A Football Club is Not a Toy!

G'day Tragics,

Unless you have been living under a rock, it has been impossible to escape the ludicrous antics of mining billionaire, Clive Palmer.  Single-handedly the big fella has ripped the heart out the Gold Coast United Football Club, by ignorantly thinking that his huge fortune has gifted him brains to go with his helicopter........wrong!

Time and time again we see high rolling saviours swan in and flash their cash around a footy club, but rather than being a supporter and silent force in the background, they let their mammoth egos run wild and try to take over the joint.....wrong again.

Palmer is a miner and a very good one, but this doesn't make him an authority on running a football club.  Right from the word go, the Gold Coast was set to fail.  They over charged fans to attend early friendlies at a time when they had the opportunity to win over public support and enthusiam.

Palmer treated the club like a business, which it was, but it was a business that would only thrive with the support and love of it's fans.  The club had fans....all 5000 of them.  Nowhere near enough for a national team.  The clubs marketing was pathetic, you'd struggle to know they existed.  The interaction in the community was dwarfed by the Suns and the Titans.  Ironically on the pitch the team was successful in the early days, but the damage was already done.

For an outsider like myself, Clive Palmer looked like a bloke that wanted to say "Look everybody I've got my own football team.....isn't that cool!"  Look at your football team now Clive....they go bye bye.

Sometimes rich blokes can bring success and hope to a team.  Rusty Crowe and Nathan Tinkler (so far), are good examples.  Both enjoy a hands on roll in their organisations, but both also know their football limitations.  I'm sure Crowe could play a convincing coach in a rugby league blockbuster, but in real life he let's the football people handle the football. 

Crowe and Tinkler also share a deep personal passion for their teams.  Crowe shamelessly flies the Rabbitohs flag whenever he can and although it hasn't created a premiership, it's cemented South Sydney as an exciting and established piece in the NRL Puzzle.

Tinkler has delivered Wayne Bennett to Newcastle in the league and has made the A-league Jets a team of the future.  His aim is to create a buzz around Newcastle through sport.  He has dropped ticket prices for families and as a result, the Knights are packing the stands like they did when Johns, Chief and co. ruled the roost.  This is good, very good.

Overseas soccer teams are riddled with Russian billionaires, Texan oil magnates and 15 year old Arabian Sheiks - buying up soccer clubs, spending shitloads on players and then driving their century year old institutions into debt.  Fans are left devastated and angry, while these rich pricks skip off to their next big splurge.....maybe a small country?

Who could forget Geoffrey Eddleston, the nutty doctor that purchased the Sydney Swans in the '80's.  It was an explosion of fanfare in the form of helicopters, pink cars, the Swanettes and Warrick Capper's testicles dangling out of his shorts.  It gave the team attention, which is fine, but that attention later became embarrassment - totally unnecessary.

In this day and age, sporting clubs need outside dollars to survive and remain competitive, but they don't need overpaid nut bags hooking them up to their limos and dragging their good names through a giant paddock of cow dung.  When will they learn?  Football teams are not toys!.....Tragic.

Base Camp Morzine

G'day Tragics,

In life there are some people that are dreamers and some that are doers.  My brother Joe and his wife Amelia are both...they dream it, then they do it!

Joe is a multi-tasker to the extreme, his abilites range from teaching, electrical work, house renovation, massage and beer tasting just to name a few. 

His better half, Amelia is an elite tri-athlete, originally at Olympic distance, but more recently at the torturous Ironman.  She has gained national selection and has a 2nd and 3rd at the prestigious Port Macquarie race - this only touches on her achievments.

Both are very successful in their chosen endevours and after years of hard work in every aspect of their lives, they have decided to take a year off and combine two of their favourite elements...triathlon and adventure.

Having already travelled extensively, Joe and Meals have been to some breathtaking locations...but none captured their imagination quite like Morzine, a small skiing village nestled at the base of the Rhone Alps in Eastern France. 

