Sport: Achievement as an Index of Quality

I think most people would agree that Tiger Woods is the greatest ever golfer. Similarly, Federer is widely regarded as the greatest tennis player of all time (note I didnt say ‘one of the best’). The have won 14 and 15 grand-slams each and this is seen as a reflection of that quality. However, there is still some foolish talk about Nicklaus’ having won 18 majors and therefore must still be considered the greatest. Bullshit. This is where the results-based facet of sports can become misleading. First and foremost, the inter-generational comparison of sports is, I think, a warranted and valid one. Secondly, the old cliche that ‘no one remembers second place’ is undoubtedly true. As outlined here before, it is very difficult to gauge the relative quality of players from past and present. The perennial excuse of equipment change etc precludes, for many, the direct comparison of modern vs. ‘classic’ athletes. This problem is further exacerbated with sentimental, rose-tinted recall of ‘glory days’ by old people who incessantly lament: ‘If you saw him you would think differently’.

So how do people rank players in terms of quality? Well, Michael Lewis’ book, ‘Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game’, and other such works can show us that statistics aren’t just annoying and meaningless numbers that the North Americans seem to focus on excessively. Clearly, when measured correctly, a fairly good index of a players quality (in team sports, that is) in micro terms. When compiling lists of ‘greatest ever players’ in team sports, there is clearly a tendency to focus on those aspects of the sport that appeal to the ‘layperson’. If you ask a front or second row in rugby to compile a list of great players, the list would be undoubtedly be peppered with relatively unusual inclusions. You see, every player who is aware of the nuances of their position will and do claim that it is little understood or that it is underrated. If you ask a ‘lay-person’ to compile a list of the greatest baseball-players in the last 20 years, there would be considerable heterogeneity among the population. Undoubtedly, all will quote some kind of statistics, but which statistics are the most important ones? Batting average? runs? Home runs? Saves? Strikeouts? A weighted average? The Opta Index attempts to measure the ‘sporting virtues’ of players contribution – but does ‘total distance run’ have anything to do with anything?

Recently, I read about Pele’s most recent contribution to the football blogosphere/media. He claims that there ‘will never be another Pele’ and: When Messi’s scored 1,283 goals like me, when he’s won three World Cups, we’ll talk about it’. Now, not to get into a debate over the fact that that goal tally likely includes exhibition matches played against disabled children and wheelchair-bound war veterans, but to claim that winning a World Cup has anything to do with individual brilliance is a spurious claim to make. Pele, the douchebag that he is, has always feigned a kind of humility, with half-self-deprecation and comparisons to ‘new-Pele’s’ being forthcoming on a bi-annual basis (the man clearly does not have an eye for talent, or he jinxes the players he chooses). Now, however, for the first time since Maradona (and a far better case, really, given that Messi is 24, playing in the modern game and scoring 1960s-esque numbers of goals). Pele has had enough.

It was recently put to me that, since Messi has not won a World Cup, he can’t be considered the greatest ever. This can be discounted outright. What if, hypothetically, a new super-patriotic player emerged from Equatorial Guinea. Moreover, imagine he scored 100 goals a season for 10 years and won, say, 8 champions leagues and 10 leagues (etc etc) with his club. Imagine he won all 10 of the contested Ballon D’Ors during that time. Despite 1,000 goals (which Pele could laugh off as insignificant) and all the decorations, this phenomenon could not possibly have won the world cup. Not a chance in hell. Does Pele think that, if he could imbue Messi with his skills from the 1960s, that Messi would have cakewalked the World Cups – despite the invention of defending since Pele played? I would be fairly skeptical of anyone who tried to clutch at this flimsy straw during an argument. Sure, it would be great to win a World Cup – and it would undoubtedly contribute to his greatness. However, when we consider the metric for determining quality, one has to ask: ‘If Tiger Woods won 19 majors and Messi won 1 World Cup (does it have to be 4 to overtake Pele?) would they be the greatest in their respective fields?’

Many players in various sports would – but for the irritating presence of a super-rival – have dominated their respective sports. Because of the existence of these rivals, the perennial second-place finisher will never be regarded as ‘great’ because he didn’t win many trophies. In other words, the over-arching quality of a once-in-a-generation/lifetime player renders a victory close to impossible. Without invoking vague terms like ‘bottle’, ‘mettle’ and ‘grittiness’, we should ask ourselves how and why we regard great players as we do. Cristiano Ronaldo would undoubtedly be regarded as the world’s best if it were not for Messi. In 30 years will he just be an also-ran who was ‘pretty good’?

The Law: Spirit Vs The Letter

Judges, as H.L. Mencken said, are law students that mark their own papers. Any honest lawyer (oxymoron?) will admit that, in their opinion, the severity of a judgement is dependent on the judge – which in turn is determined by the subtle social biases to which the mammal is inclined. In the main, an experienced barrister is the one who ascends the bench, bringing with him all the prejudices that are used to forge a career in double-speak and obscurantism.

Like the biblical Pharisees and modern-day priests, lawyers today read the law that is available to everyone and find ways to favourably interpret it. Hard cases, it is said, make bad law. Lobbyists unwittingly force the hand of the legislature when cases are brought that require a ruling. Can deaf couples intentionally choose deaf embryos? By forcing the issue, dangerous precedents can be set – the judge may be strong-armed into making a black-and-white decision of one with several shades of grey.

To illustrate, take Paedophilia. Ask yourself a few of the following questions and see how biased you might be. Is paedophilia a mental disease? If so, can it or should it be cured? Using whatever criteria you used to come to a conclusion, is homosexuality a mental disease should be cured if possible? So let’s imagine that we agree that it is a pathology of the mind (paedophilia), and that the afflicted person has no choice as to his sexual preference for infants and toddlers. I think that in the case of pederasty, the employment of self-control or complete abstention is the ethical option for these sick people. Those who kidnap and rape the children are morally reprehensible and should be imprisoned. Now, if it is a sickness, a compulsion – an uncontrollable urge – what use to ‘punish’ them? Prison can’t rehabilitate them, unless of course, you think they are being intentionally aberrant in their sexuality.

