Where Teams Go to Die.

G'day Tragics,

Sun, bikinis, nightclubs, meter maids, theme parks and Warrick Capper are some of the things that spring to mind when we think of the Gold Coast. 

One of the things that isn't so well know is the fact the the Goldy is fast becoming Australia's biggest graveyard for national sporting teams.  The Coast is a revolving door for a string of glamour organisations that have have rolled into town with all guns blazing, then crashed and burned in a very short period.

The Rollers, the Seagulls, the Bears, the Cougars, GC United and the Chargers are teams just off the top of my head that have been and quickly gone on the Coast.  The Titans and  Blaze are currently on thin ice and the Indy/V8's race has done it's absolute best over the years to crash and burn.

Why do these teams fail in an environment that loves its sport and an has everything a successful team needs to succeed?  In my humble opinion there are a number of factors that have contributed to making my home region a national laughing stock in sporting circles.  Here are a couple:

1.  Fickle fans
Gold Coasters are cool, laid back people, that love anything shiny and new.  They get wrapped up in the excitement and flock to new enterprises, one-offs and have been know to attend the opening of someones fly.  On the downside if a team starts losing, or doesn't begin winning (Suns I'm looking at you), Gold Coast fans will drop off and find the next big thing. 

Sports teams shouldn't be offended.  It's the same with nightclubs, restaurants and fashion.  Gold Coasters will love it, do it and then ditch it.  They need be convinced to hang around for the long haul.

2. Shocking Management
The carnage of the Gold Coast's sporting landscape is massively due to the arrogance and flamboyance of some of the management teams.  Clive Palmer and Michael Searle are two recent examples.  One a big man desperate to show how big he really is and the other wanting to be bigger than he really is.  Both claimed to be passionate about their respective organisations, both have rode them into the ground.  Palmer has robbed the Coast of ever getting a chance in the A-League again and Searle will have done the same for league if the Titans crumble under the weight of massive debt.

Palmer is a miner - not a sports administrator.  GC United was a toy and his lack of touch with the game, fans and the sport itself, eventually extinguished a promising enterprise.  He figured cash alone would buy success, but his style and arrogance scared the fans off and effectively destroyed soccer in the region.  I don't think big Clive gave a rats arse.....shame.

Searle on the other hand started off strong.  The Titans were the envy of the league.  They built a sensational brand in their early years.  On field they displayed heart and grit and their wonderful Stadium brought in the fans.  A passionate Searle had done well, but wanted to grow too fast too soon.  He wanted to be the big man on campus, without taking any classes.  He threw around cash the club didn't have.  The place was a Ferrari on the outside but was running on a Daewo engine.

Once the on-field grit started to fade, the crowds thinned and gloss on the shiny Titan's helmet had worn off.  Only a miracle will save the Titans and I hope they get one.  Time will tell.

These only a couple of botched efforts in a sorry roll call of disasters.  How can so many teams in the one area be so mis-managed?  For sports lovers like myself it is a tragedy.  Up until recently we had the Suns, Blaze, United and the Titans all on our door step.  Admittedly, I didn't go every week, but to have so many options on the Coast was a sports lovers dream.  It may be partly my fault....nah.

Golden ticket
The nutty professor of soccer, Miron Bleiberg came up with an idea for a Gold Coast sports lovers pass.  A golden ticket that would give purchasers the choice to attend one of the four major sports codes for a pre-selected amount of games.  I thought it was genius.  Perfect for a place that can't make its mind up, ideal for people that want to go to sport sometimes, a winner for those new to sport and wanting to try before they buy.   The media tore Bleiberg to shreds, critics said he was nuts, but at least he could see the rot setting in and was trying to come up with an answer.

Too many sit on their hands and fail to see the urgency in a problem - Not the mighty Bleiberg!

My ingredients to a successful team on the coast (or anywhere really) is as follows:

1. Engage a new audience early. (marketing, advertising, public interaction)
2. Start ticket prices off sensibly low. (a full stadium of $10 paying fans creates more buzz than an empty stadium of $50 paying fans - no shit!)
3. Be strong on junior development.
4. Get players that aren't tossers.
5. Grow the club gradually.
6. Make the fans the number 1 priority.
7. Win!

The Gold Coast Suns are the great white hope for long term success and currently have ticked all the boxes, but one.  Point number 7 is the hardest of all to obtain, but once they do start winning the club will explode and hopefully become the benchmark for any future teams that are lucky enough to get a sniff on the Coast in the future.

As I said earlier, the Gold Coast is a sporting graveyard.  The Commonwealth Games could be our chance to gain some street cred.  The bumbling we've seen so far by the games committee has me quaking in my duds.  I just have a fear in my guts, that the Games will be embarrassing....so negative...so GC.....so Tragic.

Tweets or Twits?

