Tag: sport

Dear Nick Kyrgios, please don’t be a dick on Sunday

Posted on by SW

An open letter…

Congratulations Nick, on making your first grand slam singles final, an amazing achievement.

Kyrgios demonstrates one of his favourite shots

On Sunday afternoon, your name will be etched into the honour roll of Australians who have stepped onto the hallowed grass of Wimbledon’s Centre Court to contest the Singles Final.

Your talent has never been in doubt, but please don’t be a dick.

*Don’t scream at / gesticulate at / show disrespect to the umpire / linespeople / ball kids. You said in one of your many rants that you wouldn’t berate people when they are at work at a supermarket “scanning shit”. The umpire and linespeople are at work. So don’t berate them. It’s not difficult. As for ball kids, who screams at a ball kid? Wait, I can think of a few…

*Don’t throw / smash racquets… you’re not three years old.

*Don’t continually ramble incoherently when you’re sitting in your chair. No one cares. Be more like Rafa or Roger.

*Ignore the dickheads in the crowd… and there’ll be plenty… just focus on Novax on the other side of the net.

*Don’t constantly scream and gesticulate at your team…. it gets very annoying. They don’t need to give you a standing ovation every time you win a point and your father doesn’t need to whistle after every point like he’s calling a sheepdog. It’s Wimbledon, not a Boston Celtics game.

*Don’t attempt “gamesmanship” that will put off your opponent…. that is very dicklike.

*Don’t spit at spectators or anyone.

*Don’t throw a chair (or anything) onto the court like you did in Italy.

*Don’t be a dick about the towels.

*Don’t tank. No one ever wants to see that… leave that shit to Bernard Tomic the Tank Engine.

*Just calm the f*ck down, play your best tennis and most importantly, enjoy what will be an absolutely amazing experience that most of us can only dream about. 

Good luck.

Thanks, 

Australia

©Steve Williams 2022

Shining a light on The Everest

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Dear Racing NSW,

I feel your pain.

All you were trying to do was share the edge-of-your-seat excitement, the spine-tingling adrenalin rush of that one day in October – the greatest sporting event ever held
in Australia, neigh, the universe: The Everest.

The Great Barrier Reef, the ultimate billboard for The Everest

They don’t understand the magnitude of what you are trying to achieve.

Those rabid, inner city, ABC-watching, latte-sipping punters. No, you can’t call them punters; they wouldn’t know the thrill of losing their rent money on what should have been a sure thing at Hawkesbury on a Thursday afternoon. Those unAustralian bastards, pathetically trying to upstage your brilliant Opera House event by waving their lights like 21st century flaming torches.

The Everest. Congratulations on the name, it is so inspiring, so Australia, so Sydney. It evokes… the 14 tons of human waste that has been carried down from base camp and other locations on Mount Everest this year.

Look, I know your promotion for the race that stops the… well, just stops, had a bit of a fall as it turned for home. I’ve saddled up some feisty advertising and PR campaigns over the years 
and I can help.

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We dig the heels in and get the whip out with the genius idea of projections.
It worked so well at the Opera House, we have a red hot go at other iconic Aussie billboards, starting with Ayers Rock. Forget that PC “Uluru” bullshit, it’s Ayers Rock. You can’t tell me that massive sandstone monolith wouldn’t make a great projector screen to beam the race live.

When I think of The Everest, I think big (also a nod to the champion thoroughbred that saluted the judge in the ’74 and ’75 Melbourne Cups). We screen the race on the big things conveniently scattered around Australia in key lose-your-shirt-on-the-punt demographics:
The Big Banana, The Big Merino, The Big Lobster, The Big Pineapple, The Big Boxing Crocodile and of course The Big Ned Kelly. They’re all champing at the bit for The Everest.

Speaking of big, our piece of resistance is a projector screen that covers 344,400 square kilometres – The Great Barrier Reef.

Those greenie-pinko protesters will tell you that it’s dying due to climate change,
which is crap, but we need to have it totally white to use as a screen. So I’ve contacted every race club secretary in Australia and a few hours before the race we’re going to have a convoy of 70,000 utes park on the Reef, revving their engines and the exhaust fumes will finish it off, just in time for the gates to spring open. I reckon next year, we actually run the race on the Reef.

In the time-honoured, venerable one-year history of The Everest,
I assure you, this will be the greatest ever. Giddy up.

©Steve Williams 2018

Rugby League — Greatest Memories of All

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Australian rugby league fans have a passion that can’t be dismissed.

It’s a game we played, grew up with, watched on the telly and listened to on the radio.
We still do. It’s our game.

Here are a few random memories from when I was a kid growing up in Sydney.

The greatest team in the history of sport

*Getting splinters in your arse from those wooden seats at Cumberland Oval.
The exuberant Eels fans that torched it after the 1981 premiership win did us all a favour.

