G'day Tragics,
When you slide into your mid thirties it is more than likely that you have given away playing sport at a competitive level and have traded in the "weekend warrior" tag for a more suitable "midweek marshmallow" label. You have a hit of golf with the lads, play a social game of basketball and even whack a tennis ball every blue moon.
This brand of sport is fun, keeps you active and is a good release of stress from the daily, weekly and yearly realisation that you are past your sporting prime. Sorry, I know that sounds a bit melodramatic, but that's exactly how I feel and I know I'm not alone. Men especially need competition by nature. No matter what age you are, you need a metaphorical fight to the death every now and then. You have to compete for something real. My mates and I thought we had concocted the perfect antidote.
Seven sports in a day. A heptathlon if you will. Points on the line for each sport and money on the line for the whole tournament. Bring it on! Golf, squash, ping pong, tennis, darts, pool and ten pin bowling.
We planned out the times required to complete each event on a pretty spreadsheet....it looked do-able and to make it even more mouth watering, we all fancied ourselves to take out the title. This was the contest we'd been craving.
Four of us were competing. Ages of 33, 35, 46 and 53. The only handicapping for our heptathlon was our official golf handicaps. The other sports were man on man.
Golf was first on the agenda, teeing off at 5.30am. You didn't have to be Bruce McAvaney to predict it would be a massive day.
The four of us play golf every fortnight. There is plenty of sledging and the atmosphere is fairly relaxed....not on heptathlon day. We were much quieter, spent an eternity planning shots and beat ourselves up more than usual when things hit the skids. We were well and truly in competition mode and loving it.
Why do men need to play for the win? I get upset if my wife beats me at scrabble. Why do we take it so personally when we lose? It could stem from caveman days, where men used to fight it out for a cave chick's affections. That will to win has stuck. Win at all costs....we are wired that way i guess.
Golf was intense. Winners were grinners and losers gutted. One event down, six to go. Squash was next and I was personally concerned...definitely not my strong suit. As anyone who's played squash knows, it is brutal, especially if you're shit at it. You run around like a headless chook, sweating your arse off, running into walls, running into each other and occasionally getting smacked in the face with the racket or hit in the balls with ...the ball.
When the dust had settled, the leader for the day was further in front and the loser (myself) was further behind. The heckling began and the enjoyment of the day was transforming into a blood lust. This was no longer a social day out with the boys, it was all out war.
On the fitness side of things after 2 events, we were all rooted. Squash had smashed us up badly and the realisation that the day had only just started began to sink in. Had we bitten off more than we could chew....stiff shit, we were committed....Onwards!
After munching down a dodgy lunch we arrived at the ping pong/darts arena (one of the boys garages). It was a bloody sweat box, but the relief of tackling two midly draining events compensated. Over lunch there was a few rows/discussions regarding rules and prize money. Tension grew proportionately to fatigue, as did poor skill execution.
Darts and pong were as tight and competitive as ever, but the results did little to the overall leader board. I was sitting in 4th and by this stage was completely demoralised that these three has-beens (sorry boys), could have the wood over me in sports that I thought I had mastered. The thought of 2 hours of tennis in the Gold Coast sun was as appealing as getting a prostate examination from John Hopoate.
Tennis was a nightmare. We had stiffened up to the point of no return and the quality of rallies were embarrassing at best. We were all sitting the mental toughness exam and none of us had the cheat sheet.
The results again had little bearing on the overall standings and the day was becoming a survival of the stupidest. We were dead men walking.
Showers and a few beers before the final two events was tonic enough to regenerate a final charge. We started to remember that what we were doing was fun, but three of us were secretly seething simply because: we weren't winning!
A few more beers during pool lightened the atmosphere and we enjoyed each others company as we should have been all day. We started to speak about improvements for next years events and which sports should stay and go. Surprise surprise, everyone wanted to ditch something they were crap at and bring in something they couldn't lose. Kind of defeats the purpose, but we didn't care...we wanted to win!
