, measured back-swing. Tentatively I pulled the trigger.

The dimpled sphere soared down the middle, carrying about 250 metres with minimal pain. The exhilaration was indescribable - I was back and loving it. As the round progressed, the pain increased dramatically. By hole five I was struggling to hold the club, let alone make solid contact. It was obvious that I had wanted too much too soon. Pig-headed, I played as many as I could before my partners convinced me to call it a day. My mental state was torn between rags and riches. When the dust had settled I had calmed enough to realise it was all just a matter of time. Golf had to be abandoned for a period, so I could come back properly healed and ready.

Three months later I was ready. I’d made some “MacGyver” like alterations to my glove, cutting out the index finger for my stump and wearing a rubber thimble on it. Admittedly it looked ridiculous, but I was hoping it would protect me from any friction pain I had experienced the last round. My new grip consisted of both thumbs pointing down the shaft and my stump well away from the action. It was comfortable and practical. This time I actually felt confident.

All good yarns should have a happy ending, and this is no exception. That afternoon I completed eighteen pain-free holes. For a good part of the day I had the boys “on toast”. Unfortunately fatigue got the better of me and I was reeled in. It mattered little because I’d found that spark again. I was back in love with the game I was starting to loathe. Time had healed all wounds and golf had once again proved that it was a sport that doesn’t discriminate. There is even a place for me and my stump.

The Magical Force of Inspiration.

2011-07-18T18:40:00.000+10:00

G'day Tragics,

2011 has seen the state of Queensland go to hell. You could say that once it got there, the floor collapsed and it toppled down another couple of levels. Floods, cyclones, storms and politicians have pushed people way past breaking point. Through the death, destruction and heart-ache, one thing has managed to flourish in the land of the giant pineapple and that thing is...sport.

Amidst the carnage, Queensland has had one of its most successful years in recent memory. Who could forget the mighty Queensland's Roars heroics. Their season was unbelievable and spectacularly iced by the stunning grand final win, which I rate as one of the great moments in Australian sport.

The Roar women's team also claimed the chocolates, re-stamping themselves as the dominate force in Australian women's soccer. Next up the Queensland Firebirds conquered all before them, marching to the Trans-Tasman netball final. A herculean effort by the girls.

Who could forget Darren Lockyer's send-off in the thrilling Origin matches recently, that saw the cane toads notch up their sixth straight series win.

Last but not least, the mighty Reds capped off a brilliant season by manufacturing a stirring performance against the Crusaders a few weeks back. It was something Queenslanders will forever hold dear.

Have all the disasters up north this year inspired the local sports teams to new heights? Have these teams and individuals been able to find another gear to lift the spirits of so many that have had it so tough? The romantic side of me says an emphatic Yes!

When something catastrophic happens, all things seem to pale into insignificance...including sport. It's impossible not to be affected by tragedy and witnessing severe suffering first hand puts the meaning of sport into its rawest perspective.

The pressure on teams and individuals is lifted and replaced by a form of exuberance...a child-like love of the game that may have been missing for a few years. Combatants feel a responsibility to the people that are hurting and somehow slip into an auto-pilot mode. The will to win becomes greater and success means so much more to the community than a shiny trophy.

Recent examples aside from the Queensland heroics are: the New Orleans Saints Superbowl victory in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Who could forget the horrific scenes in the Saints' home stadium, which was transformed into a refuge after the storm tore the city apart. Rapes, muggings and bashings were taking place on a daily basis in the stadium. It was hell on Earth for so many.

The Saints became a symbol of hope for the battered people of New Orleans and there's no doubt their win in the Superbowl accelerated the cities recovery and provided an instant shot in the arm of those that were wallowing at their lowest ebb.

Another is when Iraq won the Asian Soccer Cup a few years back. Never mentioned in the same breath as the favourites, Australia and Japan. The war ravaged nation went about their business quietly and efficiently, eventually going all the way to claim the title. Their win brought great joy to the suffering nation and just for a brief moment allowed it to forget about the tragedy it was embroiled in.

I have no doubt that inspiration in its various forms is an extremely potent weapon, that can tap into an individual or teams abilities and give them a super-human boost.

On the flip-side, isn't it funny how seriously we take our sport. How hard we take a loss by our team or nation. How Monday can be all the more painful following a loss by our footy team on the weekend.

The scrutiny of the Australian cricket team is a classic example of how one entity can control the mood of a nation. Our 20 year winning streak was a period of dominance that may never be repeated and during this time our cricketers were heroes...How times change. Now we are in the midst of a rebuilding phase, which included another recent Ashes capitulation, the cricketers, selectors, board and anyone else associated with Cricket Australia are public enemy number one.

No matter how many times you hear "it's only a game," you must realise by now that this sentence is complete and utter bullshit. Whether you're a sports tragic or not, it is impossible to not be caught up emotionally in a sporting victory, story, moment or incident at least once in your life.

There's no denying that sporting performances inspire and lift the spirits of people and more importantly people inspire and lift the performances of sports people. Sport can make you believe that dreams are achievable, just like dreamers can teach athletes to throw off the shackles and take flight.

This is the reason why I am a sports tragic. It's that little thing inside me that ignites when I talk, play or watch sport. I don't know scientifically what it all means. I'm sure it's some sort of chemical reaction.

Sorry about all the heartfelt dribble this week, but what can I say....it's a passion...Tragic.

Kids...Parents...School...Stuff.

