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NAB Cup? Press Snooze

February 21st 2010 00:42
For supporters of the competition’s strugglers the lead up to the NAB Cup is like the brief few seconds when you wake from a heavy night but your brain has yet to kick into gear. All you have is the warm static of a good night’s sleep to cloud your memory, so for a magnificent instant there are no recollections of drunken misdemeanours, dodgy kebabs or last season’s 10-goal thrashing at Etihad Stadium.

Over the summer months your club’s pre-season publicity drive has made the bottom of the dung heap feel like a kingdom in the clouds. That speculative second-round pick has apparently bulked up while the classy small forward has developed an engine and looks set for a successful move into the midfield.


Opposition supporters may not think you’re not worth a dollar but for a few dreamy weeks you feel like a millionaire.

And then comes the sudden blinding rush of recognition when reality hits and you realise you have a splitting headache, you’re sleeping nude on the couch and you’re tall forwards couldn’t out-mark Rove McManus.
'Nah I had a quiet one last night'

It’s the dictionary definition of ‘a rude awakening’ and the Tigers got it last week in the form of a shellacking by the Hawks. Such a demoralising loss in the early rounds of the NAB Cup can be shattering for the supporter with a preference for glasses half-full. It usually means you’ll end up watching round one of the regular season from underneath a kitchen table with your thumb in your mouth.


My preference is for the pre-season competition to be scrapped completely. Clubs then have to continue to train behind close doors and drip-feed their supporters glowing reports on everyone from the skipper to the last rookie-listed player. Stuff like ‘Player A has been busy benchpressing Hyundai Swifts’ and ‘Player B has the endurance capacity of Yiannis Kourus’. And occasionally we’ll get short, highly-stylised video clips sent straight to our inbox that show our boys going through their paces in brilliant technicolour to the soundtrack of Chariots of Fire. Each specimen more finely tuned than the last. Kicks hitting their targets, goals being kicked from impossible angles. It will be soft-core porn for the cellar-dwellers. Much better than being spanked by a superior team in front of a national television audience.
Arden St weight session

With no Mickey Mouse pre-season competition your team won’t have to face the reality check of an opposition side until they stride out for the real stuff in round one. Sure, every team will be massively under-prepared for the intensive hustle of home and away footy, but at least it will give the tormented supporters of the lowly clubs a chance to press snooze, roll over and dream a little longer.
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Who's In Your Car? Part 4

January 28th 2010 04:57
There’s a car. A four-wheel drive perhaps. It’s travelling at high speed in treacherous conditions. The car will soon veer off the road and drop from a steep cliff into the ocean. The driver and all four passengers don’t stand a chance. The question is, out of all the oxygen thieves in the public eye, who do you nominate to fill those five seats?

Front passenger
Novak Djokovic/Andy Murray


The summer of tennis is upon us and there’s a bloody fistfight on Rod Laver Arena between a couple of unlikeable tennis players for the pleasure of riding shotgun in my car. Jim Courier is pacing courtside ready to pounce for the post-match interview and the player’s box is chock-full of models with horrified expressions on their faces which could mean they are genuinely concerned for the wellbeing of their partners or they just caught a glimpse of the fat content of their blueberry muffin. I’m guessing it’s the latter. Because Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic are the type of blokes most of us would like to see doing push-ups on a busy freeway. If you had a gun and one bullet and those two to choose from, you’d do the right thing and bludgeon them both to death with the gun so they felt it good and proper. Why waste the bullet if they aint gonna taste the blood?

But alas, this is just me indulging in fantasy as the likelihood of these two sods engaging in any physical contact is remote. We are more certain of seeing Jelena Jankovic win a match of substance than those two go handbags at 20 paces. And it’s a shame because it makes my job of nominating one of them to survive exceptionally difficult. It’s like choosing which episode of Mad About You made me want to violently throw up. Hint: they all did.
Heartwarming crap

Unfortunately the fact there are two elite tennis players vying for a position to go off the cliff is not just an indictment on the individuals but also the game of tennis itself. Don’t get me wrong, this is a sport that is regularly capable of the sublime. When Roger Federer is peeling off impossible cross-court backhand passing shots that dip and catch the line there is probably no more aesthetically pleasing human activity in the world with the possible exception of Sienna Miller’s niteclub dance scene in Layer Cake.