Ten pin bowling was a bit of a blur. It wrapped up at around 11.30pm We'd been at it for 17 hours. The after party we'd planned was cancelled. It was bed time for the heroes of yesteryear. We'd proved something to ourselves...I'll let you decide what it was. One of us was happy and the other three distraught. Once the three days of pain had wore off, it was time to reflect on the day. Was it worth it? Did it scratch an itch? Will we do it next year? Five seconds to think....Of course!
To my fellow gladiators : Peaky, Lukey and G.O, well done boys and thanks for a great day and for goodness sake....act your age!.....Tragic!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Spring Means Racing!
G'day Tragics,
How good is the Spring Racing Carnival? Hordes of closet race fans explode from the woodwork, clogging up TAB queues Australia-wide. Punters confidently armed with unique betting systems based on jockey colours, lucky numbers and catchy names.
Mum “going berko” after her “fifty cents each way” favourite comes in third. The freaks in the office arguing over who picked the best horse in the one, two and five dollar sweeps. So many things make this time of year truly unique.
My pet group of spring carnival experts are none other than my mates. Granted these boys know their sport, but to put it mildly, the gee gees are well out of their jurisdiction. Undeterred, they still unashamedly spew out phrases like “good over the last furlong”, “I think my nag’s thrown a shoe” and “I was going to box those three”.
Banter between the boys is far more entertaining that any photo finish. By the time the Cup rolls around, the lads are comprehensively baffled by each other’s bull dust and have secretly converted to one of the juvenile methods of horse selection I mentioned earlier. Their confusion does little to stem their torrent of macho horsey dribble.
What about the fashions on the field. Priceless! It’s a time when anything goes and usually does. Who can resist watching the racing telecast as “B” and even “C grade” celebrities’ gush about who they’re dressed by and which envelope opening they’ll be attending next. Pass me the sick bag please!
It’s pure gold watching the dregs of the Australian talent pool swanning around like Hollywood buffoons. It’s impossible to beat the avalanche of colours and textures that are associated the spring racing carnival, even if the majority of them are expelled in the car-park by the masses of intoxicated youth.
Rubbish aside; it’s the jockeys, trainers, owners and especially the magnificent animals that capture the hearts and minds of the nation. Whether you’re a punter, clothes horse or just get infected with “racing fever,” it’s a time on the sporting calendar to be cherished and enjoyed, no matter which category you slot into.
Bets please!.....Tragic.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
My Grand Day Out.
G'day Tragics,
I have been a rabid Geelong supporter for as long as I can remember. My Dad followed the Cats for some reason and that was good enough for me. My brother, Joe and I were mascots for our local club, Ulverstone. The mighty Robins wore Essendon colours, but I insisted on running out in my navy and white hoops...I'm sure some people thought I'd eaten too much sherbet.
I love the Geelong footy club and like all footy fans have been through some tough times supporting them. The last 5 years have more than cancelled out 20 years of frustration...it has been pure bliss!
Once we disposed of the brave Weagles in the pre-final, it hit me that we were in the Grand Final against the mighty and revered Magpies. I decided then and there that if a ticket came my way, I would jump on a plane and head South to the "G".
A combination of the planets aligning and some great mates being great mates, I was blessed with a ticket. My wonderful wife knew what it meant to me and almost packed my bag for me. Even before the game I was very lucky. My third Grand Final was on the menu, and it was easily going to be the biggest feast I'd tackled.
An elaborate function on the Friday was the perfect lead-up to a relaxed Saturday morning. I caught up with a few mates, picked up some merch, to ensure everyone knew I was a "crazy cat". I made my way to the famous Melbourne Hilton Hotel for a few nerve settlers...the anticipation was a cocktail of butterflies and vomit. It was almost game time!
If you've ever been to the MCG and you're a mad footy tragic like myself, you are well aware of the magic that borders the historic arena. The trees, the car parks, the houses surrounding the ground, all play a big part in the experience of attending a match at the scared site. I was soaking it up like it was my last day on earth.
