Skippy's Droppings

Skippy’s Droppings: When I first arrived at the Dookie United Footy Club I met a smart alec Kangaroo called Skippy. As a first year college student I copped a little bit of Skippy’s forked tongue from time to time but in general laughed at what he had to say about everybody else. Skippy’s main vehicle for comment was a newsletter produced for home games and purchased at the gate. Skippy generously donated the proceeds to the football trip, but, buying a copy was also brutally enforced by some of the older members of the club.

I had a few years away from Dookie and when I returned I noticed that Skippy had left leaving a gaping hole to fill with invective. Funnily enough so had a few of the players who seemed to think and write along similar lines to Skippy. With the funnier, original muses gone Skippy never reached the same heights as he had in the past. I did however manage to coax Skippy back for another season and he did pay for a few rounds on that years footy trip.

Looking back in the file I didn’t save too many, a case of burn after reading when the Roo gets going I guess.
*Some context in red has been added for the uninitiated

SKIPPY’S DROPPINGS

Following a long hiatus Skippy is back at Dooks to dish the dirt have some fun and hopefully shout a few drinks for the boys on the footy trip. Being a generous kind of Roo and despite being dropped from the clubs logo, all profits from this tome of wisdom will be donated to the boys getting on the fizz. Grass is scarce but free and with Mama Hedges keeping my pouch full of lollies don’t worry about old Skip going without to support the people he has offended.

First of all I’d like to quell any rumours about where I’ve been, truth is I’d moved to the big smoke to take my musings to a bigger audience, but after offending one too many people , well, you no doubt saw Skip with an arrow through the noggin on the news. So I’m back where I belong, and hoping Skippy is still the one marsupial the Dookie boys won’t shoot.

Last time your old chinaplate Skippy was at Dookie he did make some enemies with the sooky la la types. To avoid another crossbow attack I’d like to say if you are mentioned in this illustrious journal please take it in the manner it was meant, which is as good natured ribbing because your somebody Skippy feels deserves the honour of a mention.

*After a bloke wore tight shorts to training Skippy bounded on up to the Goldcoast last week to have a chat with an old cobber and 80’s icon the Whiz Capper. Capper wasn’t in his usual high spirits as a pair of shorts that he treasured had been stolen. Wocka said he never wore the shorts as they were a bit revealing even for him, (a man who has posed nude for playboy and flashed on T.V) but the Wiz treasured them as it was the only pair of red microscopic shorts ever made. Capper saw the suspect fleeing the scene in Malcom Young’s Bonds t-shirt circa ’75, the suspect apparently looked like TV’s Hotdogs. Skip showed Wocka a photo of Dooks beloved muckraker Chuck “captain cupcake” Edmonston, Capper said the suspect resembled a “poor mans” version of that bloke. On an unrelated topic why are people getting stuck into “pillows” Bullen about his training fashion, when Skip last attended a Dookie training the couple of brave blokes in tights were the object of ridicule, now it is the “Poor man” in the tight shorts, how times change.

*A couple of ordinary footballers liked to talk themselves up Skippy was interested to hear Muhammed Ali’s comments this week criticising Steve “Brucie’s mate” Lamb’s skiting, apparently the old slugger thought it was a bit much. On further questioning “Shakes” Ali did concede he is the second greatest behind “Socceroo” Lamb. Imagine if the slugger ever heard James Feeney in action after he troubled the stats-man.

*The chaser were in trouble for a bad taste joke, it was big news at the time -This joke about terminally ill children has been removed because the Chaser plagiarised it and this column only mentions fresh material-

*One bloke had too many beers Skip is not one to spread rumours, most stuff that Skip hears about is tucked safely in the pouch until confirmation, so there is no way I’ll repeat the mudslinging about Tom “Curly” Dickons“cider” pissing in a vase.

*A couple of the lads got in a punch up, one broke his hand Everybody’s favourite Roo is puzzling over everybody’s favourite blonde haired brothers whose last name rhymes with Splitto. How can two such mild mannered and polite boys continue to get in so much trouble when they head out for a night on the tiles. Skippy asked “my boy” Kitto who just smiled and said something about the incredible hulk effect of booze, while “other boy” Kitto said if old chalk hand drank more milk while growing up they would still be going now, Skippy is still confused.
*A young man had a month off drinking and then drank again The chairman of CUB has officially declared the economic crises to be over. After a month with plummeting profits and job layoffs a sharp sales spike on Saturday the 13th June has all brewers back in the black. In unrelated news Thomas “No handballs for” Dakis paid off his 20th aerial and could afford to get back on the jars at the presidents dinner. In true Caulfield style (where all great rum drinking ute driving barons come from) he celebrated mightily, although wasting good alcohol to water the garden via your stomach is frowned upon despite the drought.

*A fella had a wrestle with a bloke who had grey hair Johan “Zohan” Moylan is a favourite of Skippy’s and until Saturday he could do no wrong in Skippy’s beady black eyes. Skippy loves how YoYo plays football in fast forward- so he looks like he’s in a remake of the gods must be crazy, rocks up to play footy at any ground he likes whether the game is scheduled there or not, endlessly plugs his modelling website and hands out fashion tips (pink is the new black etc). But when he attacked an old pensioner “Silver Fox” at Katunga Skippy was shocked and disappointed. Maybe he caught a case of Kitsomotosis….get it Kitto’s got in a fight so Kitso ah forget it.

Another edition that was salvaged:
Welcome to Skippy’s abuse addition, It’s about time Skippy told it like it is. Finally a few home truths are going to be rammed home around here. If Skippy tells you to quit, it means you are too old or crap or both, if Skippy says your fat stop eating pudin’ If Skippy says nobody likes you, your mum doesn’t count. Rememebr if you get mentioned you have a right of reply, but if the reply is crap it won’t get printed. Deal with that.