Located adjacent to Switzerland, the mountainous Morzine district is a cyclists playground. The scenery packed, soul destroying climbs will make pedal pushers giggle like a hacker teeing off at Augusta.

 The town boasts its very own stage of the Tour de France.  It is a leg that is best remembered for drug cheat, Floyd Landis' super human performance in the 2006 race.  His brilliant climb, set up his victory, but also led to his ultimate undoing.  He tested positive and was stripped of his crown.

Anyway, back to Joe and Meals.  The food, the location and the culture planted a seed in the minds of the dynamic duo a few years back.  This seed has been watered, fertilized - Joe drowned it in beer a few times, but eventually it began to sprout.  It grew branches, leaves and in a few months time will bear the juiciest fruit in France.

Joe and Amelia wanted to share the thrill of free-wheeling down one of Morzines death defying (slight exaggeration) slopes, they wanted to share a glass of red while absorbing one of the worlds great panoramic vistas and they wanted to share the joy of simply biking, swimming and running with a bunch of people that love it as much as they do.

Base Camp Morzine is that idea.  Joe and Amelia have hired a 5 bedroom chalet in Morzine for June and July.  They are inviting anyone and everyone to come and stay with them.  As hosts, they will pick you up from Geneva, cook you brekky and give you as much or as little advice about triathlon as you desire.  Joe will massage your tired legs, Amelia will pace you on a leisurely run around the village.....they will both do what it takes to ensure an experience of a life time!

This isn't a sales pitch, it's more of a pat on the back to my bro and sis in law.  You can only be jealous.....not of the amazing adventure they are about to tackle, but the fact that they are brave enough to do it.  It takes a special type of person to make dreams reality and Joe and Meals are leaders in their field.

There is still plenty of room at base camp Morzine, I suggest you get your act together and get on board http://www.basecampmorzine.blogspot.com.au/...it will be bloody sensational.  If you can't make it this trip, then maybe it's a good opportunity to plant a seed of your own....Tragic.

COMPETITION!!!!!!!!!

WIN a years subscription to Australia's top sports magazine by writing in 500 words or less a small piece that describes your sporting passion.  Use any angle you like....there are no limits!

Send your entries to adzyp3@gmail.com

Competition closes on 30th April 2012.

Best 3 entries will be published on the Sports Tragic Blog and the winner will take the prize!  You must become a blog or twitter follower to win.....show me your sports passion!!!!

Entries accepted world wide - I'll get a translator if I have to!!!!

Sports Tragic.

Tasmanian Sports Safari!

G'day Tragics,

Part 1

Last week three mates and yours truly did something exhilarating, mind blowing and awe-inspiring....No, we didn't go sky diving, we didn't swim with sharks and we didn't arm wrestle Serena Williams. 

Give up?...We jumped on a plane at a ludicrous hour, flew south to my home state of Tasmania, hired a car, drove for an hour and a half, then strapped on the spikes, polo shirt and knickerbockers to finally tackle the jewel in Australian golf's crown, Barnbougle Dunes.

After two holes of typical Tassie rain, we slid our umbrellas back in their holsters and settled in for the ride of our lives.  Barnbougle has been praised in every golf publication available, so our expectation was sky high - boy did it deliver!  Hole after hole we stared at each other blankly on the tee.  We were dreading to be the first to hit and all wanted to learn from someone elses mistakes.

Barnbougle was not only challenging, but beautiful.  The course was delicately woven into the landscape, with great care being taken to not over power the raw natural appeal of this hidden oasis.  The rough was like a pick-pocket, waiting for your ball to drift off course....in the blink of an eye, it was gone, never to be seen again.  The greens looked like a heard of elephants were buried under them...intimidating, but spectacular.

Being a proud Tasmanian, I was chuffed to see my companions giggling like school girls at the majesty of the course.  Their golf was solid under the conditions without being spectacular, but form meant nothing and the experience everything.  I'd pumped up the place like a supermodels rack and it had done me proud.