My seat was in the Olympic Stand....very back row. I didn't give a rats....I'd made it this far without losing my ticket. Once Meatloaf finished strangling a chicken and Vanessa Amorossi did her best Cameron Ling impersonation, it was on!
The game is a blur....so much tension, so much excitement, so much emotion was going through me the entire match. Both teams were giving their all and 96,000 fans were riding every bump with them. It was different to the other granny's I'd been to, there was just something special about it.
I have to be honest, I had the same sick feeling in my guts that was present when Hawthorn rolled us in '08. There were times when the bounce of the Sherrin just wasn't going our way. My mind flashed back to that losing feeling I'd experienced as a player in my day....it scared me. C'mon boys tough it out!
Tough it out they did! Our guts and spirit was exhilarating. I not ashamed to admit tearing up a few times during the day...tears of pride and tears of gratitude that my life had taken such a path that I was able to be present at this once in a lifetime event.
The last quarter was a hammering and the Cats faithful waved off the Magpies fans as one. Our tail end dominance allowed me to finally relax and enjoy a quarter of footy like I never have before. It was ecstasy!
The siren sounded and we all sang the theme song until they kicked us out...it was brilliant....just brilliant. It will be very hard to top in my life (sports wise) and I don't think I'll need to attend another AFL GF....but I might.
Surely watching your team beat Collingwood for the Premiership is the AFL Everest?....Tragic.
I have been a rabid Geelong supporter for as long as I can remember. My Dad followed the Cats for some reason and that was good enough for me. My brother, Joe and I were mascots for our local club, Ulverstone. The mighty Robins wore Essendon colours, but I insisted on running out in my navy and white hoops...I'm sure some people thought I'd eaten too much sherbet.
I love the Geelong footy club and like all footy fans have been through some tough times supporting them. The last 5 years have more than cancelled out 20 years of frustration...it has been pure bliss!
Once we disposed of the brave Weagles in the pre-final, it hit me that we were in the Grand Final against the mighty and revered Magpies. I decided then and there that if a ticket came my way, I would jump on a plane and head South to the "G".
A combination of the planets aligning and some great mates being great mates, I was blessed with a ticket. My wonderful wife knew what it meant to me and almost packed my bag for me. Even before the game I was very lucky. My third Grand Final was on the menu, and it was easily going to be the biggest feast I'd tackled.
An elaborate function on the Friday was the perfect lead-up to a relaxed Saturday morning. I caught up with a few mates, picked up some merch, to ensure everyone knew I was a "crazy cat". I made my way to the famous Melbourne Hilton Hotel for a few nerve settlers...the anticipation was a cocktail of butterflies and vomit. It was almost game time!
If you've ever been to the MCG and you're a mad footy tragic like myself, you are well aware of the magic that borders the historic arena. The trees, the car parks, the houses surrounding the ground, all play a big part in the experience of attending a match at the scared site. I was soaking it up like it was my last day on earth.
My seat was in the Olympic Stand....very back row. I didn't give a rats....I'd made it this far without losing my ticket. Once Meatloaf finished strangling a chicken and Vanessa Amorossi did her best Cameron Ling impersonation, it was on!
The game is a blur....so much tension, so much excitement, so much emotion was going through me the entire match. Both teams were giving their all and 96,000 fans were riding every bump with them. It was different to the other granny's I'd been to, there was just something special about it.
I have to be honest, I had the same sick feeling in my guts that was present when Hawthorn rolled us in '08. There were times when the bounce of the Sherrin just wasn't going our way. My mind flashed back to that losing feeling I'd experienced as a player in my day....it scared me. C'mon boys tough it out!
Tough it out they did! Our guts and spirit was exhilarating. I not ashamed to admit tearing up a few times during the day...tears of pride and tears of gratitude that my life had taken such a path that I was able to be present at this once in a lifetime event.
The siren sounded and we all sang the theme song until they kicked us out...it was brilliant....just brilliant. It will be very hard to top in my life (sports wise) and I don't think I'll need to attend another AFL GF....but I might.