2011-07-10T07:23:00.003+10:00

G'day Tragics,

I was playing golf with a mate the other day who is a P.E. teacher. We got onto the subject of schools that have sporting excellence programs. In Queensland there are quite a few of these, in which students can enrol in subjects such as AFL, rugby league and surfing just to name a few. My first thought 20 years ago would have been "totally awesome dude," but nowadays I'm not so sure.

A fair portion of the kids that attend these schools, focus heavily on their sport, which more often than not leads to a loss of direction with their studies. It's also fair to say in my humble opinion, that manners, respect and general social skills can also be a casualty in the quest for sporting super stardom.

I'm told that less than 1% of the children involved in these programs go on to become professionals in their chosen sport. Once they fail, they are left poorly educated, lacking social etiquette and low on self-confidence. They are virtually unemployable and most don't even care. I'm sure I'm not the only one that has noticed the influx of smart arse teenagers simply "hanging around" these days.

Sport isn't completely to blame, so let's move on to Mum and Dad. There are a few different types of parents when it comes to their kids and sport. There's the "My little Johnny is the best thing since sliced bread and he's going to play for Australia" type, then you get the pushy parents that drive their youngsters into the ground through training and attempting to live out their own sporting dreams through their kids - think tennis parents and finally you get the encouraging, supportive folks, that don't over praise, point out mistakes when required and ensure their juniors get the sport/study balance just right.

It doesn't take rocket science to pick which type is straight out of parenting 101, but I'm sure real life is completely different to the perfect ideal. I don't have kids yet, but I have an idea of how I will bring them up. I want them to play and enjoy sport, but also gain a solid education so they have options. I'm sure I'll brag about my kids, but only in a proud way, not a "my kids the best...chuck out the rest" manner.

Why do parents put their kids in these sports school and wait for a Brownlow medallist to be pumped out the other end? Are they hoping their kids will be good at sport just in case it turns out they're not that bright? What happened to the days of "no kicking the footy till you've finished your homework"? Apparently kicking the footy is homework now. I was born in the wrong era!

There is definitely a place for elite sports programs in schools, but they need to be meshed with the necessities of reading, writing and arithmetic. Parents need to ensure that their kids recognise these opportunities as privileges and not god given rights.

I'm sick of cheeky little buggers back-chatting me down the road, I'm sick kids not having any general knowledge other that what's on the TV or their iPhone and I'm sick of parents telling me how good their kid is, rather than how hard their kid tries and how much they enjoy themselves in their sports.

I personally hate the way things are going and it sucks that your actually shocked when you meet a child that is great at sport, study and well mannered to boot. This used to be the norm. Sport has a vital role in developing our youth. If used correctly it can be an effective tool used to inject confidence, discipline and team/social ethics into the children.

It's so easy to miss this point when the lure of wealth and fame is so potent in today's society. It's up to parents to guide their kids in the right direction and hope that sports stars will go back to being clean cut, humble and educated role models.

I know what you're going to say...I'm dreaming...Tragic.

The Girls Are Alright.

2011-07-04T17:50:00.003+10:00

G'day
Tragics,

This week I lay my feminine side on the line for all to see. As you know by now, I'm not ashamed at what I post on this blog and this weeks entry will confirm just that.

Women's sport is pretty good to watch...in fact, I quite enjoy it! Now before you super Aussie mega-blokes start calling me a big woolly woofta and telling me to go grow a beard, give me a chance to plead my case.

There was a time when women's sport was merely a token fixture..sorry ladies but it's true. Girls sport was a politically correct centre piece on the table of world sport. It was never taken seriously by anyone apart from the participants and generally failed to capture the imagination of the sports loving public.

I'm here to inform you that times have changed...the girls are here and they're making a statement! Women's sport today is not only popular...but enjoyable. The high standards set by the fairer sex, has made the world stand up and take notice.

The introduction of national girls leagues in cricket, soccer and netball has given the countries best athletes something to strive for. Increased funding in these and already established sports such as basketball has allowed the stars of the game to become more professional. If women are given the chance to pursue their chosen sports full-time, then they will be able to train more, improving their skills and ultimately elevating their sport to a higher level.

Female tennis has become a hard hitting slug fest, with the muscle bound sheilas giving the fluffy gold sphere a pasting. The serving is bigger, the rallies longer and the winners more breathtaking. The shorter matches make women's tennis an exciting package to view on the box. The only negative I can see is the ridiculous grunting....you can't have everything!

Netball is fast and rough as guts. The stadiums are packed and the televised matches have great atmosphere. Clever marketing by channel One, has seen the big streak, Luke Darcy of AFL fame injected into the coverage team. They are trying to win over a few blokes and no doubt have done so with the slickly presented game. Let's face it...chicks in short skirts bashing each other...sounds watchable!

Golf is another example I'll use. Not only do you have the "Super Granny", Laura Davies, smacking the little white thing 300m, but there's a host a upcoming young Tigress's that are threatening to take the game by storm. To be honest, there's bugger all difference between watching men's and women's golf. I'd rather watch a bunch of 20 something year old ladies strutting around a course than a pack of middle aged men waddling their way round. You getting my drift?

Now before you call up a bunch of dudes to come round, paint each others nails, have pillow fights and watch the ladies tennis, settle down. The point I'm making is that the days of channel surfing, stumbling over the WNBL for example and then quickly moving on should well and truly be a thing of the past. Women's sport has really come a long way. It showcases talent, aggression, grace, beauty, strength, excitement and a handbag full of brilliance.

I'm not going to say girls deserve equal prize money...that's another bowl of goldfish, but they have earned the right to equal air-time. Women's sport is no longer the "chips with no dip".

If you don't believe me, see for yourself...tragic.