So let’s take the above issue and translate it into a real legal ethical issue. Now, let’s imagine I were to hook a large sample of men up to some kind of polygraph device that measured sexual attraction, and then paraded a variety of women from a wide spectrum of ages. Now, if a brought out a suitably voluptuous 16 or 15 year old girl (Rolling Stones drummer Bill Wyman dated 13-year old Mandy Smith) – I would wager that they would elicit a response consistent with those above the arbitrary watershed age of 17. Even if the ages were disclosed beforehand, I suggest that there is no conscious intentionality of response, and that these men would be a slave to evolution and their mammalian heritage. Nobody would accuse these men of having a psychopathology – it is a purely natural response. The lawmakers of yesteryear needed to make a guideline age in order to prevent creepy old men sleazing on innocent young women that could be manipulated. So, what is my point? the law is a guideline. Having sexual intercourse with a girl on her 17th birthday completely exculpates the would-be rapist. Ever since Gillick competence and Fraser guidelines were introduced in England, it has made a mockery of the legal that a claim that, no matter what, an ‘underage’ girl cannot consent to sexual intercourse. It is my belief, therefore, that a judge should use his discretion and not be beholden to arbitrary criterion of age or otherwise. Common law is based on the reasonable man principle, which is the objective standard used to ascertain whether the claim being made is reliant on the letter, rather than the spirit of the law.

Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones dated 13 year-old Mandy Smith....Paedophile?

As documented here before, the revered American judge, Oliver Wendel Holmes was guilty of several appalling miscarriages of justice. In a landmark case, Schenck Vs The Unites States He ‘interpreted’ the law in such a way that he felt that handing out anti-war leaflets in Yiddish to prospective Jewish volunteers in World War I was the equivalent of shouting falsely shouting ‘Fire!’ in a crowded theatre. Finding them guilty of treason and the death penalty, this was a grossly spurious inference made despite the first amendment. Let’s not forget Buck vs Bell, which made the sterilization of the ‘mentally unfit’ compulsory. Holmes stated that ’3 generations of imbeciles is enough’, after relying on a psychiatrist to determine that a 1-year old baby ‘showed signs of feeble mindedness’.

Oliver Wendell Holmes: Overrated douchebag

We have all heard cases of intruders suing the victim of the robbery. In Ireland and England, the Occupier’s Liability Act states that if a person is in the process of robbing you and say, cuts him/herself of a jutting rusted nail, that  the occupier can be liable. If that’s the law, then as Mr. Bumble says in Oliver Twist, ‘the law is an ass’. It is a disgrace that a homeowner/landowner could be sued by someone on the basis of ‘reasonable forseeability’. It is a disgrace, and although there are clearly reasons why certain provisions must be made, I refuse to be conscripted into subscribing to the idea that this is ‘just’. I do not believe that people should ever be ‘made an example of’ in court.

Everyone knows the story of Rosa Parks, but the real catalyst for civil rights and lesser known case is that of Emmet Till. Having been acquitted of murder, the two murderers (scumbag Mississipi racists) gave an interview describing how they perpetrated the grisly slaughter. Double-jeopardy can also be an ass (O.J. Simpson almost pulled off the same trick, offering to write a book ‘I DID IT’ with ‘if’ in tiny font – the slimeball Rupert Murdoch realised that this was below even his ridiculously low standards)

OJ's tasteless book

At the end of the day, there are lots of flaws in the law, but  think it is the spirit of the law – the general intention of it – that matters, not the bullshit standard that they simply have to lay down as a guideline.

The Danger of Democracy

So Muammar Gaddafi has been deposed and executed (but not before being sodomized with a knife and bludgeoned). Since his bloodless coup in 1969, he provided the Libyans with the highest standard of living in all of the continent of Africa. Of course, since he was the only Arab member of OPEC who did not end the oil embargo to the United States in 1974, Libya has been branded as the pariah state and subjected to a propaganda campaign a la Castro’s Cuba. Now let me make one thing clear – Gaddafi was a demagogue and tyrant – an arrogant dictator that got what he deserved (though not in the correct manner). However, when I learned that he had been found by a band of Libyan apes, I knew that the old colonel had been a veritable Ghandi compared to his replacement.

You see, the Al-Qaeda flag now flies above courthouses in Tripoli – and Sharia law is likely to be implemented. Although Gaddafi had ruled Libya with an iron fist, at least it was in fact, iron and not sharpened stones. Yes, the simian Islamic religion is set to poison yet another almost-out-of-the-woods developing country. In 2007, the combined GDP of the 57 Muslim countries was less than that of Germany alone. This is testament to the absolute caveman-esque religion that it is. The GDP of Saudi Arabia, U.A.E., Kuwait and Qatar combined is less than that of the Netherlands. Despite ridiculous wealth, these countries haven’t been able to pull themselves out of the quicksand of their faith’s innate barbarism, childishness and embarrassingly quaint laws (yes women still can’t drive in Saudi Arabia). I don’t see how this is a step forward for Libya. I watched the video of the torture of Gaddafi and how the trolls shouted ‘Allah hu akbar!, Allah hu akbar!’. This was the dysphoric moment when I realised the whole ‘Arab Spring’ revolution was nothing to be excited about at all. Basically, a bunch of terrorists figured out how to use twitter. Was getting rid of Gaddafi the best thing for Libya? I guess only time will tell – let’s see how their standard of living fares – will it be like Saudi Arabia? Is that not just as bad as having Gaddafi at the helm?

Greece’s Prime Minister George Papandreou has exposed himself and, indirectly, his country as the shambles that it is. Mindless retards line the streets of Athens protesting against austerity and what would amount to a war economy in Greece – whatever they decide to do. One thing is clear – Papandreou suggesting the referendum on the bailout deal was either an act of monumental stupidity (very likely) or a Bismarckian masterstroke. By suggesting he could ask the band of corrupt, lazy and stupid assholes that comprise the Greek population to vote on a matter of unbelievable importance was possibly the most frightening spectacle I have witnessed in my life. A deal to effectively save the European Union project had been painstakingly hammered out to a backdrop of palpably tense, Yalta-esque atmosphere not seen since the height of the cold war – involving two European heavyweights just a couple of wars between them. Merkel had warned that a European meltown could be a threat to peace – which had upped the stakes. Finally, the white smoke emerged and we could at least rest assured that the problem of a Greek default had been postponed.