G'day Tragics,

Few would argue that social networking has changed the world forever.  For the better or worse is the grey area that many ponder.  Gone are the days when wiping your bum was a private matter.....it now is an activity that needs to be shared with ones friends, followers or disciples.

The world of sport has embraced social networking, with athletes, coaches, team owners and media using facebook, twitter, fango etc to give a behind the scenes insight into a world of sport that was previously out of bounds to us mere mortals.

Granted some of the glimpses behind the scenes have given sport another dimension, but on the negative it has also highlighted the fact that some sports stars are air-headed ratbags that are lucky enough to be paid squillions for the god-given talent they posses.

Gary Ablett Jr is a huge fan of facebook and twitter and appears to use it in a way that promotes his brand, keeps his nose clean and gives his fans a sneak peak into his private world.  Ablett runs competitions, answers questions, posts photos and recently provided a phone number, so fans could ring him for an hour and have a chat.

By putting himself out there, Ablett avoids the rabid journalists that drove his famous father into hiding during his career.  Recently Ablett was criticised for sharing his feelings on Fremantle tagger, Ryan Crowley's tactics on twitter.  Comments that added spice to a possibly dull contest between the Suns and the Dockers.  Marketing maestro Kevin Sheedy would have loved Ablett's work.

For a negative example of twitter trouble we can look no further than darling of the pool, Stephanie Rice.  Who could forget he very unlady-like tweet of "Suck on that faggots" following a Wallabies victory over the springboks.  Is that what girls speak like these days?....Goodness gracious!

So many athletes feel the need to shoot off at the mouth on facebook or twitter and some are beginning to act as if there opinion ranks up there with Gillard's or Obama's.  Social networking is transforming sports personalities into stars and not in a good way.

How sick do we get of movie stars meeting the President about orphans in Siberia or similar.  These people's egos have been pumped up to the point where they believe their own publicity and forget where they come from.

American athletes jumped off the humble train years ago and unfortunately Aussies are chasing them down.  Fame is fast becoming number one -  above loyalty, teamwork, hard work and the love of their sport that gifted them their popularity.

At the time of writing this, I am an active facebook and twitter user, for how long I don't know.  I am highly concerned with sport and society in general heading toward a catastrophic narcissism driven implosion.

Social networking does have a place in society and sport, but it needs to be used for good not stupidity.  I wonder how long it will be before organisations start training athletes in Facebook etiquette?  #hopefullysoon........Tragic!

Jimmy Stynes - R.I.P

G'day Tragics,

What a sad day for not only sport, but Australia and Ireland in general.  One the great gentlemen, Jim Stynes, succumbed to cancer after long and very public battle with the brutal disease.

I'm sure all sports fans are feeling for "Dublin Jim's" family, friends and colleagues - the world has been left a much poorer place for his loss.

From a personal point of view:  I was just a lad when the Melbourne Demons took a punt on the big Irishman.  At the time, the Irish experiment had it's doubters, but Melbourne's shamrock connection of Stynes and the mustachioed Sean Wight proved them all wrong.  Jim also played with his brother Brian at Melbourne for a short time, but Brian didn't take to the game quite like Jim.

What Stynes lacked in skill, he made up for in determination.  You would often see him fighting for the ball with a rover at the bottom of a pack.  He went a long way to revolutionising the ruck position.  Ruckmen today are so much more than just a beanpole in the middle.  They are everywhere men that are required to do everything.  Jimmy was ahead of his time.

What I best remember about Jimmy, was his consecutive games record....200 plus.  On the footy show they would joke about Stynes having a leg cut off during the week, but still being able to play...classic!  I can picture him wearing giant "mattresses" on his thighs as he bravely masked injury.  So much like his final days.

I loved Jim's temperament on the field.  He played with passion, but dripped sportsmanship.  He was dominant, yet humble...the perfect role mode.  I can remember when he ran across the mark in the 1987 pre-final vs the Hawks, gifting Gary Buckenara a goal and a spot in the Grand Final.  My heart bled for him and I'm sure he used it as fuel to fire the rest of his career.

It was truly amazing for him to come from another code and another land, work his backside off and win our top honour, the Brownlow medal.  It's the ultimate fairytale and a true inspiration to anyone who has a seemingly impossible dream.

Without doing any research, it is well known that Stynes always put others first.  He tireless charity work and care for battlers is as legendary as his on field heroics.  So many lives were improved directly from the work and care of the shy kid from Ireland.

Whenever you saw him speak, you knew it was heart felt and genuine.  You could sense his pride every time he presented a gurnsey to a junior Demon.  He loved the Melbourne football club and it loved him.  I'm sure the D's will turn their grief into something positive and do their former champion proud.

Jim is in a better place now, looking down on those that he touched in his short time.  He can be proud of what he achieved and the difference he made.  Thanks for the memories Jimmy, you were truly an all round hero......Tragic.

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.