I’m inclined to agree with her.

I just made a comment on Lehmo’s blog and it ended up being so long that I should just pass it off as a blog post in its own right.

Lehmo made an excellent point when he said:

“He’s not a hero, he’s a sportsperson”, they say. I’m happy to accept that in a broader sense athletes are not heroes. However, within the context of their sports they can put in heroic performances.

I think this really nails where the disconnect is happening in this whole debate.

Poor Mia Freedman copped a caning for what she said when she was asked her opinion, and gave it. I don’t think she was being disrespectful to Cadel; she just doesn’t get excited about sport. And a disinterested minority of us feel the same way.

Now, I’m not averse to sport. I’ve led a pretty active life and knocked various balls of different shapes and sizes around various playing surfaces with varying degrees of success. Participation in sport is, in my view, one of the defining qualities in Australian culture.

I can also enjoy watching sport at an elite level because those doing it know how to do it really well, and I can appreciate the skill it takes to be the best at something. Sure, watching golf leaves me pretty cold and seeing people swim from one end of a pool to another is as boring as, well, watching people swim laps of a pool (how CAN that be interesting?). But come the World Cup, I’ll get up at 4 to watch a good game, and if it’s a good game, I’ll enjoy it.

Where sport does confuse me is the level of emotional investment people have in supporting one team or one player over another. These days, team support is fairly arbitrary. It’s not like the starting 18 for Carlton all live in Carlton; they’re just a bunch of guys who are good at football that were offered a contract with Carlton. The days when you gave “the local team” a cheer at the weekend match are, at the elite level, well and truly over. Teams aren’t location based, players are contracted employees and where they live is irrelevant.

Now, I don’t know Cadel Evans. Never met him. I’m sure he’s a top guy and if he’s just won a big race, then good on him. That must be hard to do. I couldn’t do it; I wouldn’t want to. But I’m not going to jump up and down for him any more than I’m going to jump up and down for Sven Svensson from Svenssonland if he’d won it.

Cadel’s Australian. Great, so are 20 million other people. A common nationality is just no longer a big enough factor to make this person “familiar” to me.

I think that’s where we sport agnostics sit. There’s just not enough of a connection between us and any sporting great to make that kind of significant emotional investment into the result of something trivial.

And sport is trivial. Occasionally it may spill into the political arena (and sometimes spills into rioting and violence at the extreme level and anger and frustration at a personal level).

But most sport is played as it’s own reward and does very little outside the context of sport. Being the fastest person in the world only gets you a big coin on a ribbon; winning the grand final gets you another trophy for the pool room. And a year later, they give away another one.

It’s a lot like music. All Mia did the other day was the equivalent of telling an audience of pre-pubescent girls that she wasn’t a Bieber fan.

Pure heresy in context. To the rest of the world, meh, neither here nor there, really.

I shall be watching the wedding on my television receiver.

Not that I feel any need to explain my reasons for doing so, I will say that it’s one of those once-in-a-generation events that become part of our collective consciousness. Whether you’re pro- or anti-monarchy, it’s a cultural reference point.

Personally, I am largely ambivalent towards the royal family. I have pro-republican leanings these days but being of English descent, I have a certain nostalgia about all things British. For me, this event is more about the British character, community and history than it is about the monarchy. So, less about the event, more about how people come together to celebrate.

So I don’t buy every New Idea with a picture of Kate & Will on the cover, but my Nanna lived through the blitz and loved the royals so I may get out my Union Jack tshirt for the occasion because it would have made her happy. Yes, I know she’s dead, but there you go. We are what our histories have made us.

There’s also the reasons I mentioned here.

So tonight, we shall be drinking endless cups of tea, I may even have a pint of bitter. Our daughters will be encouraged to watch because if Englishness is part of my identity, it’s part of theirs too. I will enjoy the spectacle, though knowing myself, I will no doubt view it with a certain air of ironic detachment, as I would a Eurovision telecast.