Surely watching your team beat Collingwood for the Premiership is the AFL Everest?....Tragic.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Chokers!
G'day Tragics,
The Wallabies sensational defeat of the All Blacks last week has got me all pumped up for the upcoming Rugby World Cup and the thought of the World Cup got me thinking about how the mighty All Blacks have spectacularly failed as raging favourites in numerous quests to capture the "Billy" Webb Ellis trophy.
The Kiwi crashes then directed my mind to other great/horrific chokes in sporting history and the causes behind them. We must remember, a choke is a one off capitulation, where a team or individual is unable to cut the mustard when it counts. It's a failure on the big stage, when triumph appeared to be a forgone conclusion.
A choke is not a form slump, a drought, a hoodoo or a collingwobble...do I make myself clear? There have been some rippers in history that are generally the sports equivalent of a train wreck. They're horrible to watch, yet compelling viewing. It's impossible to look away.
Poor old Gregory Norman is a famous choker. He had the coveted US Masters in the bag on a few occasions, only to have it ripped away by the curse of nerves, pressure, expectation and a huge dose of arse from his competitors. Unfortunately the "Shark" has been unfairly tarred with the choker brush, even though his career was dotted with amazing achievements. A few dramatic meltdowns have become a big part of his legacy.
Elite sports people are just that...people and can easily become overwhelmed under extreme pressure. The all time greats are the rare exceptions that are able to block out any distractions, negativity or nerves and produce a business like performance with robotic precision time and time again.
Getting back to the chokers. LeBron James pissed off the entire city of Cleveland last year to join a bevy of stars at the Miami Heat. After strolling through to the finals, it looked elementary that LeBron and co. would give the Dallas Mavericks a pasting. Guess what happened? That's right, the Heat crapped the bed and Mr James produced his worse batch of games for the season. Again unfairly, James was ridiculed and left with egg on his face, the folks of Cleveland were happy again.
There's something we love about seeing the mighty fail or is it the joy in an under-dog victory. Either way, sports chokes are big news and can radiate shock waves through the sports mad community. Another casualty of a catastrophic panic is the high stakes sports punter. Thousands of dollars are wagered on "sure things", in the knowledge that a safe collect is imminent. Chokes often create rumours of foul play or teams/players/athletes "taking a dive".
This season 1 million was staked on the mighty Geelong Cats in the AFL to knock over the struggling Essendon Bombers. A Cats victory appeared certain, but they had an off night, with the Bombers taking the chocolates and the mystery punter losing his mill. Granted, this was probably more an upset than a choke, but it clearly illustrates how much money can be wagered on a supposed sure thing.
Personally I love a good choke every now and then (as long as it's not one of my teams). A meltdown adds to the excitement and drama of a sometimes dull contest. It also reinforces that it's never over until that fat bird sings....tragic.
The Wallabies sensational defeat of the All Blacks last week has got me all pumped up for the upcoming Rugby World Cup and the thought of the World Cup got me thinking about how the mighty All Blacks have spectacularly failed as raging favourites in numerous quests to capture the "Billy" Webb Ellis trophy.
The Kiwi crashes then directed my mind to other great/horrific chokes in sporting history and the causes behind them. We must remember, a choke is a one off capitulation, where a team or individual is unable to cut the mustard when it counts. It's a failure on the big stage, when triumph appeared to be a forgone conclusion.
A choke is not a form slump, a drought, a hoodoo or a collingwobble...do I make myself clear? There have been some rippers in history that are generally the sports equivalent of a train wreck. They're horrible to watch, yet compelling viewing. It's impossible to look away.
Poor old Gregory Norman is a famous choker. He had the coveted US Masters in the bag on a few occasions, only to have it ripped away by the curse of nerves, pressure, expectation and a huge dose of arse from his competitors. Unfortunately the "Shark" has been unfairly tarred with the choker brush, even though his career was dotted with amazing achievements. A few dramatic meltdowns have become a big part of his legacy.