*When a "footballer" announced he was going on a health kick following a photo in the newspaper. James “Blimp” Armstrong was disgusted at the sight of his double page, triple chinned spread in the News a couple of weeks back. While munching on a pie and drinking a stubby the “galloping gasomoter” told skip that he couldn’t understand how it got to this, he thought he was a strapping young lad prior to the photo. “Tuckshop Arms-trong” pointed out that he is always at training, even if sometimes a little late from working hard behind a computer all day and admittedly by the time the trainers get around his massive thighs training is usually over. “Jabba” Armstrong informed skip he was going to change his ways and a new slimmer version would soon be “rolled” out. Skip reckons if pies, beer and never shutting up were good ways to get fit James wouldn’t have got in this mess in the first place. Skip’d know ever seen a fat Roo?
*To get people off the scent Skippy has a go at himself Monster the waddling penguin is softer than AFL Dave. Since being made captain of the two’s ‘Farouk” has tried to lead from behind ala Freddie Mecury, do the club a favour and waddle in to retirement pug head.
*A bloke that played for us and happened to be Egyption started a lot of fights. Attacks on Egyptian footballers are on the rise. Dookie’s Marcus Oussa has joined Indian protesters in condemning the violence. The mild mannered Ouss just can’t understand why he is abused, punched and spat on weekly, “All I’m trying to do is play footy and get a couple of cheap shots away behind play but I just keep getting in strife.
*A man had to leave the field during a game to go to the toilet The sphincter is a muscle in the bum that controls the opening of your coit, or so Skippy has deducted from studying the real life social doco “Wayne’s World”. Unfortunately for Bruce last weekend he pulled a sphincter causing a major mudslide. Not even nappy san will save the away shorts and the less said about his Reg Grundies the better.

*Can't remember this Nathan Hauritz turning a ball? must have been halucinating It was a big week for blokes Skippy has been badmouthing with Hauritz finally turning one, Mark Webber not crashing, Steve Ludeman winning another game as coach, Nick Larry Emdur Boyd not being lynched for being hatless in public in a bad display of curls, Jezza “Bezza” Campbell making an umpiring decision, Oussa not getting punched, YOYo picking up, Sam Scott not dying of alcohol poisoning, Dale Heywood surviving a game of footy unscathed. If this keeps up droppings will be very short on material.

Good to see that Skippy’s spray about poor attendances at recent functions was heeded and the annual ball was once again a mammoth humdinger of a cracking good night. The girls all looked fantastic and the blokes proved that you can dress a goat in a suit but it will still act like a goat. There were some spectacular displays of blokes who shouldn’t drink, proof that it tastes better going down than coming back up and once again the GV hotel isn’t big enough to contain the Dookie boys on the tear. Would add more but Alcamahol doesn’t do much for a Roo’s memory.

*After somebody complained about not getting a mention….weird most people hated being in droppings. It takes a big Roo to apologise and to prove I am a bigger man than you lot I admit there was a gross error of judgment in a previous addition. It appears that the carnival was mentioned but the ringleader of the whole show was not. Sharon “I want an apology” Brown was quite rightly miffed about not making these illustrious pages. It was the biggest oversight since that film where they forget Mcauley Caulkin leaving him Home Alone. While Home Alone he maimed some robbers. I think the film was called ‘Take me on holidays you bastards’. Sorry readers I went off on a tangent there. Any way Skippy takes this opportunity to say I am truly sorry for not mentioning Sharon, and for going off on a tangent during the apology (if you’re counting that is three apologies). Skippy is however not sorry about misspelling Matttthew Kirrby, so while I am big enough to apologise I choose not to. If your name does not conform to the normal rules of grammar that is not my fault

. …And an edition with most of it deleted but this article survived:
Finchy (Mac daddy) on Saturday night, "I only get drunk when I drink" - What he meant to say was…actually who the hell knows what Macca is ever trying to say?
Suggestions for Look a likes, Beggsy - Billy Idol
Dicko - Mil Hanna
Monster - Furuk
Ryan Kearny - Browny (from Mallee)
Caulf - Richard Permewan

Another issue:
Skippy’s golden rule is the same as Gods, treat people and Roo’s as you would like to be treated. If Charles “What the Fks up chuck” Edmonston follows this rule he obviously hates himself.

Old Cupcake thought playing world cup soccer with Matt “Chinese Eyes” Thorpes and Ouss’ chandeliers in their new pad was a great way to get the party started. With glass shattered all across the floor Cupcake copped a fair old barrelling from his new housemates. Poor old “Cupcake” spent his first night at the new house whimpering with his tail between his legs curled up asleep in his car. Too scared to go back inside, Thorpey “feel the steel” is obviously one scary Eskimo.

*A comedian at a comedy day implied our captain really, really liked his own first cousins. Also, at the time this was written an insult at the club was your Mums your Dad, I still don’t know what it means. G’day Skipsters and welcome to what could be the very last Skippy’s ever. Like all good finales there is going to be some major bridge-burning in this edition. So strap yourselves in for some good old fashion piss-taking as your former mate and soon to be hopping crossbow target has a crack at all and sundry. Don’t worry if you think you, don’t think you, warrant a mention because everyone has a skeleton or ten in the closet. If you think you got away with something be reminded that this rampaging Roo can sniff a good story out. Very similar to how Lehmo can sniff out an inbreeding mountain man from an audience of sheep hasslers. Then Lehmo is from Adelaide so he might be able to sniff out his own kind?! It does go to show that anybody can hope to one day be the skipper at Dooks even if your Mums your Dad whatever, the hell that means.

*A bloke called Thorpey has funny eyes, but is Anglo Saxon, Skippy thought that was funny. True story: Garfield polished off his tenth cone for the morning so couldn’t open his eyes as wide as normal, Garfield put on his best thongs and went looking for some munchies but couldn’t go ten feet without being mistaken for Bang-bang Youdiono Thorpe. Garfield did get see through his squinty eyes what life as the only Aussie Eskimo was like and is not keen to go back.