Then, the blundering retard Papandreou decided to drop a bomb (unfortunately not a nuclear one on his own country). It seems he would have to check with the rabid, hand-biting, fire-wielding public that were blocking almost all civil service building, if this deal was to their liking. What do you say, Greece? 10 times worse than it already is for the next 15 years?….a ‘no’ vote seemed likely. Of course, markets plummeted and investors sought refuge in rock-solid German bonds. I’d say Merkel smashed something expensive when she heard the news. The largest gift horse in history had been subjected to thorough examination in the Greek orthodontic chair. Unfortunately this was not a real, Trojan-horse containing a 50 megaton nuclear device. Like the old proverb says – beware of Greeks. Now, having been rightfully put in their place, the Greeks realise that Merkel et al are not bluffing. If they voted no, they would be expelled. Economists have been speculating recently about what might happen if Greece is expelled. Some say all sovereign and private debt would be converted to the inevitably super-inflated drachma. Having pre-empted this, the crooked and thieving Greeks would have done the expected and performed a run on the banks and bought foreign currency to prevent their life savings going up in smoke. When the ATMs went dry, and the government could no longer afford to the civil service or social welfare, we could expect to see a fairly prompt dismantling of the social contract. Without money to pay for anything, military intervention would become necessary. The news that the Greek government has bought 400 Abram tanks from the US doesn’t bode well either. Even if this scenario is slightly pessimistic – it is a potential reality. Despite this spectre – who is camped out in the streets of Athens protesting? What do they expect? A wholesale public execution of public officials. Let’s suppose this is granted -now what? Would they play the card that ‘we didn’t create the debt, the corrupt government did!’. This argument couldn’t wash – especially with a country who was forced to sign the War Guilt Clause in the Treaty of Versailles. Thankfully, Greece is screwed either way – they are destined to a generation of abject poverty and misery regardless – since they have no hope of becoming a hard-working, forward-looking country any time soon (they joined the EU in 1981 and have done nothing since). There are more Porsche Cayennes in Greece (which cost €100,000) than tax payers who pay more than €50,000. How is it that Greece, founders of democracy – home of the ancient scholars, has been reduced to a bunch of caterwauling baboons who protest at measures that absolutely need to be taken in order to get their debt/GDP ratio back to reasonable levels. Let’s hope we aren’t behind them.

The recent debacle that was the Irish presidential election further highlighted the weaknesses of democracy. Apart from the embarrassing selection of candidates, the fact that ‘Fianna Fail’ association was synonymous with nazism. Indeed, there seems to be a policy of ‘deFianna-Failification’ in progress. Ironically, the party led by a theocratic asshole (DeValera) who walked out of parliament after a referendum affirmed the Anglo-Irish treaty, is suffering from the effects of a political system it failed to endorse and did so only with gritted teeth due to a petty ‘empty formula’. The people’s opinion seemed to swing on incredibly minute disclosures of past ‘indiscretions’. For example, David Norris, the early favourite to win the election, had his hoped dashed with the revelation that he had inappropriately abused his position to appeal for clemency for an Israeli pederast – this was made all the more alarming by the dissemination of information relating to a throwaway remark about the nuances of pederasty over paedophilia. Anyway, the issue that people were so appalled about is unclear. Was it that it was a ‘paedophile’ whose pardon was being begged? I mean ‘paedophile’ is a loaded term – it really means a psychopathological state wherein a person is attracted to infants – isn’t it? Or does the semantic definition vary with the attitudes of the people in the form of changed law? Had this petition been related to a plea of clemency for a woman who was sentenced to stoning for adultery (or being raped). The inappropriate abuse of power remains – what is the issue?

Similarly, in the double-whammy referenda, people failed to grasp what was at stake. The instruments of the constitution were being changed. Again, owing to a general lack of knowledge, people assumed, wrongly. The general public is ill-informed of the mechanics of government (which should be solved by a citizenship exam) – so the issue of a allowing the government to gain control over the remuneration of judges was dressed up and superficially sold to the undiscerning public as a means of punishing ‘dem robbin basturds wit de wigs’. Amendments to a constitution are often about the means, not the ends. As Aristotle sagely supposed millenia ago, a monarchy has its own interests at heart, aristocracy/oligarchy those of the wealthy and democracy is ruled by and for the needy. Microeconomics assumes that people have an incentive to help themselves and will make game-theoretical choices to maximize their benefit (and often, by coincidence, others). The communist Salvador Allende was the first Marxist to get elected. Kissinger had him shot in the streets of Santiago, which paved the way for Pinochet – were the Chileans Marxist? had they seen the experiments of Soviet Russia and China?. The ‘anschluss’ plebiscite of 1938 was ratified by the Austrian public with nearly 100% approval – did they know about the Holocaust?. You can say it was rigged, but like I say to all those foolish conspiracy-theorists – the onus of proof is on you, my friend – and the fatuous claim that ‘that’s what they want you to think’ or ‘ah yeah, but sure it was rigged’ doesn’t wash here. I’ve heard of people in Russia keeping pictures of Stalin on their mantlepieces – do they not know what he did?

If a bunch of morons can start riots in London over nothing using Social Networking, think what could happen down the line when the economic shit hits the fan.

A Douchebag’s Drinking Guide To Sydney

Recently, while on one of my trademark rants during a sailing lesson, one of my students noticed the ridiculous frequency with which I used the word ‘douchebag’ while describing the less agreeable inhabitants of Sydney’s bars and clubs. Furthermore, she jokingly suggested that I write a book entitled ‘A Douchebag’s Guide To Sydney’ – almost immediately, I began distractedly stroking my chin.

Now, colloquially, ‘douchebag’ has lost some of its nauseating meaning, having insidiously crept into my vocabulary after years of bombardment from American shows and films (only the U.S. would conceive of such a disgusting tool). So, taking the word in its proper, modern context, let me show you where to go and what to do if you want to be among the Sydney (and probably Australian) douchebag elite.