Elite sports people are just that...people and can easily become overwhelmed under extreme pressure. The all time greats are the rare exceptions that are able to block out any distractions, negativity or nerves and produce a business like performance with robotic precision time and time again.
Getting back to the chokers. LeBron James pissed off the entire city of Cleveland last year to join a bevy of stars at the Miami Heat. After strolling through to the finals, it looked elementary that LeBron and co. would give the Dallas Mavericks a pasting. Guess what happened? That's right, the Heat crapped the bed and Mr James produced his worse batch of games for the season. Again unfairly, James was ridiculed and left with egg on his face, the folks of Cleveland were happy again.
There's something we love about seeing the mighty fail or is it the joy in an under-dog victory. Either way, sports chokes are big news and can radiate shock waves through the sports mad community. Another casualty of a catastrophic panic is the high stakes sports punter. Thousands of dollars are wagered on "sure things", in the knowledge that a safe collect is imminent. Chokes often create rumours of foul play or teams/players/athletes "taking a dive".
This season 1 million was staked on the mighty Geelong Cats in the AFL to knock over the struggling Essendon Bombers. A Cats victory appeared certain, but they had an off night, with the Bombers taking the chocolates and the mystery punter losing his mill. Granted, this was probably more an upset than a choke, but it clearly illustrates how much money can be wagered on a supposed sure thing.
Personally I love a good choke every now and then (as long as it's not one of my teams). A meltdown adds to the excitement and drama of a sometimes dull contest. It also reinforces that it's never over until that fat bird sings....tragic.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Rules, Rules and More Rules.
G'day Tragics,
It's a given in society that we need rules. Without them there would be chaos and things would quickly spiral out of control. The same applies to sport. There must be rules to ensure that games function orderly, athletes are protected and fans get to enjoy as big a spectacle as possible.
My concern is that rules in sport are starting to go mad. Like it or not, these days professional sport is all about the mighty dollar. Most sports are driven by television deals, therefore rules are now tailored to make sport as watchable as possible on the box. This doesn't necessarily mean that it's best for the sport as a whole.
My first sporting love, AFL has been butchered over the last 10 years with constant rule changes that have made some aspects of the game laughable. Don't get me wrong, there have been some positive rules implemented, but the majority of tweaks are needless and merely a way for the rules committee to justify their existence.
There are two types of rules: black and white and rules open to the officials interpretation. The later of the two are necessary, but surely must be a simple as possible for the umpires/referees, players and fans to interpret. Currently there are rules in all major sports that leave people scratching their noggins, swearing and occasionally pegging the remote at the plasma.
The disappointing thing is that the knob shiners who set these rules are former players or officials, who know and love their sports, but are too gutless to do the right thing. The fact that the AFL experiment with 3 or 4 rules every year in the pre-season competition tells me that the fat cats see our great games as a toys they can play with and manipulate until they resembles shiny money making machines. This is bullshit!
It's a sporting pastime to give officials a hard time, but lately i have began to realise that these poor buggers are trying their best to interpret the ridiculous rules that have been dealt to them. Some umpires are definitely shite on given days, but the rules they are force to decipher are shite ever day. You have to ask yourself sometimes: Is it the ref or is it the rules that piss you off? I bet I know the answer.
When you begin to follow a new sport, it's a given that it will take some time to pick up the rules and learn to appreciate the true essence of the game. I have been living in Qld for 10 years now and have grown to love rugby league, however there are still quite a few rules that I am baffled by.
To add to my confusion, when watching a game on telly, they constantly go to the "video referee" for a ruling. During the 500 replays, the "expert" commentators explain what has happened and what the outcome will be. When the video ref eventually makes his decision it quite often turns out to be the exact opposite of what we've been told. Surely this is no way to attract new fans.
It's not only the football codes that are constantly tampered with. Cricket, basketball and tiddly winks have all been molested. I have been so livid this year with some of the rules in the AFL that I've almost...almost been driven to switch off. Those who know me will know this is big, very big. I'm sure I'm not the only passionate sports lover that is incensed by rule changes in their favourite game. Repeated tweaks are putting fans off big time. I hope and pray administrators will eventually pull their fingers out of their money hungry arses and stop vandalising sport.