*A bloke grew a goatee and it made him look like Chuck Chuck Norris is in Dookie starring as Woody Dookie Ranger. The man who beat the wall in tennis and counted to infinity twice is now stalking local fishermen to make sure they aren’t pulling fish out of the few puddles of water left in the district without a licence. Fisho’s are always seen as a heavy handed bunch but employing a bloke who the boogie man checks under his bed for is going a bit far.

*A lady used to bring a massive container of lollies to give the footballers, one week she rocked up in her husband’s semi and another week a bloke grabbed a handful of lollies after leaving the urinal. Due to popular demand Rosemary “Mumma” Hedges lolly-bucket has grown so huge that it now takes a prime-mover to get the bucket to the footy. The ever increasing popularity of the lollies is puzzling given “Pillows” Bullens urine soaked attempt to keep them all to himself.

More look alikes: Matty Walker looks like Tadhg Kennelly and Wallace of Wallace and Gromit fame.
Simon Berry with the new do looks like Adam Cooney and Bruce Willis.

*Bagging most of our players Skippy’s rhetorical quiz: Is Nathan “Benson” Hedges voice higher than “Soccer roo” Lambs? How many times will Lamby play on and pretend that he just doesn’t see (the leading forward and the opposition tackler)? What time does Gav Kitto go from mild mannered defender to bouncer punching nutcase? Is Weeman Morrison hungrier than Bezza Bewick Campbell in front of goal? Will they ever be as hungry as Chris “U turn” Ludeman? Will bat makers go broke if Sibs quits cricket and stops breaking bats? Why is Oussa less popular amongst PDFL rivals than Hitler? Does Doigy ever talk? Does Drunk Doigy ever shut up? When Rich puffs his cheeks is his face bigger than the Hindenberg airship pre explosion? Has a bigger man ever worn poofier shirts than Yao Ming? He succeded in cleaning the keyboard but did no handballs ever get the cream from his Green Daks? Just how hot are Beggsy’s cousins? Does Sam “Maxi” McKenna believe that you can’t drive on drugs because you fly? How many times has YoYo Boyter looked at himself on his modelling website? Is Rooster trying to clear the ball from the backline or send it into orbit? Does the brother of Rooster think he’ll turn into a pumpkin if he stays at the ground past the end of the seconds? Do the Geddessesss pick on brown headed cousins at Christmas? Just how early did Matty Walker have to get to Melbourne when he left the bench to have a shower? How come Farouk has a tiny head and six chins? Did Charlie cry when him and Wethers broke up and Wethers moved to Melbourne? Is YOYO Cupcakes rebound bloke? Is Jo of the YOJO couple jealous of Cupcake? Is Pillows jealous of Yoyo? Do you feel safer with Macca soon joining Eppsy in the armed forces for our protection? Are safety glasses redundant for Thorpey because he can’t open his eyes wide enough for anything to get in? Does Tuckshop know that training starts at 6? Will Sammy Scott lose his thumbs due to gambling debts or is kneecapping back in fashion for standover men?

Cup cake looks like Master Splinter of Ninja turtles,
Justin Is Chris off the Family Guy
Seamus is the sherminator,
Sibs is Casper

Quote of the week: Or should this be re-named stuff Macca said? After discovering that a horse and a donkey make a mule the fish dragon asked “What happens if a dog and a cat mate?” Skippy reckons that aside from a slightly miffed cat and a scratched up dog not much. It did make Skip wonder if you cross Larry Emdur with a black sheep do you get Boydy? no wonder he wears a hat.

That is all she wrote for Skippy! it has been a hectic year and Skippy was glad to see that despite being committed enough to have finally won a flag in ’07 some of the old shenanigans from the past continue to this day. Some people seemed to cop it regularly in Skippy’s little journal while others have escaped with more dignity than they deserve. But that is life folks, no one said it was fair. As this is the final act I will reveal Skips true identity for this season: Warrick Rainbird.

I deserve a better effort from you

I got my first request for a blog and unlike a successful rock band I can’t really afford not to do requests. The request came with a link to a Peter Fitzsimons article which to condense into half a sentence explained that Aussie international sporting teams are rubbish because Gen Y are a bunch of sooks.

I’m sure some of Simmos complaints are to do purely with things were better in my day nostalgia. Simmo even suggested players in his day wouldn’t have  gone out for hamburgers like the Wallabies or had a party like the swimmers because people in his day cared. With all due respect what a load of cobblers ya has-been. I’m sure if I trawled through the archives there would be an article by the same bandana wearing clown about how much better it was in his day when beer swilling characters added colour before everything was sanitized.

That one complaint aside the article did strike a chord with me, we (meaning Australia I’d never be good enough to mean me as part of an elite outfit even as orange cutter) seem to lack any spine in the international arena.  I was nodding my head in agreement as Simmmo laid bare our recent sporting incompetence and the metro sexual, self indulgent and petulant characters that brought us these shoddy displays. They are supposed to be representing the best to of us so how dare they be so rubbish? I deserve to sit on my couch and bask in the reflected glory.  

I don’t buy into the whole theory that certain generations are some how fundamentally different.  Much of what Gen Y are blamed for is a reflection of being young, but, to a degree there also has to be an effect that the current shape of society has on the natural bell curve personalities. That is why there were no hipsters when you had to work to feed your family from eight and went to war at eighteen, it was no good cracking it at your mum for taking the sticker off your flat cap back then.

So I’m not blaming gen Y for not breaking a leg in pursuit of a competent performance in a friendly against Brazil or for playing meaningless tournaments for the Delhi Donkeys rather than preparing for a friggin test match..well maybe a little spoilt brats. It is a reflection of a society where every kid wins, no one is made to work for praise and people are told they are the most important person in the world. It raises a society where these spoilt young talents chase a dollar rather than team glory, drop their bundle when things get tough and pursue selfish interests to the detriment of the greater good. If you had a choice of working in a coal mine or bowling for Australia you tended to be a bit more grateful for the opportunity, it seems people now arrive at the peak of sport in this country as if they have a birth right to be there. Don’t this generation owe it to me and all the other hopeless, lazy, cynics  to risk their health, push their limits (if illegally just don’t get caught) and sacrifice their earning potential so I can get that short lived joy of seeing Aussie victory.        