Six hours later we were spent but happy.  We'd searched for every lost ball....and there were shit loads.  We'd been hammered for 12 rounds and lived to tell the tale.  The next day we were tackling The Lost Farm course down the road....more of the same...bring it on!

The Lost Farm was equally mind-blowing.  You could say it was like going from Disneyland to Disneyland Paris.  The holes were brilliant, but not quite as intimidating as day one.  Up, down, round and round....what a rush.  This was golf at its finest.  You would be hard stretched to find two courses that are so brilliant sitting side by side anywhere else in Australia, if the World.

Before I dribble too much more, I must also make mention of the the accommodation, the club houses, the pro-shops and the staff.  Every element of the two days of golf we spent at Barnbougle was superb.  If you love golf and don't play these little rippers this year, it will be a scandal of Tiger sized proportions.

Part 2

We drove North West after the golfing shenanigans, bound for my home town of Ulverstone.  We called in on the folks as every good son should, then went for a few beers at my old stomping ground the Ulverstone Football Club.  Ulverstone is a small town on the North-West coast of Tassie and has dominated in many areas of local sport - such as cricket, golf and basketball.

I showed my mates some old footy photos, that showed me muscled up and tanned....much the same as I am today.  After a good feed and a sleep we were off South for the second leg of our Tasmanian sports odyssey, the mighty Hobart Cup.

Because this is a sports blog, I'll leave out he skulduggery that occurred in the few days before the cup.  In summary a pleasant time was had by all.  We had now been joined by 8 more blokes from around the country, 4 had become 12....let's go racing!

Our little group had a $20 outfit limit for the cup...some of the lads thought this was an invitation for fancy dress.  So amongst a group of disgusting retro suits, we were graced with the presence of a cow, horse and a guy riding an inflatable bull.  Not a good look.

The Hobart cup is Tasmania's premier horse race.  It is held at the picturesque Elwick race course.  With the river and mountains serving as the backdrop, the track could be described as a boutique track and this word would also perfectly sum up the meet.

A healthy crowd of all ages, shapes and sizes enjoyed some cracking weather.  The horses did their bit on the track, while the fashions of the field fought it out with the dagwood dogs for off-track honours.  The atmosphere was a blended mix of family and fun.  The Boags beer flowed freely and the dickhead count was low.  Bookies were plentiful, so laying a bet was a breeze.  Best of all there were no lines...none... not even the ladies dunnies. Hooray!

Again seeing my crew enjoy themselves swelled my little chest with pride.  It was my first Southern Cup and I genuinely loved it.

When you think of Tasmania, you think food, scenery and incest, but not necessarily sport.  The golf and the gee gees are just a taste of what occurs on the local sporting calendar. 

Targa Tasmania, Symonds Plains V8's, the Sydney to Hobart, not to mention cricket, AFL and world class tennis, make my little home state a hidden gem for a sport themed holiday. 

If you haven't been, get your backsides to Tassie...We might go back next year.......Tragic.

Tossers of Tennis.

G'day Tragics,

I had to write this while it is fresh in my noggin.  It comes after last nights epic Australian Open semi between Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray. 

There is no doubt that the Serbian can play tennis....the lad is a gun, but is there a bigger drama queen / wanker than the world number one?

In my eyes, there a quite a few tossers floating around in the ATP and WTA currently.  I shouldn't just settle on giving Novak an uppercut.  The Scotsman is a bigger sook than most of the contestants on the "Biggest Loser".....anyways.

Before you tennis lovers come and burn down my house, let me explain myself.  Some of the traits that give tennis players a direct ticket into my hall of shame are as follows:

- Faking injuries - C'mon Novak! Enough is enough buddy. I made and cancelled your funeral arrangements 16 times during last nights match.  At least take some limping classes, it looked like you had one of Bagdahtis's rackets stuck up your base line.  The moaning and groaning, trainers time-outs and hang dog demeanour is a joke.  Nadal plays with knees that are worse than Betty White's and just grits his teeth and gets on with it....have a cup of cement and harden up!

Novak isn't the only one....you know who they are.