Imagine if there were not one but ten royal weddings every weekend for six months of the year, with journalists and experts talking shit about them every day of the week, taking up half the news bulletins and entire sections of newspapers.

Imagine radio broadcasts commentating every exchange of vows, every ring-on-finger placement, every kissing of the bride, and your favorite Friday-night TV shows being pulled because of them.

Imagine people talking about them around the water cooler, taking bets en masse in organised pools on who’ll get the most presents.

Imagine people, on any given day, wearing loud scarves and jerseys in the colours of their favorite royal house.

Would it annoy you, that something so pointless and irrelevant to you was given blanket coverage and that everyone you knew was really, really into it?

Well, that’s how I feel about football.

While not outwardly mocking the dinner or the timing thereof to coincide with the pagan celebration, I did detect a hint of Matt & Dave’s slightly superior smugness regarding the goings-on at said affair.

The mere mention of waiters/waitresses wearing hooded cloaks was enough to convey a sense of derision to listeners. I’ve never heard them mention the attire of serving staff at other events, political or not. But because this was based on a pagan ritual that pre-dates Christianity, they saw fit to make light of it.

Now, I could be wrong, but I would think most modern functions celebrating pagan rituals do so in a fairly light-hearted not-completely-serious manner. Of course, most pagan rituals were appropriated by Christians centuries ago. Christmas in the northern hemisphere basically took over the midwinter thing, falling only a few days after the solstice, and Easter carries the legacy of the Easter Bunny, left over from the rabbit’s significance as a symbol of fertility, coinciding with new life and the vernal equinox.

But I think the ridicule was perhaps a bit misplaced. Especially coming from a team of whom at least one is a practising Catholic.

The line about sacrificing a goat was probably, well, the least tactful. And yeah, despite what I said earlier was outwardly mocking.

I would put this in perspective by mentioning that Catholics believe that the wafer and wine taken at Holy Communion transubstantiate into the flesh and blood of Christ himself.

Ritual weekly cannibalism. Nice.

I’ll have the goat, thanks.

Firstly, at the time most liveblogworthy things are on, I’m usually getting kids to bed, loading the dishwasher and generally cleaning up the mess I’ve made earlier in the afternoon.

Secondly, and probably more pertinently, I live in South Australia so unless I want to liveblog the McGarey Medal count (a medal ceremony for local nugget-headed footballers (a tautology in itself), where they all sit at tables and gasp in amazement as a presenter on stage continually impresses them by counting to three), there’s very little point. See, we’re half an hour behind the east coast of Australia, so nothing is live here. I’d be reporting on who’s been eliminated from SYTYCD and commenting on Natalie’s frock, while in reality she would be back in the green room in her tracksuit pants downing her second Bacardi and Coke (because she’s a classy girl).

It’s also difficult with something like Eurovision, because we’re 8.5 hours ahead of western Europe and while it may seem a good idea to blog it that far in advance, there are obvious flaws in the plan. It’s a Saturday night deal in Europe but we have to content ourselves with watching a delayed telecast on Sunday evening.

I’ve been big into Eurovision since SBS started broadcasting it in the late 90s. It appeals to me because it’s the zenith of ironic consumption. Everyone in it is so into it and has such a great time, and seem to genuinely participate in the rivalry, even though everyone knows it really is a little bit shit.

It’s still fun to watch and it’s getting a bit more of a following over here now but I’m not sure a lot of people here get that it’s kind of supposed to be sort of crap. Australians love to take the piss but, I dunno, I kind of get the idea that it’s more derisive and genuine than being in on the joke. I kind of miss how we used to get the British feed with Terry Wogan with his reserved and veiled sarcasm, which again, you kind of had to get it to get it.