Somebody stop me

“I woke up Sunday morning trying to find a way to hold my head which didn’t hurt.”

It can be a rewarding experience when you discover a song that nails an emotion or feeling that perfectly resonates with your life experience. It knocks you for six when the combination of sound, conviction and lyrics combine and all you can think is right on brother* too true. The above lyrics are ones that get it pretty right but I’d be quite happy to still have them stored in my much larger category of songs that leave you thinking what the bloody hell are they on about eg. “Roll out the cannon boys, steal us some wine, puff Tijuana smalls shake hands with beef”. Or for those of you more classic hits than 90’s alternative “Aroooo werewolves of London”.

Recovering from a couple too many is definitely young man’s sport. These days the self-inflicted self-pity following an over indulgence is much like how I imagine an aging pugilist feels, after waking up from a brief lie down, having stepped into the ring for one pay day they probably would have been better skipping. I’m sure the much more regular trips I made in my youth down to the dreadful place on the corner of Morning-after-the-night-before St and No-one-to-blame-but-yourself Rd did not feel as bad as they do now. I thought I knew what Kris Kristoferson was on about 10 years ago, I think I know more about that feeling now**

Worse than headache and nausea though is the fuzzy recollections of, did I do that, did I say that, did I really provide fashion advice to a bouncer then steal the velvet rope when he didn’t like my shoes? Luckily my transgressions have generally stayed in the realms of self-inflicted stupidity and never strayed outside the (generous) boundaries of my peer group of the given time. Had I been in a more studious crowd perhaps my sheepishness would have found greater justification on the morning after, but even the most outrageous transgression on my part have generally been met with amused dismissiveness or even insignificance given the drunken competition. As I’ve aged and started a family however, there is no place for complete abandonment of sobriety even for a night and what was once an amusing anecdote for a degenerate peer group to laugh at becomes the type of offence it probably always should have been considered. An offence I’m sure will continue to be brought up for years to come. Given the judgment that awaits when you are older, got responsibilities and have no excuse for acting like your shoe size you better be telling yourself, never again, the morning after or you really need to be seeking professional help.  

They say alcohol does not change your personality just lowers your inhibitions but I don’t believe that is true. Lowering your inhibitions implies you do things you want to do but are too shy (or inhibited) to try. That is clearly not true, I don’t enjoy or secretly want to perform acrobatics, urinate in public or ring somebody I shouldn’t to tell them something they don’t want to hear. Drinking just affects your judgment, that is why you shouldn’t drive, talk to your boss or ring a celebrity whose number happens to be in a mates work phone for business reasons, fail to block said mates number and then ask the celebrity to tell a joke on air. It is not like I am too shy to climb a tree, test the tensile strength of a letter box using a mixture of explosive household chemicals or explain to a policemen how he could do his job better; these are just some of the million thoughts that go through your head all the time that get filtered out before even registering. Unfortunately a couple of sips and every idea becomes a good idea. Drinking ensures there is no judgment of speed, spatial awareness, centre of gravity or of thought. Rather than being a secret tonic to give you confidence it just means you lack the judgment to realise that every thought you have should not be instantly acted upon. What a combo, you impair yourself in physical ability but then act on every thought, how does that not end in disaster every time?  

It is purely good luck not good management that I haven’t had to face the full potential consequences myself but people close to me have; it should have had me swearing off benders for life. Even if I hadn’t been personally impacted, I should be smart enough to realise the risk versus reward equation is fairly and squarely on the side of teetotallers. The cost to public health, relationships, the justice system and my 3 day old carpet is patently absurd and there is no justification for it.  Setting people on fire, throwing explosives into fires, doing backflips off houseboats and answering rhetorical questions like, “What are you looking at” only add to the risks that ingesting a poison already have on your mind and body.

Unfortunately this not a redemption piece, because I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed a fair portion of my carousing. George Best summed up pretty well when saying words to the effect of, “I’ve spent a lot of money on booze, cars and women, the rest I wasted’. Knowing all the risks I still enjoy a good session with mates, a bit like walking my dog without a lead there is probably no way to defend my behaviour, I do it because I enjoy it. Unlike a politician claiming a friend’s wedding as legitimate business expense, I won’t try to rationalise my stupidity. All I can say is it is not good for me or anybody else, but it can be fun.

 It is however a young man’s game and despite my immaturity I have given up most other young men’s pursuits.  I’m not playing footy anymore (some would argue I never really did), I rarely listen to triple J and I’ve got no idea what anyone under 22 is talking about. I have even gone a step further and sound like an old man with points of view like; music was better in my day, people should bend their caps, pull your stupid pants up and enjoy the outdoors rather than constantly needing technological stimulation.  So fair play, if I’m going to enjoy the next phase of my life by pointing out how much better things were when I was a youth, I need to stop this last immature indulgence. Despite what the ads say 99% of the time it is funny when a young buck*** has too much to drink, but at a certain point, long since passed for me, it is just sad to keep on treading this path.

 I don’t drink to forget, I’m not that sad, I actually drink to get the party started, then keep it going. The opportunities to party down are fewer these days too, every weekend used to be an opportunity to lose friends and kill brain cells, now it seems to be in the annual category (maybe a touch more often). This means I am more excited when on the tear and I’m getting less practice at it, not generally a recipe for success. Perhaps the ads are right have a middy and stay a little bit longer. It sounds better than my occasional practice of crashing and burning in an acrobatic, clumsy, dribbling, obscenity riddled ball of colour and movement. I have hung it on mates for drinking girls beer but it wouldn’t be the first time I changed principle to suit myself, and I am damn sure it won’t be the last. So I apologise for saying we don’t need to switch to light beer we just need to wear flame proof suits, it has come time to abandon the reckless stupidity of youth and enjoy a more mature future.

