Quality Keating

"All tip and no iceberg."









"Desiccated coconut."








Thank you for brightening my day Mr Keating.

And the partially sucked lifesaver* goes to…

Melbourne Victory had a rather successful win over Adelaide last night wouldn’t you say?




I had the opportunity to watch the game on Foxtel (not quite like being there, but there was air-conditioning involved), and while I am yet to be convince that the skill level of both the players and the commentators is in any way superior to the NSL, I must admit it was nice to see the round ball game going so well.

The crowd was great in size and in attitude, despite being alternately soaked in sweat, then rain and also by those strange mist-making machines that were brought in to help cool the players. Sadly, the mist-machine had no such effect on Ross Aloisi who went to some effort to stupidly get sent off in the first half, marking the end of Adelaide’s chances for success.

The man seen smiling in all of the post game photography, Archie Thompson, did a wonderful job, scoring a hat-trick in the first half, and casually finishing off his tally sheet with another two goals in the second half. Christian Sarkies did well to come on as Archie’s replacement and really stick the boot into the miserable Adelaide. But frankly all awards must go to Fred, a player whose class and skill with the ball continues to set Victory apart from the rest. With service like that its no wonder Thompson walked away with 5.

However, I would like point out something to television news producers. When producing a sports news story, I would appreciate it if you could tell me about the result of the game before you tell me about how well-behaved the crowd was. Victory crowds have proved themselves over two seasons to be free from organised violence and it is insulting to both the fans and the team that race violence (or lack thereof) is more important than the results of the game.

* am I really the only person who thinks this is the worst sporting trophy ever produced?

Picture from The Age online.

Sharks Circling

In one of the best mental pictures I have encountered in a while, Kelvin Thompson* described this man

as being like this man



Apparently it had something to do with Howard never admitting he is wrong, not because of the massive laugh track surge every time Howard enters a room.

Seems like a slightly skew-wiff analogy to me, but it did get me to thinking... is it possible the Howard government just might


before the next election?






* shadow attorney-general. No I hadn’t remember his name either

The Road Ahead

I am new to the whole commuter bicycling thing.

I have long been a partially comatose morning commuter sitting in the tram watching poor cyclists flog their guts out getting up the Swanston Street hill. But now it is me on the bike getting hot a sweaty while pedestrians and tram goers look on in sympathy.

I still have the L-plates on, but I am quickly learning the road rules from a cyclists perspective.

Road Rule 1
Bike lanes are more like guidelines rather actual rules. Drivers can feel free to pull up in the bike lane during peak hour – particularly if they are a taxi.

Road Rule 2
Councils are under absolutely no obligation to maintain the road in the bike lane. Terrible patch up jobs, half done maintenance work and potholes are perfectly acceptable terrain for cyclists.

Road Rule 3
When a driver parks and gets out of their car they are required to pretend cyclists do not exist. They must appear shocked and annoyed when a cyclist almost kills themselves trying not to run into said driver.

Road Rule 4
If you are riding in a pack after a bunch up at the lights, road rules no longer apply.

Road Rule 5
If you wear spandex shorts and your lower legs look like two football socks full of cricket balls you do not have to stop for red lights. In fact, you can pretty much pick and choose which road rules you would like to obey.

I seem to be getting the hang of it, I think. Am I missing anything?

You be Riff and I'll be Bernardo

I would like to second Tom’s excellent piece about the ‘riots’ at the Australian Open on Monday.

I witnessed many such fights during my days attending the local soccer and trust me when I tell you this violence has very little to do with race.

These are 16-25 year old boys, with more testosterone than brain cells who get together and decide to they want to fight. So they call up their mates. Then they call up the guys they want to fight.

That’s right, the whole thing is usually prearranged. They arrange a time and a place and meet up to fight. Or they go to a place where they know each other is going to be (like the tennis). It’s more like a first date than riot.

Its the live action version of the Jets and the Sharks. And the choreography is often just as good (although, perhaps will a little less boxstep).



The whole thing is designed for one purpose only – to show your own mates how tough you are.

Its about aggression, its about masculinity, its about boredom, its not about race.

The many things I have wanted to say

Mustering the energy to blog is rather difficult at this time of year. Particularly since I have just bought a fabulous, extremely expensive and ridiculously fast new bike, and now have to expend all of my spare energy riding it to work every day. I do have several things to say though. So, in no particular order:

Jim Courier is not a good commentator.

Could the Ashes series have been more dull? (I missed the Adelaide test, so I cannot vouch for the ‘game of the century’ status of that particular outing, but the rest of it was crap.)