- Mouthing off at officials - It's fine to let off a bit of steam every now and then...professional sport is a high pressured, tense environment.  Feel free to question a call every now and then by all means, but please don't threaten the officials with violence or even death please Serena. 
Holy crap, does this girl go off like a frog in a sock!  If things aren't going her way she becomes extremely scary (sorry scarier).  Yelling and screaming, mixed in with a pinch of crying.  A huge tanty chucker to match her huge glutes.  While her mum sits up in stands like a freaky queen of Sheba, Serena decides whether she will eat the lines woman with or without ketchup.  Not a pretty sight.

- Smart arse press conferences - This one is for you Andy.  Every now and then a journalist will ask a dumb question like: "How did it feel when you got smashed in the nuts?"
It happens, no big deal.  If I was getting over a million bucks a year to play a sport I love, I would smile and answer every question with humour and grace (maybe a little sarcasm).
My point is, Roddick carries on like a spoilt brat almost every time he opens his trap.  Is he pissed off because he looks like Stiffler from the American Pie movies and everyone keeps calling his Mum a M.I.L.F?  Who knows?  The brat thing is not cool and never really was (don't tell McEnroe - he will just die).

The sport does need characters - not giant penises that call themselves a tennis players.

-Shrieking during points - For some reason some girls find it necessary to fake an orgasm every time they hit a ball.  Is there something we don't know about going on?  Is hitting the perfect forehand equivalent to sitting on the spin dryer or riding a horse on a very bumpy trail for the ladies?  I highly doubt it!

Let's pick on Miss Sharapova (surprise, surprise).  Her grunting or shrieking makes it impossible for me to sit through one of her matches without looking up hit-men in the yellow pages.  There is nothing more painful in sport than listening to the Russian glamour doing her vocal gymnastics.  She doesn't do it at all in the warm up, so it can only be classed as dirty, rotten, stinking, filthy cheating.
For me it's the same a a cricketer skying a catch, then running over to the fielder under it and screaming "Drop it wanker!".  There is no place for such crap.  Shut the f$%k up!

Tennis stars are people and are entitled to mistakes, but it seems like more and more are turning into selfish twits that think they are as important the ball boys and girls...they'r not!  There is no shame in being classy.  The match between Roger and Raffa was a stunning example of great tennis and sportsmanship.  This is what the fans really want, so come on guys and girls - leave your egos at the door and play some figgin' tennis....Tragic!

My TOP 5 Worst
1. Djokovic
2. Roddick
3. Sharapova
4. Serena
5. Murray (Sad sack)

My TOP 5 Best
1.Nadal
2.Federer
3.Li Na
4.Wozniacki
5.Clijsters

WHO ARE YOURS?

My Opinion on the Aussie Test Cricket Team.

G'day Tragics,

As the saying goes - "Opinions are like arseholes....everyone's got one".

The make-up of the Australian test cricket team has made every Tom, Dick and Harry come out of the woodwork with their 2 cents of wisdom.

After some horrible defeats, mind boggling selections and some in-house back stabbing the team has settled into some solid cricket against the woeful Indians and looks to be finally heading in the right direction. 

Whether you want it or not, I'm going to share a few of my thoughts about Aussie cricket and hopefully you can tell me how right I am.....or not.

Selectors.
Selectors are blokes that have been hired to identify the best talent in the land and then give them the opportunity to become Australian cricketers.  This honour is a huge one and can not be handed out lightly...did anyone tell Andrew Hilditch this.  I know he's gone now, but I'm going to dance on his grave a little more.  Hilditch was a tremendous opener for Australia, playing many a gritty innings for his country.  Why did he have to trash his reputation by taking on a job he wasn't cut out for?