I nearly didn’t watch it tonight though, after the local Channel Nine news, in an act of sheer televisual bastardry, blurted out that Norway had won the competition as they threw to a commercial break. No ‘we’ll give you the winners after the break’ or ‘stay tuned for the winner of Eurovision’ just a completely unexpected announcement in what must have been a deliberate attempt to fuck it up for anyone that wanted to watch it later. It would be competing with 60 Minutes after all, so they took it upon themselves to ruin it for everyone.

Nul points, chaine neuf. NUL POINTS!!

Now, fair call; it does seem a bit suss but the criticism is a bit rich. Obviously, the story wasn’t buried. At least one astute reporter picked it up. He asks in his article:

Can the AFP please explain why it appears to have delayed its inevitable public embarrassment until very late on a day when the news stood a good chance of being buried.

Apart from the mystifying lack of a question mark at the end of that question, the writer acknowledges that “it appears” to have tried to befuddle the Australian media.

The whole thing is bullshit. If half the country’s media want to go on strike (even if it’s for a good reason), then they might not get every story. You can’t then turn around and ask news not to happen just because you’re not there to see it. It’s like a goalie in a soccer match, after watching a penalty sail into the back of the net, saying “Oh, I wasn’t looking. Have it again”

If the media decides that striking is more important than being there for every news release, then don’t blame anyone releasing news for failing to report on it. I dont’ care if it’s a strike or the Olympics.

The media chooses what to report on. If the story’s important, give it status but if you’re too busy going after the big-rating stories, giving front-page space to sport as if it matters, then don’t get angry at the world because you’re not on your guard.

Here, and here.

Only the city has changed, really.

And last night I watched handball.

There was a comparison in the Australian yesterday by Caroline Overington in her opening paragraph. I’ve heard or read countless comparisons in the last few weeks. Hell, I heard Matt Abraham utter the sentence “It sounds like an episode of The Hollowmen” after only one episode had aired! I assume when he said ‘an episode’ he must have meant ‘the only episode that anyone has seen’. That said, he does work for the ABC, he may be privy to screenings we plebs (and ex-employees) aren’t.

Overington’s mention yesterday read:

So much of what happens in Canberra these days sounds like an episode of the ABC political satire The Hollowmen…

Can I just say, to every ideas-challenged journalist that makes the comparison: of course it is! That’s the whole point of the bloody show! It’s supposed to sound like the actual goings on of what happens in politics. That’s why it’s called political satire! It’s Rob, Tommy and Santo making the comparisons. Just because you write about it, doesn’t make you clever or even make good copy.

They’re the clever ones; you’re  just stating the obvious.

But the issue has raised its head again after Art Monthly published a very tame image on the cover of a young girl who had no clothes on. A bit of a publicity stunt probably but they say it’s in protest of the furore that ensued after Henson’s work was confiscated from a Sydney gallery.

So I’d like to make two points about it while it’s still relevant. And they’re my opinions, which you can feel free to disagree with if you want.

The thing that annoyed me from the beginning about the whole debate over the images in question is that the frame of reference by which we were being asked to view the images was through the eyes of a paedophile. I don’t think it’s fair to impose a standard on the whole of society because a very small percentage may get the wrong idea about something. I don’t want to have to ask myself whether a p/phile would get his rocks off whenever I look at a picture on a wall. Who else would I have to be worried about? What would a murderer think? What would a foot fetishist think? What would a Liberal voter think? What would a [insert religious following here] think?

A fellow blogger made the point that nasty p/philes get off looking at ads for bathers in the Target catalogues. Yet there’s no call to ban department store publications. If the result is the same gratification from a fetish, why does one depiction have calls for it to be banned and not the other? People are becoming frantic whenever they see a bit of under-18 skin, almost as if they’re afraid p/philia may be contagious and they might catch it if they look at bare kiddy bums.

The second point I want to make, related to this is the way politicians try to speak for the entire population on a moral issue.  Now, the PM, from what I’ve seen in my admittedly limited exposure to interviews on the topic, has at least prefaced his comments by saying they’re his personal views. He said Henson’s images were ‘revolting’, from memory. It’s a shame he feels that way. I’d hate for him to see my daughters’ bums and say they’re revolting. How can you say the depiction of a certain thing is revolting yet not say the thing itself is.