I haven’t drunk since my last transgression but given it was only a couple of days ago and the injuries still haven’t healed that isn’t saying much. However, again I will say never again, again….until the next time.        

*or sister as the case may be don’t get all political correct just yet.  

**I still have no idea what or who the werewolves of London are though, Warren Zevon.  

***Somebody else’s young buck. As I’ve written in the past my offspring are going to be completely wrapped in cotton wool…and given my history perhaps a Muslim country or Mormon city will need to be found by the time my brood reach drinking age.

Small Poppy Syndrome



Small poppy syndrome.

For those of you following the logical mayhem of the Barne Yarn, you will know, that I know, that you take some sort of enjoyment from the misfortune of others. I also know that you don’t care about those less fortunate than yourself. It was all written  here in this article about a study.  Basically to boil years of rigorous societal study into a couple of words,  people of higher standing ignore those of lower standing. Logically being of higher standing is in the eye of the beholder so I assume in certain situations everybody is looking down on everybody else, nerds on the dumb, popular on the socially inept, rich on the poor, manually capable on the cross threaders etc.

Ok so I’m going off an opinion piece written from somebodies understanding of a study the veracity of which I know very little (read nothing) about. If the study is right, then the opinion piece may have misinterpreted it and if they didn’t, I probably have.  But, What matters more than science  is that somebody did a study and somebody else wrote about it and when I read it, it confirmed my pre-held conceptions so I’m taking it as fact.

We will start at the easy to accept phase, you’ve no doubt been brushed aside by somebody more important than yourself so no doubt instantly agreed about those arrogant rich mongrel dogs being a bit too good for us. As I’ve mentioned in other rants we cheer the underdog or more accurately chop down the tall poppies, maybe we do that because they are always rude to us.

I thought I better check what the hell tall poppy syndrome actually means before I go too far down this road so I Wikipediad it. We all know the phrase when used today refers to taking down those who rise above the rest of us due to our envy of their success. There are a couple of stories that are said to be the genesis for the phrase, but basically some lacky gets sent out to seek council form some dude about stopping some ructions that have been bubbling along. The lacky returns from his mission with the story, that there was no advice offered beyond general banalities and the nothing conversation occurred while wandering around lopping the heads off all the taller poppies. The lacky reckons it was a bit queer given they were the best flowers and queried whether his man should really be seeking council from such a nutter.  The man with the issue took this strange behaviour as a way of subtly indicating that he should kill a few of the big noters. What I think happened was, the lacky wasn’t worth talking to so the poppy guy brushed him off, the lacky trotted off home to tell the boss who assumed the lacky was too dense to get the real meaning and took the slightest hint of evidence to support his original plan to kill some interlopers. Being a city dweller he didn’t realise you need to pull out the rogue plants when trying to develop a true breeding genotype.  

 So where was I? oh yeah the up themselves few definitely meet the criteria. If you despise them anyway it is easy to take, eg. If Alan Jones was rude to me I’d be happy with confirmation that he is a dud and will be cheering his next downfall… he seems to have a few but somehow always recovers. It is harder to take if somebody you worship gives you the cold shoulder.  I’ve often heard it said that you never want to meet your heroes because they will no doubt disappoint you. The conventional wisdom being that you have them on a pedestal and they will turn out to be more ordinary than you think. Following my study of the aforementioned study, I don’t  think it would be the ordinariness of my hero that would disappoint me.  I don’t idolise mediocrity. I contend that people are disappointed on meeting their heroes because heroes, quite rightly, see themselves as better than you and me. 

It does take a truly remarkable (or false) person to care (or convincingly act like they care) about those they see as plebs; which for those who are vaunted everywhere they go is everybody else. My advice (having never met a hero of mine) is take the approach of the besotted deluded few that remain convinced the  “Hello *insert location*, you’re the best audience I’ve had” was meant for you alone, and the elbow in the ribs as they brushed past was a nudge of friendship. The other alternative is to worship true heroes like the anonymous person who picked up all the broken glass that was left in my local park following the weekend exuberance of underage hoodlums. I’m at this stage in my life I’m no longer likely to be the cause of such damage, yet I’m not at the stage where I’m prepared to face the tedious danger of picking up jagged glass for the safety of others, when I could just take my weekend dog walk on a slight detour until the council fix it; but well done anonymous stranger.     

The harder to fathom part of the study is that it also suggests that you, reading this in the Barne Yarn, will do the exact same to those you see as beneath you. I know, I can hear you, you gave that bum a dollar, sponsored a child and talked to the smelly kid that one time at school, yeah yeah you’re a good salt of the earth, common touch, Ghandhi-esque character. However I know you also weren’t really listening at the party when the annoying bloke was banging on about his nothing life and you could see your real mates having a good time on the other side of the room. How long did you stand there listening to the drivel spouting from his pie hole? And if your answer was too long, what percentage of the conversation was spent listening vs. wondering how to get away?

As a keen student of the Gruen Transfer and it’s spin offs, I occasionally train my well-honed pop psychology insights, that some universities peddle as marketing theory, to work out what Todd and Russell would make of the thinking behind the ads. I have come to the conclusion that company and advertising executives are miles out of touch and arrogant with their ham-fisted attempts to trick the great unwashed into buying their dubious products. There are couple of ripping ads on telly at the moment, that really demonstrate the need for the high and mighty execs to pay more attention to droolers like me at parties.