I love Sports Night.

Three days of the boxing day test is not enough – I say we make them bat again. And again!

If I have to hear Jim Courier and JA trading sexual innuendo while commentating again I will be sick.

Tony Grieg makes me so angry I want to scream.

If you don’t have an air conditioner, I find a wet towel placed in the freeze for 20 minutes to be a delightful alternative (uses less power too).

20/20 is really good fun to watch. But its not cricket.

Ejecting the entire Greek, Serb and Croatian support group from the tennis on Monday because a couple of testosterone fuelled little boys had a punch-on isn’t really fair.

The media beat up surrounding said ‘riot’ was absurd and there is absolutely no way it can be compared to the events last summer at Cronulla.

Marat Safin is a grumpy, grumpy man. Not so much personally aggressive on the court (like our friend Lleyton) but genuinely pissed off that the world exists at all.

If I hear another person start a conversation with ‘Gee, its hot, isn’t it…’, I will have to evict them from the planet.

SBS’s editing out of two segments from this weeks episode of Top Gear to fit in advertising is about the most disrespectful thing a television station can do to its audience. I thought SBS thought better of us than that. Apparently not.

And…Wow, lots of white dresses at the Golden Globes this year.

Here ends today’s musing/ranting.

Have Mercy

The Melbourne Zoo has new tiger cubs. Awwwwww.

Retirement

One of my greatest irritations with sports journalism is the pre-emptive retirement story. I just don’t understand why sports journalists cant wait until a player has actually announced their retirement before they begin eulogising their career.

Endless articles have appeared in the papers today to celebrate the career of Shane Warne, but the man hasn’t announced a single thing yet. If I were him I would have hoped that those doing the celebrating would respect me enough to let me announce my retirement before they start talking about it. Sadly this is rarely the case.

Still, we knew his retirement was coming, and all I’d like to say on the matter is this: given that he is quite probably the dumbest man to have ever strolled the face of the earth, he is an absolute genius.







Photo credit: The Age

Christmas Cheer is OVER

The new print ad campaign by Coke has officially turned me off Christmas.

I have been looking for a copy of it on the web all day with no luck, so you'll have to check it out for yourself (the flinders street tram stop and station are delightfully adorned at present).

All that I hate about consumerism is artfully captured in this ad.



...Come to think of it, that was probably their intention.

Home James

I'm sorry I have been so remarkably absent. I am now back in the country and have caught up on my work, my emails, my Christmas shopping and my sleep.

I had a really wonderful time in Laos and now feel the need to tell you all about it...

Anyone thinking about going to Laos...add Viengxay to your destination list. Its a long way from anywhere and you'll need to prepare yourself for a very small plane flight or a very long drive to get there, but if you want to understand the country you are visiting then you need to go there.

Between 1964 and 1973 the leaders of the Lao community revolution, their families, the revolutionary forces soldiers, party cadre and supporters ( around 20,000 people in all) set up Viengxay in northern Laos as their base. The US government saw Laos as the key to preventing the spread of communism in Asia (Dominoes anyone?) and subsequently bombed Lao, and the Pathet Lao forces mercilessly during the daylight hours for those 9 long years. The natural terrain of the Viengxay area, small floodplains surrounded by limetone karst formations created a natural fortress, and from the safety of over 200 caves (set within the limestone karst) the communist party fought and won a war of independence against the Royal Lao Government.

The leaders of the Lao nation suffered years of struggle in those caves, withstanding US attack and then fighting a massive ground war against RLG forces. The experiences of those men undoubtedly shaped the nation that Lao became of the next 30 years and will continue to shape the nation for many governments to come. If you are war buff, a history buff, or a communism buff, Viengxay is a town which illustrates, better than any other I've seen, a nation's heritage writ large on its landscape.

Sorry, enough propaganda... I had a great time. I spent a lot of money on silk ( I could have spent twice as much without even blinking) and spent absoutely no money on anything else. I fell in love with the country and its people and developed a lifelong hatred of the country and its buses. I dot sick, and I got well. I drank way to much backyard brewed booze and ate things I know I wouldn't have if I had asked what they were. I saw turkens (the results of turkey/chicken love affairs) and churkeys (the alternate coupling) and worked with a wonderful group of talented students and Lao people to develop a new heritage interpretation plan for the caves and surrounding heritage sites. All in all a very good time.

its nice to be back, and having not been bombarded with christmas carols and bad commercials since the middle of November, I have been captured with the Christmas spirit (It might also have something to do with the cold rice and undistinguishable meat product I have eated for every meal over the last month). Bring on Christmas lunch!