Drink ‘Asahi’, ‘Extra Dry’, ‘Hahn’s Super-Dry’ or ‘Pure Blonde’: Never in the field of human drinking has so much shite been drunk by so few. Yes, the aforementioned beers are among the most tasteless and least beer-like in the world (and yes, I have had Miller Lite, Bud Lite and Natural Ice Lite, they aren’t even close). As if drinking this foul-tasting, yellow soda-water wasn’t bad enough, the latter beer in the list is a low-carbohydrate beer from 2004 that attempted to lure the fairer sex into the not-hard-to-please Australian beer market. It worked, embarrassingly and disgracefully, on the men too. Reasonable Ozzy beers, like VB and Resch’s have been marginalized

Order ‘Wet Pussy’, ‘Cowboy, ‘QF’ or ‘Jam Doughnut’ Shots…if you are a man: Australia’s international reputation goes before it – the uber-macho culture that has either occurred as a result of, or is the cause of, its undisputed dominance as the greatest sporting nation in the world. Yes, Bruce the beer-willing Aussie can wrestle crocodiles while drinking a beer (a real one, that is) and watching the cricket. In reality, you have these beefed-up, testosterone-fuelled guys swaggering up to the bar – Pure Blonde in hand – flanked by at least two equally large cronies. After announcing over both shoulders to his buddies that he plans to get ‘blind’, the standard order comes over the bar ’3 wet-pussies, thanks’. Now, hold on; half vodka, half peach-schnapps, a dash of lime and cranberry juice? Shouldn’t you guys be ordering battery acid? at least something that an old lady wouldn’t sip before her afternoon-tea. It seems that the only shots that people order (in general, obviously you have you tequilas and jaeger-bombs) either have Bailey’s in them or are about as masculine as a glass of Pimm’s in a pink Champagne glass. Yes, I rate this tendency at about 7.9 on the douchebag scale.

The silent mantra of the douchebag

Ordering top-shelf booze with mixers: Yes, this one is rampant worldwide but Sydney must boast the worst offenders-list. Ordering a $45 dollar scotch with coke is just an embarrassment for all involved – stop being a douchebag! Don’t order Grey Goose with mineral water – if you do this then you are a cretin.

Ordering ‘Cuba Libre’ or other such things: A ‘Cuba Libre’ is a rum and coke with a slice of lime. What motivates people to order the asshole-version of this? A ‘Screwdriver’ is vodka and orange juice.

Going to the ‘Cock and Bull’ or ‘Tea Gardens’: If your go to either of these places you are a bona fide douchebag.

Ordering anything with ‘fresh lime’: After several fist-clenching spasms – narrowly avoiding a series of strokes – I eventually forgave the tendency for Sydney-siders to order vodka soda with ‘fresh lime’ (mainly due to the Irish apes’ inclination to put cordial into their drinks), but for any other drink this is unacceptable. Order a piece of lime, arsehole.

My gripes with many peoples’  drinking habits in Sydney, are of course, too numerous to recount here. However, I need to recommend a few places to booze in the great city (obviously not exhaustive!):

Eye Bar: 3.50 drinks and free pizza until 8am – I defy you to beat that (cocktails are questionable though)

Shady Pines: Probably the best bar in Sydney overall. American-Style Saloon – an awesome place!

Bar Century: $3 drinks….need I say more?

Flinders: Good atmosphere and good music!

Sugarmill: Best $10 steak in Sydney!

The Docks: Get you pockitpal and head down here ($3 dollar drinks) right on Darling Harbour!

Dr. Pong’s, Gaslight Inn and Pocket Bar: All close together and all pretty damn cool!

Balmain: A lot of cool pubs here – Bald Rock Inn, The London, The Welcome and the Commerical in particular.

Coronation Bar: Cheap drinks 24/7.

Cheers: Where everbody knows your name (if you are a regular) but are glad if you go regardless. An absolute gem.

Charlie Sheen: The Last Hellraiser?

Is the ‘traditional’ rock-star (not ‘star’ through being  famous because of playing rock music) an extinct species? When the public believe Pete Doherty to be the embodiment of the ‘rock star’, or for that matter, not a douchebag, I begin to lament the death of the true hellraiser. Doherty is more of a ‘poor soul’ that people pity, yes he plays music, that doesn’t make him a rock star by any metric. Charlie Sheen’s recent outbursts and rants (something close to my heart) and the public’s silent (and thereby, in my opinion, condoning) response has been one of the few awesome moments in recent times – where the do-gooder have been trumped by, for once, a consistent set of supporters. Who could watch Charlie Harper in Two and A Half Men, admire and envy his lifestyle and then, at the disclosure of his debaucherous antics, cry foul and label his actions ‘immoral’.

Anyone who is familiar with the antics of Oliver Reed is well aware that Sheen’s outrageous behaviour is really not that ridiculous at all – after all, what are we talking about here? Sheen went on the radio and spewed vitriol at his former friend and writer (not to mention employer) Chuck Lorre – the man behind the show that has been keeping Charlie in employment for the last 8 years. Reed, a proper philanderer and legend, disgraced himself publicly numerous times – these incidents are worthy of note and should be compulsory viewing – remember this is a celebrity:

Anyone who has seen pictures of Jimmy Page:

What happened to the 'Rock Star'?

knows or at least imagines the kind of wild, drunken parties Led Zeppelin had while on tour (including the ‘Shark Incident’) Afterall, what, exactly, is wrong with Charlie Sheen’s conduct here? His influence on young people? Any asshole that invokes this pathetic defence must be really naive – after all, do these same people censor The Simpsons or South Park? how about Eminem? Probably not. The ones that do are bone fide douchebags anyways, and don’t really merit mention.