In conclusion: I really think we should go back in time to when the rules were at their most basic. With the increased speed, skill and technology meshed evenly with these grass roots rules, I'm sure we would end up with a spectacularly pure and watchable product that would makes angry fans like me happy once again...Tragic.
It's a given in society that we need rules. Without them there would be chaos and things would quickly spiral out of control. The same applies to sport. There must be rules to ensure that games function orderly, athletes are protected and fans get to enjoy as big a spectacle as possible.
My concern is that rules in sport are starting to go mad. Like it or not, these days professional sport is all about the mighty dollar. Most sports are driven by television deals, therefore rules are now tailored to make sport as watchable as possible on the box. This doesn't necessarily mean that it's best for the sport as a whole.
My first sporting love, AFL has been butchered over the last 10 years with constant rule changes that have made some aspects of the game laughable. Don't get me wrong, there have been some positive rules implemented, but the majority of tweaks are needless and merely a way for the rules committee to justify their existence.
There are two types of rules: black and white and rules open to the officials interpretation. The later of the two are necessary, but surely must be a simple as possible for the umpires/referees, players and fans to interpret. Currently there are rules in all major sports that leave people scratching their noggins, swearing and occasionally pegging the remote at the plasma.
The disappointing thing is that the knob shiners who set these rules are former players or officials, who know and love their sports, but are too gutless to do the right thing. The fact that the AFL experiment with 3 or 4 rules every year in the pre-season competition tells me that the fat cats see our great games as a toys they can play with and manipulate until they resembles shiny money making machines. This is bullshit!
It's a sporting pastime to give officials a hard time, but lately i have began to realise that these poor buggers are trying their best to interpret the ridiculous rules that have been dealt to them. Some umpires are definitely shite on given days, but the rules they are force to decipher are shite ever day. You have to ask yourself sometimes: Is it the ref or is it the rules that piss you off? I bet I know the answer.
When you begin to follow a new sport, it's a given that it will take some time to pick up the rules and learn to appreciate the true essence of the game. I have been living in Qld for 10 years now and have grown to love rugby league, however there are still quite a few rules that I am baffled by.
To add to my confusion, when watching a game on telly, they constantly go to the "video referee" for a ruling. During the 500 replays, the "expert" commentators explain what has happened and what the outcome will be. When the video ref eventually makes his decision it quite often turns out to be the exact opposite of what we've been told. Surely this is no way to attract new fans.
It's not only the football codes that are constantly tampered with. Cricket, basketball and tiddly winks have all been molested. I have been so livid this year with some of the rules in the AFL that I've almost...almost been driven to switch off. Those who know me will know this is big, very big. I'm sure I'm not the only passionate sports lover that is incensed by rule changes in their favourite game. Repeated tweaks are putting fans off big time. I hope and pray administrators will eventually pull their fingers out of their money hungry arses and stop vandalising sport.
In conclusion: I really think we should go back in time to when the rules were at their most basic. With the increased speed, skill and technology meshed evenly with these grass roots rules, I'm sure we would end up with a spectacularly pure and watchable product that would makes angry fans like me happy once again...Tragic.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
It's a Confidence Thing.
G'day Tragics,
Lately I have been playing a fair bit of golf and I must say I have been hitting it pretty well. You could say my form has been so hot that I've almost burnt the arse out of my golf dacks!
On the weekend myself and a group of lads headed up to the Sunshine Coast for a golf weekend, playing a couple of rip-snorting courses. These courses were tough and I struggled. By the fifth hole my smokin' swing had turned to mush and by the back nine was a basket case. I carried my shattered confidence and a nasty hangover into day 2 and my game was well and truly shagged.