Mildly Distracted

Well, last week was an important one for races wasn’t it? I won’t go into the details but donkeys won one, and Japanese horses won the other. It was pretty impressive all round, and should change the face of their respective races for a few years to come.

Sadly my attention to sporting matters has been less than undivided over the last few weeks as I have been preparing for a particularly challenging expedition to remote Laos. I won’t go into the details of what I am doing there (trust me, you’ll be bored) but I thought it might be fun to tell you a little bit about the place. I have stolen these travel photos from the interweb to give you an idea (I will try and bring back my own photos though).

I will be going here…



First I will fly into Vientiane where there will be some chatting (probably just smiling politely, as I don't speak a word of Lao) with governmenty types before flying to Xieng Khuang province, where I will see the Plain of Jars…



Then I will get on a long and windy bus ride to get to Vieng Xai/Vieng Xay/Viengsai (it all depends how you feel like spelling it that day).

Its in Hua Phan province (simmilarly irritating spelling variations are avaliable if required). Hua Phan is the province on the far north eastern bit of the map. You'll notice that Vieng Xai is not big enough to get labelled on this map (or in fact any others I could find on the interwebs).

Vieng Xai was the birthplace of the Pathet Laos, the Lao Communist Party. They took power in 1975 and have stayed there ever since. Their governmental strategy would be better described as 'authoritarian market economy' than 'communist' these days though.

Vieng Xai will probably look like this…



and this...



Think Halong Bay in Vietnam, only without all the water.

Apparently I will be eating this…



but hopefully I won’t have to spend too much time here…



Its all very nerve racking and very exciting, so you'll have to forgive me my distraction. I promise to be wholly obsessed by first world sporting concerns (The Ashes) upon my return.

And the really exciting thing is that by the time I get back this...



will be up and running. Wheee!



Note: Apologies for excess bracketing. I once read a novel which was as bracket obsessed as I have been in the above post. I threw it out.

Best Category Ever

It has been a good long while since I strolled over to Cute Overload for a visit. So when I stopped by this morning I discovered my new favourite category, Cats ‘n Racks.

Here's one from Cute Overload to get your started:



Classic.

Plus I was getting jealous of Tom’s cute cats.

Shaking my head

So, Brendan Fevola is a moron.

I’m not surprised that someone got drunk and embarrassed themselves in Ireland, and I’m not surprised it was Brendan.

But did you see what Brendan said to The Age about the incident?

"Obviously, I've done the wrong thing by getting him in a headlock. It was pretty stupid," he said. "And I'm just glad I didn't hit him. I would have been in more trouble if I hit him. A lot more trouble.

"It was just a headlock. If I wanted to hit him, I would have hit him. But I didn't. I just had him in a headlock."

I’ve heard a lot of footballers make public apologies in my time, and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one.

Extra credit to The Age for the classic headline on the story - 'Headlock Holiday'. Nice.

France-Soir-o-phile

I don’t want to stray to far into the wonderful Happy Guts’ territory, so please consider this an homage rather than a rip off.

Now that I’m doing this food and sport thing I thought I’d tell you about dinner on Saturday night at France-Soir. Cause it was good.

I have often visited France-Soir’s cousin, Paris Go, and always with good result, so I had high expectations. France-Soir is a little more serious than its cross river relation but I was delighted to discover the experience was as good as promised by my companions. Having already been force-fed a bucket of gin (one very large, very dry martini) prior to dinner I was delighted to see the arrival of bread to the table. And this is good bread. Not the kind of hefty, sourdough goodness you want for dipping in oil, but thick slices of a tiny french baguette with a glossy sheen and a slight sweetness.

After much um-ing and ah-ing I opted for the scallops in basil sauce for the entrée, while he across the table chose the sea perch dumplings in prawn sauce, a favourite from the Paris Go menu. The scallops were not big, but very flavourful and while the sauce wasn’t exactly laden with basil I didn’t mind. The sauce quickly became fantastic creamy soup just waiting for me at the bottom of the empty scallop shells. This was where the bread really came into its own. Soaking up every last skerrick of sauce I ate far more than my fair share and received a brief look of concern from the waiter when he refilled the bread basket. I understand the perch dumplings were also perfect as usual.