In one fo his recent rants, Sheen claims that on one of his recent ‘epic runs’ he made ‘Jagger, Richards and Flynn’ look like ‘droopy-eyed, armless children’ – that is some claim!. Who is worthy of honourable mention? Slash, Hendrix, Jerry Garcia and Richard Harris are but a few. In the interview, he is amateurishly cross-examined by a mediocre media personality on ABC news. She asks him how long it has been since he last ‘used’. Obviously referring to cocaine, this viewer couldn’t help but think if we would ask an average person on the street when they last ‘ used’ alcohol. Does anyone ever claim the ‘used’ alcohol the previous night? I think not. A binge does not make someone an alcoholic – what constitutes a ‘drug problem’ if, like Sheen, you are extraordinarily wealthy and have the constitution to withstand large doses of various chemicals? It’s not like he is some homeless criminal – who is he really hurting? Throwing extravagant champagne receptions and getting drunk every night seems to be excused by society because, for whatever reason, alcohol is a more ‘tasteful’ drug. Keith Richards somehow survived 20 years of heroin addiction – how is this possible? Because he was wealthy and never had to imbibe low-grade cutting agents in his heroin. Ozzy Osbourne’s substance abuse has taken its toll on his body, for sure, but one can’t help but think that Ozzy took, as Hunter S. Thompson’s attorney told him: ‘too much, too much’. These ‘good old days’ were the times when the best music being created in a drug-indiced haze. Oftentimes, politicians coyly admit to have indulged some form of drug-use or another, or boast about drinking exploits during their heyday – but it’s always a conspicuously vague time-frame.

Sex, drugs and rock n’ roll is the oft-quoted recipe/itinerary for the ‘hero’. It would be frivilous to deny that, on trying to imagine what John Belushi,  Don Simpson or Hunter S. Thompson did, saw or experienced at the pinnacle of their substance abuse and partying, elicits some kind of curiosity. Charlie Sheen is the only celebrity I can think of who is unapologetic and totally lucid about his experiences. People like Ozzy Osbourne and Keith Richards have been struck down by their over-indulgence, whereas Sheen (at the moment) seems to be in perfect health. It is important to remember, that although we don’t have all the facts (it may have been carefully crafted as a publicity stunt from the beginning), it appears that Sheen’s partying has become legendary not due to self-promotion, but by disclosure by outside agents. Unfortunately, it is now becoming a pantomime – with Sheen campily overdoing his ‘tiger blood’ charade – at the beginning it was genuine, raw anger which was amusing and refreshing.

To see a celebrity come out and say things directly without a the sanitizing influence of a P.R. agent or ‘spokesperson’ in press conferences is unbelievably rare. Usually, the ‘Tiger Woods approach’ is taken, where each word is carefully considered and vetted before its release – the aggregate result is invariably the same  boring, vague and uninformative. I don’t want to know about your mental problems, Tiger,I don’t believe you have one; in today’s society, polygamy is a disgraceful transgression. I want to know what positions/breast sizes/locations involved in these incidents that Woods is so superficially sorry for. How could rehab work for sex addiction? some kind of Pavlovian electroshock therapy a la Clapton’s treatment to come off heroin? Charlie Sheen’s attack of A.A. and the whole idea of ‘using’ and counting ‘days’ and compulsory feelings of shame, remorse and embarassment – where it is absolutely unwarranted – is heartwarming. Who but a ‘sufferer’ could make these claims – calls from the ‘sober’ sideline are treated as a rude trampling of sensibilities, or worse, an effort to sabotage the attempt by someone to make their lives (and of family members etc.) better.

At the end of the day, no one believes that Woods is really sorry for what he did. What’s so bad about sleeping around with a bunch of hookers/strippers? Well, he has a family to consider, I suppose, but then again, a ridiculous number of common, garden-variety marriages involve infidelity, imagine how inevitable it must have been for Tiger Woods. Notwithstanding the fact that he has a family to think of, Woods was caught with his pants down, he knew waht he was doing and I don’t think anyone buys the ‘I had a problem, but now its fixed’. Unlike Woods, Charlie Sheen is not, and has never been a ‘children’s inspiration’ – the majority of his new ‘followers’ come from watching a show about an incredibly toned-down version of Sheen’s own life. Somehow, Sheen has kept Denise Richards and Brooke Mueller at his side (Mueller joined him on a private jet with 2 porn stars at the beginning of the so-called ‘meltdown’) So I don’t feel there is a any kind of ‘betrayal’ going on.

Long live the rock-star.

Wrong Season’s Greetings

There is something unsettling about seeing a Christmas tree baking in the sun, like the one on Sydney’s town hall:

Absolutely ridiculous (well, more so than usual)

There is also something galling about the idea of spending Christmas day getting pissed on the beach while some house music pumps out of massive amps. However, this is the norm in Sydney, so when in Rome – check out the chicks. I don’t really think one can get ‘into the spirit’ of Christmas when it’s radioactively hot outside – who can take the songs seriously? Chestnuts roasting on an open fire? you must be kidding. Dreaming of a white Christmas? maybe, but I never get them at home, either. I really do not envy the guy who gets a Santa gig for Christmas here. You’d think that people would have some mercy and let Santa wear shorts and a t-shirt:

This costume makes far more sense

It was with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness that I shaved off the ‘moustache’ that I have been cultivating for the last month. People were constantly asking me if I was growing it for Movember – answering in the negative surely would been socially unacceptable?. I have known for some time that the revelation of Freddy Mercury’s sexuality caused mass moustache-shaving worldwide (and, of course the Village People). Never had moustache wearers felt so betrayed….except for those unfortunates in the 1940s sporting what is now known as the ‘Hitler-moustache’. How annoying if you had that style of mo for several years only to have to change it because of some asshole (Charlie Chaplin). I wonder what the statistics on the name ‘Adolf’ post WWII are. You only have to look at the number of Mo-wearer footaballers of the 80s – especially Liverpool with John Aldridge, Kenny Dalglish, Ian Rush, Graeme Souness, Bruce Grobelaar and Mark Lawrenson to name but a fraction.

So was sailing around Syndey harbour the other day, and one of the students was pretty knowledgeable about the surroundings (suspiciously knowing the addresses of almost every celebrity in the area) so after swinging by what he kept referring to as ‘Cate’s house’, he directed us to what he called the ‘uranium house’:

The house slightly to the right is the 'uranium house'

Basically, this used to be a uranium smelting site – the area is called Hunter’s Hill – nad apparently the people living there kept dying of cancer – so the government owns the land and it is thus abandoned. yhow must the neighbours feel?

I’ve found many Australian beers worth drinking, though most are passable. Victoria Bitter, Melbourne Bitter, Little Creatures Pale Ale, Resch’s, Blue Tongue are some good ones, while Pure Blonde, Hahn’s Super Dry, Toohey’s (any variety) and 5 Seeds Cider – the last of which tastes like goon mixed with soda water and apple juice, are all terrible.