Five-set marathons that push into the early hours of the morning at Rod Laver Arena are a summer institution on a par with zooper doopers and groin chaff. Even the stereotypical metronomic Spanish baseliner has improved his reputation on the back of the physical specimen that is Rafael Nadal. He’s even risen further in my standings since he stopped dressing like a retarded personal trainer. A couple of years ago, when he was wearing his cut-off tank top and three-quarter pants ensemble, I kept expecting him to pull a 20 bag of pills out of a bumbag and start doing the Melbourne shuffle on match point.
Rafael Nadal at Tiesto

But there is some kind of inherently frustrating aspect of tennis at the elite level that prevents me from caring about it for the other 50 weeks of the year and it’s encapsulated in the Murray-Djokovic combination. If you study these two you would think that being a professional tennis player was a brutal occupation on a par with working in a Bolivian coal mine or being Simon Cowell’s missus. It’s all moping and tantrums and injury time-outs with those two, you’d see less sooking on vaccination day at Westbreen Primary School.

Case in point, recently the All-England club finally installed a roof on the main court at Wimbledon. Now, if any sporting tournament was desperate for a retractable roof it was Wimbledon and any opportunity to deny Cliff Richard an audience should be welcomed and encouraged. But this improvement was not up to scratch for Murray who complained to anyone in ear shot that it was now ‘too hot’ indoors.
Andy Murray has earned US$9,920,493 in a four-year career that is widely accepted to be in its infancy, by my calculations he should have to play in a kiln wearing a sumo fat suit for a thousand years to deserve that kind of scratch. You know how many lifetimes it would take a Bolivian coal miner to earn that much money? Well, I don’t have the figures handy, but I’m tipping it’s a lot. And even chewing a shitload of cocoa leaves can’t remove the sour taste of injustice (although it will improve the conversation).

Another possible reason why Australians don’t take any notice of the sport for the rest of the year could be the Channel Seven coverage. I’m beginning to feel really uncomfortable with JA cooing in my ear between points like a horny teenager. Whispering breathlessly about ‘court coverage’ and something called the ‘deuce court’. Its making me think of Gavin Hopper and that gives me the heebee-geebees.
And have you heard Henri LeConte commentate a match? He sounds like he’d be pretty entertaining if he was your wingman out at a cocktail party where you didn’t know anyone, but when it comes to describing a tennis match he’s the aural equivalent of sitting next to Rosie Perez on a long haul flight to somewhere cold. He’s bouncing off the walls like a
member of Hi-Five, muttering something in French about Matts Wilander’s forehand. Slip him a mickey Fitzy for the sake of our sanity!
BIIIIILLLLLLLLYYYYYY!

But I digress, my aim is to nominate one of these two for the front seat and after careful consideration there’s one particular instance that puts one candidate head and shoulders above the other. Even in a sport that is rife with questionable injury withdrawals Djokovic is making the mid-match gib his calling card. Down two sets and a break? Call the trainer…Novak does it. Four times he has withdrawn from crucial Grand Slam matches while trailing, that is a truly horrible stat for an athlete participating in a non-contact sport. His withdrawal in the quarter finals against Roddick last year while he was defending his title took the cake. Once again it was ‘too hot’…don’t make me bring up those Bolivian coal miners again Novak, you squib!
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Who's In Your Car? - Part 3

January 20th 2010 00:38
To celebrate a new year in the life of thebackpocket.com.au, we might kick things off with occasional contributer thesunnymunn and his unique take on life and all things sport.

Part suave raconteur, part babbling drunk, thesunnymunn may have questionable hygiene habits but the man knows what he likes (and who he doesn’t).

Stand back and cop a gobful of insight…it stiiiings the nostrils.

There’s a car. A four-wheel drive perhaps. It’s travelling at high speed in treacherous conditions. The car will soon veer off the road and drop from a steep cliff into the ocean. The driver and all four passengers don’t stand a chance.
The question is, out of all the oxygen thieves in the public eye, who do you nominate to fill those five seats?