After spending far too long trying to decipher the specials menu scribbled on the mirror behind me I gave in and chose the duck l’orange. It’s a good test of a restaurant to try the dish everyone expects to see on the menu. Rogan Josh in the Indian place, falafel in the Lebanese etc. If the kitchen does the everyday dishes as well as they do the specials you know you’re in the right place. And the duck was excellent. The very generous portion of duck, resting in a thin, orangey and not at all sweet sauce was excellent and accompanied by the best french fries I have ever eaten. If only the icy chill coming through the front door hadn’t cooled them before I had a chance to eat the lot. He across the table was also very fond of his veal in a creamy sauce ( I cant remember the finer details, they were in French), and I’m guessing the eye fillet ordered by the guy next to me was also good, as I didn’t hear a word out of him until it was completely gone.

Since the old faithfuls had seen me right so far, I chose the crème brulee for dessert. He across the table chose a sickly sweet and fiendishly dark chocolate mousse. Under pressure from the evening’s second sitting congregating at the bar the crème brulee was in front of me in record time. And France-Soir came through with the goods again. With a creamy layer of custard coated in a wonderfully thick and crunch toffee crust. I really only needed to eat half. Instead I ate the lot and rolled home with a moan and a satisfied grin.

Michael Schumacher has retired

Its worth mentioning because he was a champion of the sport and has been a household name for years and congratulations to him for being perhaps the best driver the race has ever seen.

But, frankly, I’m pleased he’s retiring. The things that made him such an excellent driver, his cool clinical manner, his steely resolve and complete lack of charisma also made him a bore to watch. His utter dominance of the sport made the sport itself boring. Hell, they even tried changing the rules to make it more interesting. With his retirement we will hopefully see a more even and therefore exciting competition.

The best moments in racing are when drivers stop acting on instruction and start acting on impulse. Craig Lowndes is good case in point. Several weeks ago he drove an almost flawless race to win Bathurst. It was impressive, but hardly exciting viewing. Yesterday however, nowhere near the front, he blew his top, did something stupid and was given a drive through penalty for his behaviour. He then proceeded to fill the radio airwaves with expletives for the rest of the race. It was great! It was interesting, unpredictable and showed the punters exactly how much he wanted to win. Schumacher rarely showed that kind of emotion and the sport was the poorer for it. Every once in a while its nice see that race car drivers are human too.

Still, good luck to Schumacher in his retirement. Hopefully he’ll volunteer to do a Top Gear hot lap, I’d like to see that!

Straying off the topic

It turns out Mike Brady is actually right! Footy does win hands down. And now that the season is finally over and the players have fled to Las Vegas and Phuket I have found myself with something of a gap in my life. There were so many empty hours in my weekend that I even the Gilmore Girls on DVD and actually turned the television over to Sky racing (bad commentary incarnate) in the hope of finding something interesting to watch. It comes as little surprise that Rory and Lorelai are still more interesting than Race 5 at Eagle Farm. Not even watching John Kosmina throttling Kevin Muscat could rouse me from my malaise. It's all so…not football.

So I think I’m going to have to start writing about something else for a bit. And not wanting to stray too far from what I know and love, I think it’s going to have to be food. So, if there are no objections I bring you:

Recipe #1 – Tofudabeast

This has become a weeknight favourite of mine as it requires virtually no forward planning, is pretty cheap, and because you can buy a couple of packets of tofu and they will live for a couple of weeks in the back of the fridge. Unlike the fish I bought the other week and forgot about.

Salt and Pepper Tofu

1 packet Firm tofu
Cornflour
Salt
Ground white pepper
Chinese 5 spice
Vegetable oil, perhaps with a squirt of sesame oil if you feel like it.

Combine enough cornflour to coat the tofu, with some* salt, pepper, and 5 spice.

Drain the tofu and dry off with some paper towel, pressing down on the tofu to squeeze out some of the excess water, then cut into bite size pieces. Keep in mind, the smaller you cut the tofu the more tasty fried bits you get on the outside.

Heat about an inch and half of oil in the bottom of a wok, toss the tofu in the cornflour mix, shake off the excess flour and drop into the hot oil. Fry in small batches, turning the tofu to brown on all sides and then drain on some paper towel.

Serve with some Asian greens (or perhaps some Australian Greens, but definitely not Democrats – far too bitter and there really isn’t enough of them to fill you up) in oyster sauce and some jasmine rice.


* ‘Some’ is an official measurement I will undoubtedly use in any and all recipes. It roughly converts to one ‘I don’t really measure things, so you’ll have to make an educated guess’. It’s usually somewhere between a teaspoon and a tablespoon if you’re going to be a pedant about it.