Unfortunately, at this time of year, the Irish virus is spreading through Sydney – I find myself seeing more and more ugly, genetically bereft apes dragging their knuckles around the streets of the CBD. Without having to hear them, I can tell from their baboon-like features and trademark, ‘Irish-person abroad’ clothes – this consists of Clare/Cork ‘colours’ or brightly-coloured swimming trunks or ‘board-shorts’ – though it is manifestly obvious that these people have never been on a board other than perhaps the RTE board of directors. As I have already stated, this is like having a drunken spouse at a work party, I find myself having to demonstrate that not ALL Irish people are hideous trolls who speak unintelligibly. In the States, I felt like a celebrity being Irish (perhaps this is because it is more difficult to get a visa, so some of the dregs are weeded out), whereas here I feel like a ‘minority’ – as used in the pejorative sense.

Yes, Oz seems to be quite a racist country – with ‘Lebos’ and ‘Wogs’ the worst off. In an amusing twist, that has been mirrored in history around the world, the famous Irish haunt, ‘Scruffy Murphy’s’ has an explicit, unashamed ‘no Lebo (Lebanese person)’ policy. How this is allowed to go on, I have no idea. Yet it does. So, I realize the reason for being tarred with the same brush as my Cro-Magnon compatriots.

So, for your own benefit, here are a couple of cocktails you might enjoy:

Slippery Sam:

Ingredients: 4 Chunks of watermelon, 60mls Stolichniya Vanilla Vodka, 15ml sugar syrup, 15ml passion fruit pulp

Instructions: Muddle fruit and sugar in boston, add alcohol, shake and double strain to martini glass

‘Arrrgyle’

Ingredients: 45ml Captain Morgan, 15ml Amaretto, 15ml lime juice, 15ml sugar syrup, 5 mint leaves, 2 lime wedges

Instructions: Stir all in a rocks glass (crushed ice)

Passion Rock:

Ingredients: 45ml Tequila (Herradura Silver) 15ml Triple Sec/Cointreau, 60ml grapefruit juice, 10ml Lime juice, 15ml Passion fruit Pulp

Instructions: Stir all ingredients with ice in boston, double strain to martini glass

Until next time.

Neither Trick Nor Treat

So it turns out that Hallowe’en isn’t such a big deal in Oz. My bar manager has never heard of Guy Fawkes. This came as an annoying surprise to me, it being among my favourite festivals. To add grave personal insult to crippling injury, on Hallowe’en night, the hostel organized a ‘movie night’ – jumping at the opportunity to pick some pretentious foreign horror movies, I joined the lady who was going to the DVD store. After surveying the awesome selection, I approached the woman with an armful of premium horror DVDs that had passed the requisite ‘scariness’ test in my opinion. When I showed her my selection of movies, she made the ‘DJ turntable’ hand gesture of disapproval. To my disbelief she followed this non-verbal dismissal with: ‘Some people don’t like scary movies’. Obviously I pleaded the case that it was, in fact, Hallowe’en, and that those creeps could shove it. After doing my best to persuade this cockney moron, I had to accept that we would be watching non-horror movies – but which ones? Unbelievably, the movies chosen to cater for the easily-frightened was the far more scary prospect of ‘Sex and the City 2′ and ‘The Proposal’….I demanded that we get at least one horror movie – so I chose ‘The Orphanage’ – turns out the people who are afraid to watch movies could also not read ‘fast enough to keep up with the writing’. I’m afraid the stock of English and Americans had worse literacy than the Germans and French. Obviously, I went out that night.

Nightmare On Orwell Street

So my Mo is coming along, it’s taken a week for people to realize that it’s for Movember, and that I’m not some kind of unshaven Mexican. Back home, I used to get very annoyed by stupid people ordering drinks. It’s far, far worse in Sydney. Almost every female customer orders some variant of vodka – usually vodka, soda and lime. In Ireland, usually we use lime cordial, here it’s lime wedges. So that’s the culture. However, people still feel the need to order ‘vodka, soda and FRESH lime’. What constitutes ‘fresh’?. These limes have been here for 2 days – is that fresh? To make things worse, I’ve had people give back drinks because I squeezed the lime and it was ‘overpowering’. I hate it when people study the whiskeys on the shelves behind the bar, stroking their chin in faux-wisdom, to say, ‘I’d like a single-malt Scotch please, Jameson if you have it’. My tongue is half gnawed off from all of the biting I have to do. Last week a girl ordered a Scotch and coke and a gin and tonic. After setting the drinks down in front of her, she smiled and asked ‘Which is which?’. On more than one occasion, a customer has asked for a glass of champagne, then when I tell them it’s $19, they say ‘I’m not paying that’. I’m sorry, I know it sounds bent, but there is a recognized difference between sparkling wine and Champagne. Usually I ask if they want sparkling, but when a guy comes in with a girl trying to act like the big man, I take extra pleasure in seeing the grimace and the not-quite instantaneous attempt to mask the shock of the bill.

I am now one of the most senior members of the hostel, I’ve seen them come and go – only a few crusties remain. The weather is starting to settle, after a number of monsoon-type downpours. Starting to discover some cool bars – the famous Shady Pines among them – I’m making tentative attempts to flee the Cross from time to time – it’s a hard place to leave! The 6am sports bar, the 24hr McDonald’s and bustling atmosphere makes King’s Cross a nightowl’s dream.

Doing a PADI course in 2 weeks time, I’ve decided to get my ass in gear – 6 of the top 10 Lonely Planet paradises are within reach:

A bridge too far?

Palau is the dream – if I can head there I will be a happy man.

Not much else to report, owing to my koala-esque living habits at the moment!

Israeli Mike

Israeli Mike enjoying a B-52

Michael Kadosh is a 58 year old Ukranian-Israeli who I met in the hostel in which I am staying. For several years, I have, for some reason, attracted a number of charlatans and Walter Mitty-types. Perhaps I have a gullible face, but often the stories proffered by these can have a magnitude 9.1 on the bullshit scale – sometimes it is literally immeasurable, such is the extent of the mendacity. There is, however, a distinction between the intentional, creative liar, who spins stories to deceive, and the genuinely deluded. Moreover, there are those that in a rush to trump a story, will in their excitement massively overcompensate (I think this has caused the ridiculous nonsense in the bible), the result being an infuriatingly unbelievable story – the polite onlooker being bound by etiquette to simply wear a fake smile and nod in mock-interest.