Confidence is a funny human condition. It can turn the average sportsperson into a giant and a superstar into a chump. The yips, chokers, slumps and wobbles are all first cousins of confidence that has gone AWOL. It's an amazing phenomenon and when your confidence is taken in sport it's a very humbling experience and it can feel like being stuck behind a locked door that has no key.(shocking analogy - it's late)
In Aussie rules, goal kicking is the ghost that haunts even the best. St.Kilda captain, Nick Reiwoldt's goal kicking became so bad, that it almost appeared as if the big Saint didn't want to get the ball inside 50m. The more trouble an athlete has, the more it becomes a news story. When everyone knows there's a problem, it becomes amplified and often gets worse before it gets better.
Ian Baker-Finch was a bloody good golfer. He won the British Open and would be regarded as one of Australia's greats. Unfortunately IBF will best be remembered for his golf completely falling apart to the point where he quit the tour and took a seat in the commentary box. Once you lose it, it's not a given you will get it back. Poor Ian.
Sports psychologists love jittery athletes. Their insecurities are a sports quack's gold mine. They make a motza teaching athletes visualization techniques, goal setting and even hypnosis. There is no obvious cure was missing confidence, if there was it would be hotter than Viagra.
Phillipousis, Norman and even LeBron James in this years finals series would have loved a magical cure for sudden deflated mojo. Like love, depression or even the runs....confidence is uncontrollable and comes and goes without warning.
Sports people that have it and harness it are the ones we bet on, buy their merchandise and worship. Those that lose it, we take the piss of down the pub and they allow us to realise that star athletes are human after all.
Let's hope the Wallabies can rustle up the C word before the World Cup.....Viagra might have to do!....Tragic.
Lately I have been playing a fair bit of golf and I must say I have been hitting it pretty well. You could say my form has been so hot that I've almost burnt the arse out of my golf dacks!
On the weekend myself and a group of lads headed up to the Sunshine Coast for a golf weekend, playing a couple of rip-snorting courses. These courses were tough and I struggled. By the fifth hole my smokin' swing had turned to mush and by the back nine was a basket case. I carried my shattered confidence and a nasty hangover into day 2 and my game was well and truly shagged.
Confidence is a funny human condition. It can turn the average sportsperson into a giant and a superstar into a chump. The yips, chokers, slumps and wobbles are all first cousins of confidence that has gone AWOL. It's an amazing phenomenon and when your confidence is taken in sport it's a very humbling experience and it can feel like being stuck behind a locked door that has no key.(shocking analogy - it's late)
In Aussie rules, goal kicking is the ghost that haunts even the best. St.Kilda captain, Nick Reiwoldt's goal kicking became so bad, that it almost appeared as if the big Saint didn't want to get the ball inside 50m. The more trouble an athlete has, the more it becomes a news story. When everyone knows there's a problem, it becomes amplified and often gets worse before it gets better.
Ian Baker-Finch was a bloody good golfer. He won the British Open and would be regarded as one of Australia's greats. Unfortunately IBF will best be remembered for his golf completely falling apart to the point where he quit the tour and took a seat in the commentary box. Once you lose it, it's not a given you will get it back. Poor Ian.
Sports psychologists love jittery athletes. Their insecurities are a sports quack's gold mine. They make a motza teaching athletes visualization techniques, goal setting and even hypnosis. There is no obvious cure was missing confidence, if there was it would be hotter than Viagra.
Phillipousis, Norman and even LeBron James in this years finals series would have loved a magical cure for sudden deflated mojo. Like love, depression or even the runs....confidence is uncontrollable and comes and goes without warning.
Sports people that have it and harness it are the ones we bet on, buy their merchandise and worship. Those that lose it, we take the piss of down the pub and they allow us to realise that star athletes are human after all.
Let's hope the Wallabies can rustle up the C word before the World Cup.....Viagra might have to do!....Tragic.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Good Old Days.
G'day Tragics,
Last week one of the boys at work generously bestowed upon me an old sporting book. It is called "Great moments in Australian Sport" and contains the legendary feats of hero's such as: Bradman, Lionel Rose, Herb Elliot and Peter Thompson just to name a few.