Thesunnymunn's Car

Do any of you realise just how dificult this is...?

One (1) car, five (5) spots, countless candidates.

Well,
after much serious culling, I believe I have my car, and I have to tell you, it's a decision that is somewhat tinged with the pang of regret. Sad times.
Are the days of hurling drunken vitriol at the TV whenever some peanut infuriates me, now over...?
Are the days of being so violently shaken with inner rage, that I'm forced to screech: "THAT'S IT! YOU'RE IN MY CAR!" at some twat in the public eye, now a thing of the past...? Surely not.

So, with much deliberation, it is with confidence that I give you, my car:
1 Didier Drogba.
2 Scott Dooley.
3 Tommy Smyth "whidda Y!"
4 Tony Greig.
5 Ben Lee.
Ear cancer

aaannd... breeaathe...

For those of you struggling to hone in on the final passengers in your wagon of hatred, fear not.
On my hunt for scum, I found many a potential and worthy victim. For now, they have avoided my selectorial wrath, however the child-locks are off in my car - the seats are interchangeable, no one is safe.

Feel free to plop any the following miscreants into a barrel, adjust the sights, and start firing...

Car Worthy:

- Kevin Pietersen
- Eddie Macguire
- Fundamentalist Christians
- Stuart Macgill
- Joel & Benji Madden - or any other founding member of Good Charlotte
- Any man - who isn't Kostya Tzu - who sports a pony-tail
- Paula Abdul
- Any deluded parrot who has ever said: "I don't need to drink to have fun."
- Any bloke in a fast food commercial
- Any Ear Cancer - usually female - who interupts my viewing of Test cricket, by enquiring:
"who's winning...?"
- Any fabulist claiming to never get hangovers
- Pablo Fagiano
- "Sugar! Fudge!" any fudging saps who use fake swear words. Really cheeses me off.
- Jobsworths
- Parking Inspectors
- Morons who clap at the cinema
- Oprah Winfrey
- Stedman - for being Oprah Winfrey's little slab of bitch fodder
How did this man date Claire Danes?

- Whichever cretin gave Grant Hackett his job presenting the weekend sport
- Parents of tennis players (excluding Damir)
- Any and all gormless, dimwitted simpletons involved in the production, or viewing of, A Current Affair
- Ditto Today Tonight
- People who write: "Ditto"
- The entire cast and crew of CSI
- Ditto House
- People who repeat themselves
- Tracy Grimshaw
- Mark Zukerberg
- Swimmers
- Jarrod 'Toadie' Rebecky
- People who cut in line
- James Sherry
An A*mazingly annoying drip

- Any xenophobic clown who has ever started a sentence with: "I'm not racist, but...."
- Anyone who owns a New Zealand passport
- Young university tutors
- Thespians
- All founding members of Nickleback
- Ditto Creed
- People who are still writing Ditto
- Teeth whiteners
- Paddy Power employees
- All regulars at the Brunswick Hotel
- The fat blockhead off the Bottle Mart ads.
- Rappers
- Any red-blooded human, with twenty-twenty (20/20) vision, who doesn't agree that Duran Duran's filmclip for "Girls On Film", is the greatest ever
- Shoes (you heard me)
- Any indolent loaf who has ever stayed in, in order to watch the final of a reality TV show
- Close talkers
- Loud talkers
- Constant talkers
- Cloud talkers
- Noisy eaters
- Bono
- All members of the indoor football team that beat us in our Monday night division two (2) grand final
- Fluffheads who use emoticons
- Scenesters
- Zane Lowe
- Any goon who wears any of the following: crocs, hi-viz, south african rugby jerseys
- Bus drivers
- Pink
- ppl hu txt lk ths lol
- Wine Tasters
- Chavs
- Dingbats who think it's helpful to slap your back when you're trying to cough
- Any minnow who calls a truck, a "lorry"
- Poms
- Any witless reviewer, who has ever labled a song or flick as: "the feelgood hit of the summer!"
- Vegans
- The entire Italian football team
- Andy Murray
- Meg "cryin'" Ryan
- Any faux punk, piece of shit tip rat, who wears a seppo baseball cap - with the tag still on it.
- Seppos
- Gene Simmons
- Tim Ripper's old housemate
- Ticket inspectors
- Fare evaders
- People who contradict themselves
- Ditto hypocrits
- Dog the Bounty Hunter's wife
- Boy Bands
- John Bongiovi (excluding his hair circa'86)
- Axl Rose - your work here is done
- Anyone foolish enough to expect everyone at the table to commence eating their meal simultaneously
- The meat-head I saw walking into Doherty's twenty-four hour (24H) gym on Melbourne Cup Eve, wearing a Michael Vick NFL top.
- Michael Vick
- And finally, there's almost certainly room in my car for any pretentious bums with nothing better to do than write out a list of hate figures.