Israeli Mike is from the latter camp – I suspect he suffers from some kind of mental disorder. It is important to note that, though only 58 years old, Mike is an orthodox Jew who has the manner of a 78 year-old stereotype rabbi. The following are but a sample of his preposterous claims:

Mike has told me that he can speak no less than 25 languages – quite a feat! With Bulgarian, Slovakian, Hebrew, Yiddish, German, English, Spanish, Italian, Russian and Portuguese among them. At first, I wasn’t sure what to think, but I soon discovered that his polyglotism was restricted to creepily shouting ‘tres jolie’ at female passers-by or saying ‘muy guapa’.

Mike claims, incredibly, that he was a Lieutenant-General in the Israeli army. He claims to have flown F-15s, Blackhawks and F-18s. Well, Israel is pretty disposed towards war, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. However, when he told me that the government gave him a lump sum of $800,000 for his pension I was a little skeptical. This was reinforced by his ridiculous claim that he spent all of it in 6 months ‘travelling the world’ – thats $4,500 per day – yet he is staying in a random hostel for $25 a night in Sydney?

Because he seemingly completely convinced of the veracity of his tales, he exuded an unwavering confidence. This ended up being hilarious, as his story about visiting Buckingham Palace confirmed. The thick Hebrew accent and broken English made his anecdotes unintentionally hilarious. Mike claimed that he walked into Buckingham Palace and waved saying: ‘I am Michael! (pronounced Mikhael)’, to which the unknown interlocutor responded: ‘Hello, I am Queen!’, to which Mike responded: ‘I know you are Queen!, how are you!?’. Queen Elizabeth II then asked if he was enjoying London, to which Mike responded in the affirmative. Pleased by this, the Queen rewarded Mike, he claims, with £5,000 in cash. So old Lizzie carries around big wads of cash to hand to people who stroll into the palace and say they like the place – sweet deal, eh? Good to see the royals doing their bit for the tourism board. The old doll also promised Mike £50,000 (presumably in cash again, or maybe gold bullion – you know how those crazy monarchs don’t like paperwork) on his return. Despite the dumbfounded stares of incredulity at this outrageous story – Mike was completely stone-faced. I think he genuinely believes that this episode occurred.

I will next attack Mike’s claims to orthodoxy. Despite wearing the trademark large black hat, Mike shows absolutely no other common trait with Orthodox Jews. On at least four occasions, Mike strolled up to King’s Cross to get a hooker. For every satisfied smile Mike wore on his return, there was a terrified girl shivering in a corner of her room – a bad day for someone in the Cross! When asked to reconcile his orthodox beliefs with this wholesale unorthodox behaviour, Mike would nonchalantly throw his arms in the air, shrugging and saying ‘What to do?’. Similarly, he never visited the synagogue or observed the Shabbat (again, the explanation consisted of asking what he could do).

As I have said, Mike has the physique and gait of an 80 year old man. Despite this, he claims to have been the 30-time judo champion of Israel – as recently at 1999! To add to this, Mike claims he has black-belt qualifications in Krav Maga, Karate, Tae-Kwon-do and Jujitsu. It is no exaggeration to say that a slight woman would easily defeat Mike in a hand-to-hand battle. Perhaps it’s his yoda-esque strategy – look weak, hiding deadly skills.

So, Israeli Mike constantly claimed he had no money, but every week he would suddenly splash the cash. Because he would only eat kosher food, he just ordered sashimi salmon at the fish market and sinfully had it battered. Once I saw him ask the staff to batter a medium snapper, at first they laughed, but finally they succumbed to the poker-faced Mike’s deadly seriousness. So, during these cash binges, he would go and spend $150 for half an hour with a hooker. Very recently, he was saying he had no money – I wasn’t sure if he was going to receive a payment or what – but he genuinely had no money. He had no visa, so was unable to work – and has extended his stay past the prescribed 3 weeks (there is no reciprocal relationship in Australia with Israel). It is hard to feel sorry for the guy, since he has spent his much-needed money on at least 4 hookers. He said he was going to be homeless for a night, so I gave him $20 for a hostel. But no, he went and bought a pack of cigarettes instead. This culminated in his staying in a homeless shelter in Paramatta for a night, before finding refuge in a Jewish house – pending his deportation.

Farewell, you deluded old man – I can’t help but wonder though….imagine if he was telling the truth!

Spying the Southern Cross

The Southern Cross

As most people worth talking to know, the Australian and New Zealand flags are adorned with a constellation of stars known as the Southern Cross (with Australia also having the ‘commonwealth star’). The Southern Cross is not visible in the Northern Hemisphere. Interestingly, if you use this tool, you can see where you would come out in the Northern hemisphere if you were to dig straight throught the earth – Sydney comes out at the Azores.

Bull Sharks' behaviour is erratic

It’s pretty daunting sailing in a little launch-type boat in Sydney harbour, since it famously is home to the Bull Shark (among others), which is a pretty aggressive and dangerous shark – many ichthyologists believe that a large number of Great White Shark attacks were more likely perpetrated by the Bull Shark.

Speaking of fish, I have become almost obsessed by eating fish in Australia – and have been sampling various Pacific fish including Snapper, Orange Roughy (which you should never eat), Barramundi, Swordfish, Ling, Gemfish, Angelfish, Octopus and Balmain Bugs:

They look like 'Krull' Creatures

- I live around the corner from a fish market, and this has fundamentally altered my diet, perhaps forever!

Beginning to work in a cocktail bar has been a confusing experience, especially since many of the cocktails are unique to the Argyle Bar. There are also many different shots that I didn’t/don’t know. This was evidenced the other night – when I was working on a busy Saturday night, where there are 12 or more bar staff at the same bar, and queues four people-deep. A small, middle-aged Asian man came to the bar and tried to order a drink, having to speak louder than the club music. In a thick Asian accent (Japanese? Chinese?) he struggled to make himself heard: ‘Wet Pussy’…., I leaned in closer and asked him to repeat, ‘Wet Pussy….Pink Pussy….Wet Pussy’, he then attempted to play a game of mini-charades where he attempted to mime what it was he was ordering – which made the situation even more bizarre. I was torn between calling security and giving him directions to King’s Cross – before a colleague intervened – a Wet Pussy: Ingredients: Half vodka, half schnapps, dash of lime and cranberry.