The V8 Safety Car Series

I know no one else is even vaguely interested in motor sport, that’s why I spend so many lonely afternoons with only Neil Crompton as my friend, but Bathurst was on yesterday and it was good. So now I’m telling you about it.

After sitting on the couch for the better part of 8 hours I wished I had arranged a driver change of my own, but my patience and dedication (and the brief mid-afternoon nap, I only missed a couple of laps, I swear) was rewarded. Craig Lowndes and Jamie Whincup* won a race where everything went wrong for just about everyone. There a total of 10 safety car periods in the race, which means there are a lot of smashed cars and a lot of bruised drivers getting around today but everyone seems to have got away relatively unscathed.

The good thing about safety car periods, apart from the obvious safety benefits, is that it allows the viewer to take a much needed break from what is otherwise an epic journey on the couch. I did the washing… I’ll tell you about it another time, it was great, there were whites, there were colours…

The safety car also allowed me to regale my younger brother with enthralling tales of oil overflow leaks, drive through penalties, pit lane injuries and importantly for this race, clutch slip. And it gives the wonderful Neil Crompton and the rest of the commentary team the opportunity to teach me stuff about cars I never thought I’d know.

I watch and listen to a lot of sport which means I know a thing or two** about commentating. And I am willing to say here and now, Crompton is the best I have ever heard. (Yes, better than Gerard.)

I’m sure he would be completely useless commentating on anything else, but for V8 Supercars he is fabulous. He pitches his commentary at just the right level to keep the novices informed and the diehards interested. It really is an art. And he is genuinely good mates with the drivers (being an ex-driver himself), which means that there is an easy comradery when he interviews them, particularly while they are driving. He gets the drivers talking in real sentences rather than platitudes and deftly navigates the space between interviewer and friend so that both the TV audience and the drivers are happy. In summary, Neil Crompton is ace and if I could think up a good trophy name I would give him one.


So, what’s next on the sporting calendar?...


* This is the second silliest name in V8 racing. The silliest is Winterbottom.
**Thing 1) Gary Lyon and James Brayshaw should not be allowed in the same room together, Thing 2) understatement is actually an artform.

I Tell A Lie

I just remembered a personalised number plate I saw that actually made me smile rather than want to key the vehicle.

It was a black jeep with the number plate: BAA BAA.



Cute.

I H8 PRSNL PL8S

Like my friend Item I enjoy a good irrational hatred and one I have harboured for many a year is personalised number plates.

It is Bathurst week (Go Holden) so a thought a timely reminer might be needed, to just let everyone with a personalised number plate that your are being a dickhead and paying for the privilege.

My hatred began because our neighbour over the back fence has the numberplate ELUSIV. He is probably getting close to 40 years old, still lives with his parents and will be found in the laneway washing said car every single weekend, without fail. He is the least elusive person on the planet.

In all my years I have never seen a personalised numberplate that wasn’t stupid. A view confirmed, yet again, on the drive back from a weekend away when our carload took in the sight of a red Mercedes with the plate BYNSLL. It took us a while, but we figured it out, and quickly came to the conclusion that the guy was a WNKR.

Other stupidity includes:
XPLOZV
HLDNV.8
BIT3ME
DAHERO
PL4YER
SEXYY
LE6END
And you can have a look here to really make your blood boil. People actually make money selling these things! Arrgh.

Conclusion: Personalised number plates are stupid, unfunny and really really sleazy. People who own them are morons.

End rant.

How do you feel about Jason Akermanis?

Everyone seems to have an opinion of him, but my own oscillates fairly rapidly between detest and respect.

He is an undeniable loudmouth who has managed to offend many in the footballing world (including myself) with ill-considered statements and idiotic football-show behaviour. But he also tells the truth. Never have I seen him give anything except a full and truthful account of himself, his actions and the situation as he sees it. That kind of honesty is such a rarity in public life that I can’t help but admire him. If only more were willing to risk their necks and speak their mind we might not all be in so much trouble.

He was ‘speaking out of turn’ again on The Footy Show on Thursday I gather. According to the Age saying,

'that Simon Black would win the Lions' best and fairest, that former Lions assistant coach Daryn Cresswell had been responsible for leaking stories during the year, not him, and that despite the club being set to lose $1.5 million this year the chief executive had awarded himself a pay rise.'

The western bulldogs media department will certainly have their work cut out for them if he does end up a doggie, and I do think he could be more judicious in providing comment to anyone who asks, but I dearly hope he continues to speak the truth as he sees it and damn the consequences. I kind of hope we all do.