....to name but a few.

Enjoy naming your car.
I did.
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Who's In Your Car? - Part 2

November 24th 2009 01:53
From my last post...
There’s a car. A four-wheel drive perhaps. It’s travelling at high speed in treacherous conditions. The car will soon veer off the road and drop from a steep cliff into the ocean. The driver and all four passengers don’t stand a chance.
The question is, out of all the oxygen thieves in the public eye, who do you nominate to fill those five seats?

[ Click here to read more ]
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Who's In Your Car? - Part I

October 16th 2009 02:35
There’s a great hypothetical game that I’ve often played with mates when in-depth discussions about Natalie Imbruglia’s face have grown stale or it’s the lunch break in the cricket and for some unknown reason Channel Nine has a bunch of catamarans on the telly.
Here’s the scenario.
There’s a car. A four-wheel drive perhaps. It’s travelling at high speed in treacherous conditions. The car will soon veer off the road and drop from a steep cliff into the ocean. The driver and all four passengers don’t stand a chance


[ Click here to read more ]
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Is Mark LeCras Invisible?

September 24th 2009 04:53
First off, I applaud Collingwood supporters for not changing teams regardless of what society thinks. There is no excuse for swapping allegiances, so those that stick with the Pies in the face of overwhelming abuse are to be commended. Honestly, if any minority faced such levels of hatred as Collingwood supporters/players there would be a Royal Commission.
But still, we’re all in on it aren’t we? It’s just a great comfort in these harsh modern times to know that we can all bond together over a common enemy. Pie supporters should try it for one day - forget about the black and white army for just a minute, cross over to our side and feel what its like to all despise the same arsehole. It’s uplifting.
But how does this monumental mass-hatred come about? Its gotta be more than ferals and Eddie McGuire. Look at Hawthorn, they have their share of supporters on day-release and have Jeff Kennnett at the helm (undoubtedly a bigger prick than Eddie


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Dreams Are No Match For Reality

September 9th 2009 02:23
You know sometimes when you stumble across a thought so bizarre and ludicrous that you have to stop and think to yourself ‘did that actually happen or did I just dream that a couple of nights ago after I ate too much Crackerbarrel?’
Well, there seems to be a bit of that going around in sporting circles lately so to set the record straight here is the Freddy Krueger Dreams are no match for reality segment.

[ Click here to read more ]
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In the public relations move of the millennium, the AFL proposed recently that Australia’s greatest entertainment export (AC/DC) and their unique band of loyal supporters (The World) move their little concert thingy from Etihad Stadium to an alternative venue (Flemington Racecourse) to accommodate the most prestigious sporting tournament in the world (The NAB Cup).
There’s obviously a number of things wrong with that scenario. Sure, during Springtime Flemington Racecourse is the venue of choice for quality group one racing, heavy drinking suits and promiscuous hairdressers, but for anything other than the nags, the place struggles. The last major event outside the gee-gees was the visit of the Pontiff back in the eighties. A monumental case of blasphemy the more you look at it. Tens of thousands of pilgrims and catholic schoolkids worshipping on the very patch of grass where the term ‘dry-rooting’ was coined.
The Pope visited there you know...

[ Click here to read more ]
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Full Forwards

Adrian McAdam
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