Anyway, Mr Nelson, who doesn’t even represent a majority of Australian voters since his party lost the last election (a fact they still seem to be having trouble coming to terms with), has said Art Monthly is sending a “two-fingered salute to the rest of society” as if it’s AM against Dr Nelson and his loyal, every-single-person-in-the-country posse.

It’s pathetic. I wish politicians, who are elected largely on their economic credentials, would just shut their fucking mouths (sorry, Gordon Ramsay is on TV right now) and leave the moralising to those qualified to impose their morals on society at large. By whom, I mean no one.

But I digress. TV networks are scraping the barrel of the performance/knockout genre, with Seven recently subjecting us to Battle of the Groups of Bad Singers (I mean if I wanted to see amateurs who can barely sing, doing bad numbers that were neither written nor arranged for ensemble performance, I’d go to an eisteddfod).

So, in an effort to play my part for the discerning viewer, I’d like to pitch some suggestions to TV execs. We can discuss terms later.

• So You Think You Can Write A Novel, in which contestants must write a new chapter every week, to be read out in front of a screaming crowd and panel of judges. Of course, each chapter must be edited to fit into the 90 seconds of performance time given to each contenstant.
• Gardening With The Stars: a bit like the celebrity segment of Burke’s Backyard, only competitive, with contestants having to produce a crop of veges, plant a native garden, and strike a fruit tree from a cutting
• Australian Flirt in which the judges and presenters are probably more likely to win
• Battle of the Abstract Impressionists. A group of painters must produce a work based on a subject of the judges’ choosing each week. Bonus, adults-only episode screens after 9.30 pm in week six. Yes, life drawing
• Train Surfing with the Stars. I’m really excited about this one. Given the risky nature of the activity can I suggest we get Daryl Somers, Sam Newman, Will Anderson, the Australia-wide presenters of ACA and TT. Oh, and the cast of Home and Away
• So You Think You Can Sleep. Surely it would be better than those late-night infomercials. Who wouldn’t want to see the semi-final, in which a travel agent from Queensland loses out to production assistant from Tassie after a Horlicks-related lactose-intolerance-causes-late-night-farting-and-insomnia incident
• Chess with the Stars. Riveting viewing, this one. They’d have those special clocks. Sandra Sully would be an early casualty, finding it mentally taxing having to think more than one move ahead
• So You Think You Can Whittle: these twelve rocking chairs on this porch… will eventually become one
• Self-immolation With The Stars. There’s just not enough kerosene really, is there.

What have you got, people?

There was one recently for a famous cricketer’s wife. And be assured, I’m not in any way trying to malign the deceased or their significant others in this, just the news programs that seem to think the best way to pay tribute to someone is to create a slow-motion montage, complete with sucky wind-beneath-my-wings type power ballad as backup.

Yuck!

I can see its worth in something like Big Brother. When a housemate is evicted, before they leave in their new car, or whatever, they get to sit through a montage of slow-motion clips of themselves doing crazy, whacky and sometimes downright embarrassing things to a not-so-sucky pop tune or piece of backing music (because the demographic is entirely different, you understand. We’re talking Bette-Midler-free zone).

And I think to be in that situation and see yourself in that way must be great. In fact, wouldn’t it be great if all of us, every birthday or so, see the year that was in a slo-mo film clip of our favorite song from the previous year… hanging out at the pub, throwing the frisbee, doing the dishes, staying up late and working, watching TV with your loved one, getting scared by a spider/snake/mouse, running for the train, making a stupid face at someone, getting angry in traffic, reading the paper and sipping a piping hot cup of tea on a Saturday morning, snorting said tea through your nose after laughing at the Far Side comic.

Y’know, just nice, everyday moments, made special by virtue of the fact they’re in slow motion to the tune of a song you really like.