My favourite is from Tom Waterhouse, the son and grandson (and probably then some) of racing royalty, who has no doubt taken the money, but never taken a second glance at the underlings in the racing industry. Tom told me to “ Get some skin in the game” one night. All I was doing at the time was stupidly watching the footy, without mortgaging the house in order to cash in on some of Tommy’s easy money. “I  know what punters want”, I was then reliably informed. Shut the front gate! Everyone knows what punters want, it starts and ends with $. Unfortunately for punters I’m pretty sure any bookies business model wants to avoid giving punters what they want. Punting is one industry where clients and service providers have clearly conflicting goals. I’m not wanting to bet with people that know what I want, to be effective Tom needs to say “I’m new to this business and I’m not sure how the scoring/handicapping works just yet”. But being the son of a bookie and trainer that won’t wash so maybe something like, “We are going to paint a good horse to look like a bad one enter the race under the name of the bad one and smash the field. Get on board but with some other bookie, that will be $$ for the tip off”.

Tommy and family have had mud flinged at them regarding information, odds, injuries and framing markets, even without talking about painted horses. For me the revealing quote from the most recent brouhaha  was the dismissive categorisation of a hard luck jockey that his mother was reported to have expressed. His Dad was of course implicated in the painting horse fiasco known as the Fine Cotton affair (thankfully the newspapers didn’t opt for Waterhouse-gate). So I’m guessing the apple does not fall far from the tree and Tom has got a very low opinion of the racing public which is borne out in the ads which to me are saying; “I know what punters want and I think you’re too stupid to realise you’re not going to get it from me!”. I’d love to say they are underestimating those they believe are beneath them, but, punting and pokies losses would suggest otherwise so my point must be; Tom has a very low opinion of us and seems to be on to something.

Wow that got a bit messy perhaps the ad that will make my point better is the Austar/Foxtel ad. Apparently the brains behind the ad think the dribbling masses on tight incomes will view an expensive subscription to pay for ads and a few extra stations is a good financial move. The argument tended is if you buy the subscription you can stay home and watch TV instead of going out and spending your moolah. For God sake, TV is not a choice you make instead of doing other things it is a bloody safety net for when you have nothing to do. The Lemonheads were not proffering lifestyle advice when they sang “I can’t go with you on a rock climbing weekend, what if some things on TV and it is never shown again”. Unfortunately for my argument, the ad has now been rehashed with a different scenario but same premise, so apparently it does work. Take a drive in a poor area and look past the weeds and car bodies and note the number of dishes on rooves, the idiots obviously hook it up and I’m guessing from their tracky dacks  they can’t afford it.

So Tom, Austar and other rich and powerful company execs actually do understand the target market, so my point is lost. Actually I’ve fooled you (dopey) in pretending  to show you at the start of this train of thought that “they” don’t understand “us”, I’ve made the point that I and hopefully through my extremely influential writing you, believe the idiots below us on the pecking order are somewhat deranged. By extension when talking to these zombies we know we won’t get anything of value out of the exchange, so need to be a good actor or cut to the chase and blow them off. But that is only when talking to the truly deranged, the run of the mill guy or gal is still worth respecting.  I’d like to think that while we may not be above this behaviour on rare occasions, we are generally better than that and at least give the person a few nice words before the subject turns to cats and you have to walk away.

So while we do exhibit this behaviour on rare occasions,  I reckon it is mostly only when talking to a real crack head, so how can the study find it happening to just normal regular people? Do some in society believe they are that far above me? Well I put it to you that Superman is a bastard of a bloke. O.k he might save the world if he has to but can you ever imagine him not getting his way as a child? You don’t have to go far to see what an over indulged child turns into as an adult. Fortunately most kids/adults eventually learn or get held to some level of societal norms by peers, employment or legal consequences, but who is going to make superman wait in line, pay for his groceries and be respectful to his elders? Superman, Kim Jong-un and *insert google search result for little known dictator here to make me look smart*are the result of normal people (well not Superman) not having to be answerable or cow-towing to anybody, perhaps society functions well when everybody has somebody who looks down on them.

So it is good if people are looked down on by someone? It might not be pleasant but occasionally it might stop you becoming a megalomaniac. I’d like to think it is the need to feel part of the community and be generally liked that stops our in built dictator coming out. So perhaps if you ignore the advice of your mum and hang out with the wrong crowd this trait will lead you down the path of arsehole-dome. This brings me to a line of thought I often come to, we like to be involved, which at times means excluding others, perhaps the study all boils down to the “tribal” instincts we have, us good them bad and the baffling outcome of not caring about your fellow creatures.

Showing a blatant disregard to those below them currently is the US parliament or congress or whoever the hell it is that shutdown that country. I bet the shutdown would be fixed quick smart  if you took the bastards wages until they sorted it out, but that proves self-interest not disdain for the minions. However, can you imagine what would happen if the shutdown looked like stopping one of their big business buddies/backers making a truckload of dosh for even a minute? Try taking the money off anyone with power and see how far you get. I’ll bet (love making bets no one can collect on) no one in power would keep their job if a high powered mogul had to skip a payment on his yacht due to a political bunfight. Even if the mogul didn’t wield that kind of power since congress would be kicking one of their own tribe the protests would not be so easy to ignore. At this point though, no one that the congress need to care about is affected and the only reason they could remain so blind to the disdain of the masses is a distinct lack of ever noticing the backs of the broken they stand on to get to their current position.  I think this is starting to sound like a left wing rant so I should qualify that it is often a trait exhibited by people at the top of any field, corporate big wigs and lefty union powerbrokers. You tend to seek out likeminded people to converse with so logically the more extreme your views then the more vigour with which you ignore, dismiss and lampoon opposing views. If you have a high opinion of yourself and very extreme views it stands to reason you ignore and even despise a great majority of people. This also means you attract likeminded minions into your tribe and the more likely you are to push yourself up the food chain in a chosen field or pursuit. What we are left with is the top of left and right leaning organisations is the worst type of people. Moderate people can see the grey areas, the nutters of both persuasions can’t so act decisively and sometimes get ahead while filling their followers with confidence.