Many confused Australians who I work with have asked me the same question that caused me so much fury when I worked in Ireland. ‘Do people in Ireland…’, they ask, ‘order ‘white’ with vodka?’. I knowingly nod – often overcome with rage, causing my eye to start twitching as I struggle not to let the poker-face slip. Yes, the Irish parasite has inflicted its stupidity on the Aussies too. ‘Vodka whi”, I can sometimes hear….’White what?…white wine?’ is invariably the response. ‘Whi’, what the fook?’.

I have heard the same complaint made by Irish people that Australian (or Asian or Lebanese or whatever) vendors ‘don’t understand red sauce’. Yes, perhaps this is because in countries other than Ireland, more than one ‘red’ sauce is served. If you walk into a mexican restaurant, it is inadvisable to order ‘red sauce’, expecting to get ketchup. Why can’t they call it ketchup? why ‘red sauce’? – why ‘white’? New cocktail: ‘The uncultured traveller’: Ingredients: Vodka, Lemonade, serve with garnish of ‘begorrah’.

The refusal by many Irish people here to adopt any remote cultural difference – be that the food or the beer, has resulted in a horrible ‘Irishtown’ vibe in certain areas of Sydney. Oh yeah, these shops serve Club Orange and good old Oirish products – lest the diaspora be forced to endure ‘cuisine’ or ‘different things’.



Luckily I heeded some wise advice before travelling – steer clear of the Cock & Bull and Coogee – actually, Bondi altogether. For this reason, I am not (yet) crestfallen at the sight of GAA jerseys and skin tight, 5-season old Manchester United tops.

Where Women Go and Men Plunder

 

Sydney is an absolutely beautiful city

 

So nearly a month has passed, but I’m still far from getting used to differences between here and Ireland. Here’s a list of some of those things:

The most underrated thing in all of Australia (this is something I am certain of) is the 375ml can of coke. The extra 10% means you can enjoy your can more freely, without having to ration it too badly.

I had the unpleasant experience of witnessing a group of birds attacking a wounded crow – a bird called the the Indian Myna. It’s introduction in the 1870s has resulted in an 80% reduction in the reproduction rates of hollow-nesting parrots as they destroy their nests. Originally introdoced to kill grasshoppers, they are now ubiquitous and are very threatening indeed, not to mention annoying. Crows in Australia make the alarming sound of a sickly and old Romanian woman being robbed, seriously. I can’t get over the presence of red cockatoos and lorikeets – again, people think I’m some kind of weirdo for pointing them out.

From chatting to random Australians throughout Sydney, I get the impression that many of them are much like Americans. It is infuriating that no-one knows where a cinema is, or can scarcely name a decent bar/pub. A steet vendor won’t know the name of a parallel street.

Booze is obscenely expensive here – 6 bottles of beer cost typically over 20 dollars! Cans of beer are pretty rare – though VB is reasonably priced at 30 cans for 40 dollars! The alternative, for backpackers anyway, is Goon. A box of wine with 4.4 litres for 10 dollars is pretty damn cheap wherever you are, so all is not lost!

Sydney is really up to date with its smoking propaganda:

 

Perhaps he should have bought a toothbrush

 

Despite fastidiously brushing his teeth once a month, Mr. Smith’s teeth still looked like this because he smoked. The person in this picture is probably a dead bum. I’m no ‘smoking-cancer denier’ but this is ridiculous.

A bizarre and annoying reality in Australia is the pervasion of chicken salt. What is chicken salt? chicken stock mixed with salt – sound disgusting? it is. Strangely, the application of chicken salt to one’s meal is a strictly ‘opt-out’ procedure – it is assumed that you want this horrible shite on your chips or whatever it is. When I confronted a guy who I was working with about this, he patronisingly told me that Ireland ‘doesn’t have chicken salt?, jeez you guys are so backward’. Obviously I unleashed the fury about chicken salt clearly being hillbilly-ish, similar to chewing straw.

So, for the time being, I have 3 jobs. One is a rather lucrative sailing job, where I teach complete novices to sail in an old wooden P.O.S., one is as a bartender for a trendy Cocktail/German bar in the Rocks called ‘The Argyle’ – so I’m busy swotting up on the cocktails – as they serve more than 50 of them! Really good crew working there with a laid back atmosphere – at the end of each shift I’m entitled to a ‘staffie’ – a pint – and a meal, which is cool! The third is an almost exploitative removals job, which is handy for seeing all of Sydney. I’ve been everywhere from Penrith, Annandale, Camperdown, Richmond, Balmain, Marrickville, Bankstown, Campbelltown – you name it. Working fairly crazy hours – last Saturday I worked 17 hours!

I’m still living in a hostel, and to be honest, I’m in no rush to leave! if I were to get a place of my own, I would come home after a hard days work and just watch T.V. or go to bed. This, I suspect, starts the ‘rot’ of people essentially living as normal in a different place. Avoid at all costs. Staying in a hostel provides a bustling atmosphere of people coming and going, and it’s enjoyable to bask in the reflected electric enthusiasm of backpackers who are experiencing a place for a few days – there is a party every night and even if I don’t go out every night, I certainly have a few glasses of the finest goon with whoever is drinkin’!

I live in King’s Cross:

 

The famous Coke sign.....a beacon for the scum of Sydney

 

So King’s Cross is the red-light district of Sydney – it is right beside the naval base at Wooloomooloo (a preposterous name) and thus became a hub for prostitution during the Vietnam war. If you need hookers, drugs or strip-joints, King’s Cross is your place. I don’t really mind the bums and junkies, they tend to keep to themselves!

I have a ridiculous tendency to adopt idiosyncratic speech patterns – it happened in Canada, where I would say ‘eh?’ after every second sentence – much to the chagrin of every non-Canadian, who saw it as blatant affectation. In Sydney, I have developed a tendency to say ‘ey?’ quite often, but hopefully I can stem that tide!

Well, that’s about it for now!