Australian cricket cleary had to rebuild and find a spinner.  We had some good, but not great spinners going around, some young, some not so young.  Off the top of my head, their was McGain, Hauritz, Krezja, Beer, Doherty, Cullen and a few others that escape me - they came in and out of the Aussie team like hookers on a booty call.  Some of these guys had some success (Krezja 11 odd wickets on debut) and some struggled.  Either way, none of them were given a real chance and even before that stage were picked after doing jack shit for their state.  Hilditch and his boys were looking for an instant Warnie and if they failed to rapidly deliver they were sent to the glue factory.

Post Hilditch the selectors have settled on Nathan Lyon, who to me looks alright.  He forces batsmen to play and constantly asks questions.  If he has a quiet game, the rumours of a Warne return drift around like an uninvited fart and lately the ever green Bradley Hogg has stuck his beak in.  Hopefully Lyon with be backed and given a chance to prove his worth...time will tell.

Batting wise it's been a similar story.  Hasty selections of blokes that could be superstars one day, but have done stuff all currently.  Steve Smith springs to mind.  He might be a nice young man, but I'd imagine he'd probably be 6th picked in primary school lunchtime cricket.  He could field a bit, but it was almost like he was on a "learn to bat as you go" type contract.  Blonde hair and an earing does not make you a test cricketer....he needed some tatts also.

Knee jerk changes could summarise the disasterous selections of the past few years.  I admire the investment in youth, but for me those chosen were too raw.  Phil Hughes may have been an exception.  Weight of shield runs, made Hughes impossible to ignore, but his flawed technique was not ready for the test arena.  He was shuffled in and out, was hammered by the media, it was a total train wreck.

Selection is a tough job, but for a nation that led the way for twenty years, our policies and practices fell apart and guess work took over.  Boonie and Merv should stick to sinking cans!

20-20
There is no doubt that 20-20 cricket is an excitement machine that is here to stay.  It is an opportunity for average young cricketers to make obscene ammounts of cash.  There is no doubt that the abbreviated form of the game has had a dramatic impact on test cricket already.  I have just finished watching the Aussies smash the Indians in 2.5 days and early finishes have become common place in the long form.  Watching 12 wickets fall in a day is a common occurance and this can safely be attributed to the rash shots top order batsmen are playing early in their innings.  It's almost like Warnie with a choccie muffin (back in the old days), they can't help themselves.  Flashes outside off peg are automtic movements, like a doctor wacking your knee during a reflex test.

Cricket Australian have to factor in the 20-20 effect.  They have to ensure a separation between the 20-20 and test squads (excepting Davey Warner maybe).  They have to keep a leash on the youngsters and their massive IPL contracts to ensure their heads don't explode. 

The Coach
The coaching roll has always been a controversial postion on the cricket landscape.  Bobby Simpson in my mind was hugely influential in turning round Aussie cricket.  His dedication to fielding excellence played a huge part in our cricket becoming world conquering and the players instilling a huge dose of self confidence in themselves.

Since those days different coaches have come and gone.  Each offering their own snippett of wisdom or improvement into the team.  Over time the money, fame and stature that is now enjoyed by players has caused many to think they don't need a coach to tell me how to train and what to do.  Shane Warne has led the attack on former coaches, which to me is as week as piss by Warney.  Leave that sort of stuff to Aker Shane.

Not being much of a cricketer, I'm unsure of how much a cricket team needs to be coached, but every sports team needs a mentor or such.  Can anyone out there in tragic land tell me why one of the biggest and most successful cricketing nations in the world can't find one bloke in this country that can do this job.  It embarrasses me, makes me cringe, makes me wish I had put in for it.  No offence to Mickey Arthur, but come on!

My Continued Success Formula
- Less contracts - Cricket Australia hands out contracts to blokes that aren't even playing shield cricket.  It's a disgrace.  Make the players fight for one and earn it.  It makes me want to vomit when I see blokes on the KFC adverts that i wouldn't give a nugget to, let alone a game for Australia.  This is something the Poms have recently got right.

- Stick with the current crop - The squad we now have, has everything we need to become a power again.  We have to stick with these bloke (Haddin excepted).  When some of the young blokes have cemented their spots in 12 months time, it may be time to move on Huss and Punter, but right now they are needed to induct the youth, that is a perfect blend of attack and stability (Cowan, Marsh, Warner, Kawaja, Watson).