So why do we hear so much about the tall poppy syndrome when the fact (well what I’m claiming as fact) is the small poppies are getting trampled on all day long? Again I put it down to the personality type that tends to push themselves forward and disdain others. What a sting in the tail it is for the superior being when they get brought asunder by someone inconsequential. The superman thought they were just coasting along barely registering the small poppies being stomped into the mud as they wandered through life, then whack, down they go. The expected reaction of course is they then want to kill that little bastard who got in their way. It goes on all the way up the food chain and the bigger the poppy the more chance they will moan longer and louder about having to wipe you off their shoe. On the flipside the more trodden flora there is in their wake the more that will be cheering the fall…but not too loudly in case they notice you laughing and come back to rip you out by the roots. Both outcomes lead to plenty of talk about the tall poppy going down and since some of us will idolise the tall poppy, the rude mongrels will not just have their cronies but some of us small poppies feeling sorry for them.

I assume most of us are what I’ll call political minimalists, that is don’t care about most of the rubbish that seem to fill political discourse at every level of life and field of pursuit. Not caring does mean the vacuum of power is often filled not by the fair minded expert but by the passionate extremists who do care and care very much.  These power hungry crazies are not generally making fact based rational decisions but seeking to get revenge for previous perceived misdeeds while trying to steer the ship toward their extreme world view, filled with absolute rights and wrongs with no middle ground. That is not a bad thing, they have the energy and passion for it and as a minimalist we can sit back with a stubby and watch the show. The nutters are seemingly so unaware of opposing views or to ensconced in their own cheering parade they see no irony in calling for hangings one week and spitting invective about being held to the same standards the next. While the extremes are ripping into each other about the latest perceived outrage, 99% of which are of no consequence, we can coast along alright providing no one side takes a significant advantage. So what is the moral? ignore the nutters they are no doubt ignoring you and feel free to get passionate when it actually matters, it will be fun for the rest of us to watch.  

Don’t tell me you don’t know the pleasure of schadenfreude…..well at least I do.

Don’t tell me you don’t know the pleasure of schadenfreude…..well at least I do.

I reckon I first heard the above term* when it was explained by a stand-up comedian. For those of you not as smart as me the term means to get pleasure from the misfortune of others**. I think the point being made by the comedian was about how weird the Huns are for having such a term. A point made to pander to the audiences feeling of humane superiority to the stereotypical German robot. I would have definitely laughed. Crazy Germans.

Of course gross stereotypes don’t stack up to any scrutiny. In my experience they usually fall over when talking to a member of the community being typecast, but in this case a happy, funny German would know the guilty pleasure. This one falls over on the reverse, we are all guilty of this illogical, evil trait; even a kind, loving Aussie like me.

This weird fetish we all have, to some degree, got me thinking about the Grand final last weekend. For those of you living under a rock; the most successful team in modern history, Hawthorn took on the biggest court jester in modern Footy, Freo.On the surface it was a good result, Freo gained respect while the Hawks got a premiership that they deserved after being the dominant team of 2013, not to mention making up for losing what was, probably, rightfully theirs the year before. However. I like so many other red blooded Victorians was cheering Freo on.

Why? Well publicly, because Freo haven’t won before, I like how they go about it and we all like an underdog, right? Of course being a child of the 80’s I’m also a bit sick of Hawthorn success and all those spoilt Hawks fans joy. I must admit to no shortage of pleasure when the Swannies stole it last year as the underdogs. Even more sadistically I must admit to a feeling of joy when the Bombers were relegated to ninth letting an even bigger underdog (and my team) into the finals.

I can and do pretend any pleasure is purely about underdogs, as it is often said that Aussies love an underdog. I do however have an inkling it is more about chopping down tall poppies and enjoying watching the mighty fall, cheering the underdog may just be a convenient excuse. I do get some perverse pleasure when the big players like the fallen angel Jimi Hird and the evil elf Al Clarkson have to lick their wounds. Even more worrying I have a suspicion I even get pleasure seeing the plague of supporters these clubs have in my age bracket, friends, family and acquaintances being disappointed. No doubt not having to hear them skite for something they had no influence on is good. But. Is seeing them humbled also a motive?

It does seem strange that all these lemmings, me included, pin their hopes to the roulette wheel of footy results only to get them consistently dashed. While on this train of thought, I must admit to a smile when a footy scarf dangling off somebody’s office chair goes missing after a qualifying final, the banner on a front window is binned after the prelim and the idle footy chit chat with the edge of skiting is replaced with talk of the weather. Did I really want the Dockers to win because it would be nice for them? The team with Crowley and Ballantyne for god sake! If I’m being honest I was just going to enjoy the pleasure of people, I otherwise know and like, not being happy with the result.

What a sicko I am.

But… Perhaps this anti football barracking is actually glass half full optimism. I’m not great at maths but it seems your team has only a one in a billion chance of winning the flag. So logically it is better to cheer for some teams to lose. If you can also get pleasure from seeing teams lose your in for a happy life. Somebodies team is bound to lose every single week. Even on Saturday my team for the fortnight, may have lost but wasn’t it good to see Ballantyne and Crowley lose!? So what kind of terrible person am I? I say, not terrible at all. What some may see as negative thinking in reality makes me a walking on sunshine happy camper type. O.K so I don’t know how I ended up thinking on these lines but, somewhere along the track of twisted logic I have arrived at a place where taking pleasure in others misfortune is a good thing. Even stranger it also leads me to thank Collingwood. We have all the joy Collingwood has brought non Collingwood fans by losing so many grannies. That easy to hate, sack of joy of a football conglomerate the Maggies.

I guess I can admit to feeling this way because footy really doesn’t matter, even if occasionally it feels like it does. When you catch yourself, or somebody else, attaching too much pride and then anguish in how a bunch of young blokes chasing leather perform you actually owe it to the world to laugh. Question: You know when you see somebody stumble when walking, look down at the uneven ground, then quickly around to see if anyone saw? Do you look away to preserve their dignity, or, smile, point, saw you? I think it shows your a good egg if you can laugh as the tripper and as the witness, it proves you don’t take yourself or life to seriously. If you feel overly embarrassed or shamed loosen up man.