*Running onto the ground as the fulltime siren sounded to try and grab the black and white striped cardboard corner post. I was successful a few times.

*Listening to the great Frank Hyde on 2SM. When people still listened to 2SM.

*The halftime entertainment malfunctions that have plagued Grand Finals — the busted TV allegedly to promote Optus Vision (which was actually quite prophetic), John Williamson serenading an inflatable rubber tree with “Rip Rip Woodchip” after loggers had threatened a blockade of the SCG, the cast of “42nd Street” standing forlornly in the centre of the ground waiting in vain for their music to start, and more recently, Billy Idol’s hovercraft cutting the power, which was a good thing.

*The sensational prizes bestowed on guests of TV’s “Controversy Corner” — including a Pelaco shirt, vouchers for a Viking Sauna and Kevin Junee’s Run For Your Life sports store and the piece of resistance — a bottle of Patra orange juice.

*“The Theme From Shaft” used over the closing credits of Channel Seven’s Sunday night footy coverage with Rex Mossop. Not sure what a “blaxploitation” film had to do with footy, but there’s probably a parallel. “Chips and eggs” was the standard Sunday night fare in the Williams household.
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*The Chook Army (diehard supporters of Eastern Suburbs) singing “We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / we are the Ray Price haters”. One actually threw a grapefruit at him while he was in his petrified praying mantis pose — he didn’t budge.

*The “sand boy” running on with a small bucket of sand to for the ball to sit on before conversions and penalty shots at goal.

*Scanlen’s footy cards — that sweet smell of the thin pink strip of bubble gum lingering on the cards… and still lingers with me. Some bastard kid knocking the cards out of another kids’ hands in the school playground yelling “Scramble!!!” which meant a mad free-for-all.

*Having a birthday party with a few mates when I was about ten at Lidcombe Oval for the Chooks v the Magpies, we were sitting behind the try line and were captured in mid-try celebration mode in a photo on the back page of the next day’s Daily Mirror.

*The arse falling out of your meat pie at a brass monkey-inducing Sydney Sports Ground.

*The trainer scurrying on to the field with his “magic sponge” dunked in a bucket of water, mopping up a horrific head gash, then redunking it in the same bucket, primed for the next injury.

*One of my most prized possessions — the autographs of the entire victorious Roosters 1975 side (on an Easts Leagues Club wine list — thanks Uncle Pete).

For all its faults — and there are a few, it’s a bloody good game. It’s our game.

©Steve Williams 2018

*This piece also appeared in The Huffington Post Australia:
The Good Old Days When Rugby Was In A League Of Its Own

Great (and not so) moments in Aussie Advertising #453

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So I was weighing in on an important social media question the other day about “A man’s most attractive organ”. As you do. My answer was obviously “Wurlitzer or “Hammond”, which then had me thinking about an Australian TV commercial that’s seared into the neural connections of my brain:

Sadly the co-musical and mysterious “Donna” was absent in this one. Can’t remember if she ever appeared with Chris in his organ warehouse.

Australia has produced some television commercial gold. Here are a few other standouts from my misspent youth — obviously watching too much TV:

The hair! The clothes! The dancing! The cinematography! That random woman at the start of the ad! Only the cool people drank Moove. The band Dragon reworked one of their songs for the ad, which sounded like all their other songs. I’m suggesting the bloke standing on the pole and the tree people may have been imbibing something slightly stronger than chocolate milk.

Speaking of beverages:

Yep, the late 1970’s. Rolling ’round the world in a bubble seemed like a pretty good idea. Loved that and all the Coke ads back then. They were ahead of their time — the hobby / sport / stupidity of encasing oneself in a sphere is now called “Zorbing”. Unfortunately it didn’t quite “add life” to two blokes in Russia earlier this year.

Then we had that staple of advertising — pseudo science:

The good professor would terrify the kids into eating chocolate. Mrs Marsh had a somewhat softer approach:

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High production values you ask? You’re welcome:

Tony became a local politician in Sydney for a few years (combining two of the world’s most trusted occupations), but had a bit of drama concerning planting listening devices in his car dealership. No doubt to hear customers saying how good his ads were.

Don’t think he purchased said devices from here:

“Don’t let your pussy get too thin”… get it? Thaaaaaaaaat’s where you get it.

After slaving away over a hot keyboard, I know what I feel like…

A stirring, patriotic ad, though I always thought it weird there were no crowd shots of euphoric sunburnt types soaking up the amber fluid fuelled victory.

But who gives a rat’s arse? It’s beer, blokes doing blokey things, beer, moustaches, sweat, beer, groins, sport, beer, cricket, beer. F*ck I love bein’ an Aussie, mate.

Have an, er, musical day…

©Steve Williams 2013