Our bowlers are looking awesome at the moment.  Barring injury we have the most potent attack in world cricket (Hilfy, Patto, Starc, Sidds, Cummo, Harris).  These blokes must be nurtured and developed, they will get us through for the next 10 if we look after them.

Lyon is our spinner, we need to dig up a leggie and develop, but other than that, bowling is rock solid.

Haddin must go when Paine is fit, or give Matty Wade a go.  Hadds has been a good servant, but when your byes tally is higher than your own average its time....enough said.

-Ditch one dayers.

One day cricket is dead in this era for now.  It is a waste of time and money.  Let players play the long form or hit and giggle.  The death of the 50 over version is painful and agonising.  Do the humane thing CA.

Well I hope you found my thoughts insightful or on the flip side you may thing I leak more crap than a broken sewage pipe.  I think we've currently go it right, but we have to keep the ball rolling.....Tragic.

The Human Side.

G'day Tragics,

A somewhat sombre tale this time round...one for reflection and taste of reality.

Today's passing of  League legend, Artie Beetson and the recent tragic suicides of cricket personality, Peter Roebuck and English soccer great, Gary Speed have again served as stark reminders that the stars we love and hate are mere mortals...just like us.

It's easy to forget that sports people who've lived and flourished in the public eye, battle problems, issues and bad luck similar to any poor sod.  Over time there have been so many champions that've had their lives and careers cuts short by illness, accident or dare I say it... fate.

One that springs to mind, is the tarnished figure of South African cricket, Hansie Cronje.  The man that shattered the hearts and minds of all cricket fans by being ousted as a match fixer and cheat.  Cronje died tragically in a plane crash not long after his name and reputation were completely shit-mixed by his greed and poor judgement.  The guy stuffed up...do you think death was his punishment?...Spooky.

On the other side of the coin, who could forget the emotional wave ridden by 38 year old  Aussie Mum, Kerryn McCann as she entered a packed MCG to win the marathon at the 2006 Melbourne Commonwealth games (she won in 2002 also).  It will be burnt into the memory of everyone that was old enough to witness and enjoy one of the bravest performances I can remember.  McCann would be diagnosed with Breast Cancer a year later and live for only one further year.  Gone too soon, but the memories left are priceless.

When someone famous dies it always seems to come as a massive shock.  Celebrities and especially sports heroes appear immortal to us.  It's like they live in a parallel universe where they are destined to be admired forever.  Their deaths snap us back to planet Earth and we realise their private lives mirror the trials and tribulations we roll with every day.  They are flesh and blood....surprise!

Marco Simoncelli and Dan Wheldon both died doing what they loved.  An overly used cliche.  Did they really love their sports enough to give their life.  Maybe it was the risk they loved... who knows?  A duel tragedy that gets forgotten about as soon as the next big sports scandal crashes the back page. 

It seems so unfair that a death in sport stays in our minds for only as long as the media allows.  It's sad to dwell on - don't you think?

Flo Jo, Phar Lap and Australian cricket are sporting deaths shrouded in mystery.  Intriguing stories that are part of folklore.  Let's hope our cricketers can rise from the ashes.....sorry that was terrible.  Early sporting deaths add to the mystic, brilliance, adoration and even infamy of the departed.  Early deaths have transformed the good into great, the hated into loved and the larrikins into angels.

There are so many that enjoyed glittering careers, but struggled once the ride was over.  Speed obviously had some hidden demons, while Roebuck was engulfed in a moment of madness.  Another that springs to mind is poor old wrestler Chris Benoit who hung himself after killing his wife and son.  On the surface they had it all - fame, money, popularity.....but I guess those things don't complete the package.

As I mentioned, the recent string of sporting deaths have made me think about things.  My conclusion is that whatever you do with your life, it is ultimately going to be just as important as what Michael Jordan did with his.  Just Do It!

R.I.P.....Tragic