Football is no different, it doesn’t matter so feel free to enjoy the misfortune. I’m not excusing the real nasty pasties, who can laugh regardless of somebody’s genuine distress. I do however think you should enjoy the stumbles of others and even more crucially laugh at your own. If you suffer a small misfortune that really doesn't matter and all you hurt was a slither of pride, then the person who laughs at you is doing you a favour. You were caught out being a bit proud, no big deal have a luagh...you mug. Most importantly (please agree with me) it is o.k to cheer a team for all the wrong reasons provided the outcome isn’t too serious….go ASADA?

*A term I only typed once because spelling it out pains me.

**And for those of you always trying to prove your smarts, my non dictionary definition no doubt leaves the door wide open for you prove your smarter than me.

A sign of things to come

I am jumping into the word of blogs because Jules constructed the Barne Yarn, named it, offered to continue with the administration, will promote it on FB and took full graphic design control. For my part, Julia told me to post some of the rubbish lying round my hard drives and use it as an outlet to store future literary flights of fancy; writing with out a purpose pieces being given a purpose.

So what are we going to pen up in the Barne Yarn? Firstly my hard drive archive is a scary place. I have driven Jules spare making her read, correct and most importantly laugh at what I’ve written regardless of whether she thinks my stuff is funny or not, that is what good marriages are built on. The archives are mostly filled with work newsletters, footy write-ups, my contributions as secret (if badly kept secret) writer of Skippy’s Droppings*, holiday memories and exploratory free form trains of thought.  I concede that most of these pieces have needed me to provide Julia with a fair amount of background in order for her (the person who knows me best) to understand. I also concede that any audience that the information is relevant to has already seen it so the writing has served its purpose and should be left to rest in peace. So why the hell would I post these long buried relics? Well I don’t know why, but I’m posting small snippets of the archive anyway. While this does not bode well for visitors to the Barne Yarn I will make sure to edit for relevance, add context and remove specifics to make a more accessible article and protect the guilty.

*disclosure: an idea stolen from a more creative person years earlier

 For once I have done some homework to see what other nobodies post on blogs and from my very limited knowledge I have decided they fall into a few distinct categories a couple of which I will emulate.

Thankfully a lack of knowledge doesn’t seem to be a barrier to many fellow bloggers. Bloggers often seem free to deliver uninformed opinion and do so with a superior self-righteous air. This is a style I’ll be sure to slip into on a regular basis. 

It is an oft-repeated truism that people seek out anything that will support their own biased world view. Very few of us choose to increase their knowledge and/or gain a new perspective by chasing challenging, thought provoking or even simply varying opinions. In fact I recently read about a study that suggested political bias impaired peoples ability to interpret simple information. In the study people where given a set of made up data and asked to interpret what the data was telling them. When the made up data was manipulated to conflict with the test subjects firmly held political view they couldn’t correctly interpret the data. When the test subjects were told the information referred to a benign topic they had no trouble correctly interpreting it**. So there is no point trying to change your mind about important topics even if I am unequivocally more right than you. I am clearly far better off providing indignant, angry and humorous rants on safe topics most readers will agree with. To do this I’ll need to establish certain prejudices build an agreeable audience and run rampant along that line of bias, gleefully harvesting the goodwill of the like minded. True independent, fact based thinkers that challenge convention are truly heroic characters but they are also extremely easy to make fun of. Rather than changing minds it is far easier to go with conventional wisdom and treat unpopular independent thinkers as simple-minded buffoons put on this earth to be lampooned by the sheep like masses. You can rest assured if this blog was written in the dark ages I would be cheering the burning of witches,

LMFAO at anyone claiming the earth is round and posting links to alchemists web sites. In other words you won’t learn anything from visiting the Barne Yarn, but you should enjoy having your prejudices reinforced while freely laughing at anyone who disagrees with us geniuses. I make no bones about preferring to be a jolly court jester than a serious political prisoner, I can always change sides when the winds of change start blowing.     **No I’m not posting a link to the study, just take my word for it.

Others blogs are all about daily life with little pearls of homespun wisdom in a dear diary style. Inevitably these blogs are great fun for the writer and cripplingly boring for the reader… the exact style of blog you will find at the Barne Yarn. This proves I won’t listen to good advice even if it is my own. My advice to you, which you can take or leave, strap on the vomit bucket the Barne Yarn will be brimming with sickly sweet family stories.

The common alternative to the dear diary is is the cynical, sarcastic style that mines that rich vein of comedy gold about men being domestically and socially hopeless, women as insane, emotional whirlwinds and kids being equal parts cute and frustrating. I don’t know the Barne Yarn password and even if I did how to post this stuff so Julia will be quasi gatekeeper. This will no doubt impeded my ability to cash in on the plethora of Mars and Venus inspired jokes that are so easy to come up with or steal. The upside is if I did have a fully independent blog I would definitely be pursuing the cheap exploitive laughs. This would send me on the road to divorce in a few years time when the family eventually stumbled across the blog and get hit with an avalanche of built cheap jokes at their expense.

 

So irrelevant articles from my hard drive, rants designed to reinforce your bias and personal family insights will form the bulk of the low hanging fruit you’ll be served up in The Barne Yarn.  Other styles of blog all seem to require something I haven’t got.

Professional writers with something to say or celebrities with a profile to keep clearly can’t be emulated by me.  Instructional, helpful or inspiring blogs have goals that I have neither the ability or energy to pursue. Other blogs have something to sell hidden subtly in the text or rammed straight down your throat. Unfortunately the current and projected level of readership does mean advertisers would be better off slapping an ad on a lamppost than asking me to insert their product into my pages. I am also above selling out, actually scrub that, I have a beautiful 2.5 seater couch and two recliners for sale. They are in a plush electric blue velour and would be a compliment any room. The only danger in buying these magnificent pieces is that you will miss all your favourite TV shows, because once you’ve found your way into their caress at the end of a tiring day you are just seconds away from the land of nod. Contact Jules on facebook to purchase, but hurry they won’t last long.