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

Good Things Must End!

G'day Tragics,

Remember that bully at school that used to punish you with wedgies and intimidation?  That guy/girl would always be bigger, tougher and hold a blanket of fear over everyone that crossed their path.  School life for them was a breeze...they were kings of the castle.

Fast forward 20 years and you may see that bully walking down the street, overweight, shy and the same size that they were in Primary school.  Things flip and they now kiss the footprints you leave behind.  Life's funny like that and so is sport.  All good things must end.

Currently there is a wave of once dominant forces in world sport that have lost that "bully like" aura and have slipped back into the pack with the "also rans".

The Australian cricket team dominated world cricket for 15 years and didn't the Australian public love them for it.  A batch of superstar retirements, a nutty selector, the quagmire 3 forms of cricket has caused and in my opinion a batch of young players with heads the size of Texas, has launched Australian cricket into freefall.

Never has the Australian cricket team been less popular and on the nose.  You would think that such a long period of success would buy some slack from the cricket loving public, but success breeds a hunger for more success, it appears that eventual failure is not an option.

Tiger Woods and Roger Federer are a pair of individuals that have had no peer in their respective sports.  Lately and for very different reasons, both have been struggling to stay balanced on top of Everest.

We have always expected these chaps to win or be at the very top of their game.  To watch them flounder is uncomfortable...like introducing your missus to an ex....it's awkward.  This may be why "experts" are floating the idea for these lads to hang up their Nike deals.  Bit silly isn't it?

So it's OK for a bunch of unknown mud crabs to ramble along on the golf or tennis tours ranked at 137 for 15 years, going completely un-noticed like a muppett-like ninja, but the blokes that have been number 1 for 10 years and have "crashed" into the top 20 should give the game away?  Sport is funny isn't it.

People can't handle seeing their sporting heroes fall from the top of the tree.  Fans take it personally and live their sporting dreams through their heroes.  You're not a true tragic if you disagree with this.

Being a proud Tasmanian, it's been devastating for me to watch Ricky Ponting carry on like a tool at times and not make any runs.  Sad thing is, he is still in Australia's top 3 batsmen.  Time to go Rick?

Knowing when to give the game away and go out on top is a skill.  In a team sport this is impossible.  Team sport success, like interest rates is cyclic.  There are periods of winning, but the natural evoloution of a team will see low patches roll through.  Only the exceptionally managed teams have long periods of success (eg. Yankees, Man U and Geelong).

Back to individuals.  Retiring on top is ideal, then moving on completely is the best option in my book.  Too many of my sporting idols have made complete dicks of themselves by becoming commentators or media personalities.  This is how I'll remember them and it hurts.

The more I see of Boonie, the more I can't stand the 5 foot 2 Tasmanian with the flared pants....and the diamond earring....So many try to go out on top, then ruin it with a comeback, Tony Lockett, Michael Jordan and even Hingis spring to mind.

In sport, all good things come to an end...it's just so hard for athletes and fans accept.....Tragic!

Middle Age Madness!

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!