It got me thinking about how different these blokes of yesteryear were compared to the sports stars of today. I wasn't around when these champions were at their peak, but the grainy black and white footage shown on sporting doco's has allowed my imagination to create a portrait of what these guys were possibly like.
I wouldn't imagine that Walter Lindrum, the billiards genius would have sported too many tattoos, or John Landy the distance runner would pop a diamond stud in his ear once his race was run and I certainly don't think that Alex Jesaulenko, the Carlton great would have gave the fans the "handcuffs" gesture after slotting one from the boundary.
Sure it's a different time and a different age. There's media and there's money. The two most potent factors that shape today's sporting heroes. The fame has turned so many hyper skilled athletes into petulant, narcissistic brats that will never secure our respect like the gentleman of the past.
In the black and white days, sports stars were working class, just like everyone else. Their talent wasn't as refined as today's stock, but it was raw, tough and passionate. There were no multi-million dollar contracts, no sponsorship deals and no T.V. rights.
Hairy chests and moustaches were as outrageous as the fashion got and the vintage pros expressed themselves through their craft and not with their mouths. There was so much to love about sport pre 90's. Sports people were more humble and money mattered less. You could tell they loved their sport and any benefits were purely bonus extras.
I miss those days. Each year there seems to be more strikes by players wanting "their fair share". Just quietly, doctors earn less than England's best darts player. You commonly see rookies acting like they own the joint these days, rather than watching and learning from the pros. The thing that shits me the most is how sports people put more effort into their celebrations, than thanking the team-mates that made them look good.
I really feel that the majority of today's stars know how to play their sport, but know very little about the history or even the heart of the game that pays their bills. They too often forget about the low income fans that part with their hard earned to watch and cheer for them each week.
I think every sport on the planet should develop a programme in which its professional stars sit down with a legend from the past and hear about how it used to be. Maybe then some of that old school charm could blend in with the electrifying talent and brashness that forms the fabric of so many modern day sports stars.
Ah the good old days....Tragic.
Last week one of the boys at work generously bestowed upon me an old sporting book. It is called "Great moments in Australian Sport" and contains the legendary feats of hero's such as: Bradman, Lionel Rose, Herb Elliot and Peter Thompson just to name a few.
It got me thinking about how different these blokes of yesteryear were compared to the sports stars of today. I wasn't around when these champions were at their peak, but the grainy black and white footage shown on sporting doco's has allowed my imagination to create a portrait of what these guys were possibly like.
I wouldn't imagine that Walter Lindrum, the billiards genius would have sported too many tattoos, or John Landy the distance runner would pop a diamond stud in his ear once his race was run and I certainly don't think that Alex Jesaulenko, the Carlton great would have gave the fans the "handcuffs" gesture after slotting one from the boundary.
Sure it's a different time and a different age. There's media and there's money. The two most potent factors that shape today's sporting heroes. The fame has turned so many hyper skilled athletes into petulant, narcissistic brats that will never secure our respect like the gentleman of the past.
In the black and white days, sports stars were working class, just like everyone else. Their talent wasn't as refined as today's stock, but it was raw, tough and passionate. There were no multi-million dollar contracts, no sponsorship deals and no T.V. rights.
Hairy chests and moustaches were as outrageous as the fashion got and the vintage pros expressed themselves through their craft and not with their mouths. There was so much to love about sport pre 90's. Sports people were more humble and money mattered less. You could tell they loved their sport and any benefits were purely bonus extras.
I miss those days. Each year there seems to be more strikes by players wanting "their fair share". Just quietly, doctors earn less than England's best darts player. You commonly see rookies acting like they own the joint these days, rather than watching and learning from the pros. The thing that shits me the most is how sports people put more effort into their celebrations, than thanking the team-mates that made them look good.
I think every sport on the planet should develop a programme in which its professional stars sit down with a legend from the past and hear about how it used to be. Maybe then some of that old school charm could blend in with the electrifying talent and brashness that forms the fabric of so many modern day sports stars.
Ah the good old days....Tragic.
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