The Ashes On Ice – Cricket Doesn’t Get Hotter™

So the “leadership group” (I use that term advisedly) of the Australian cricket team has sanctioned premeditated ball-tampering… cheating.

An early prototype of The Ashes On Ice™

Cricket Australia needs an urgent fix. Something to restore the faith of the Australian and global cricket fraternity.

Fear not. I’ve been rummaging around the team kit bag and next to the stained and battered protector, I discovered something that may just save Australian cricket: The Ashes On Ice.

This concept is an absolute jaffa* as Shane Warne says during British TV cricket commentary when he’s pretending to be English. *A jaffa in Australia has a different, orange / chocolatey meaning.

The Ashes On Ice. Just let that sink in.

Imagine the crowd chanting “LILLEE LILLEE” as Dennis Lillee circa 1975 slides to the top of his mark… turns, and comes steaming in from the Nursery End. Gold necklace bouncing…
moustache bristling… ice shredding… that look of unbridled fire towards W.G. Grace who is stoically anticipating a bouncer aimed at his throat. Oh, I didn’t mention the animatronics?

Think about it. Imagine seeing the long-departed Our Don Bradman, Fiery Fred Trueman, Keith Miller, Richie Benaud and other legends of the game get off the ice and promptly back on it?

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Why ice? Why not.

We can recreate the infamous Bodyline series with those arch-villains Larwood, Jardine and Voce taking on the courageous Aussies.

It doesn’t have to stop at Australia v the old enemy. Imagine the unbeatable West Indies,
with the great Viv Richards just chilling out on the ice. Viv never wore a helmet when he batted,
he wouldn’t need ice skates.

The greats of India, South Africa, Pakistan and New Zealand… all battling it out.
Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to relive the infamous underarm bowling incident… on ice?
Then there are the streakers…

“Yes, hello… is that Cricket Australia…?”

©Steve Williams 2018

“The Force Awakenzzzzzzzzzzzzz” Mania Is Sending Me To Sleep

So Star Wars: The Force Awakens will be released in the coming days and the world
has lost its collective mind.

Darth Vader demonstrates how to kill people with a thought.

The insanity surrounding The Force Awakens started back in October when the trailer was released, and then reached tsunami proportions when Harrison Ford appeared on every possible Australian TV program and in the flesh at the Sydney Opera House. “I’m sure Harrison will notice me if I wear my Han Solo costume.” There were a couple of blokes dressed as Indiana Jones, who would have drawn death stares from the Jar Jar Binks types. That’s the insidious power of ‘Star Wars’ — I’ve never seen a film, but I know the bloody characters.

Ford always seems to be fairly bemused by the whole Star Wars thing and the legions of fans, which was evident during his interview with (self-confessed fan) Leigh Sales. Sure, Star Wars was his meal ticket and propelled his career at warp-factor speed (I know, wrong sci-fi term), but Ford often uses the words “work” and “a job” to describe his time seated next to his hirsute co-pilot.

The first Star Wars film was released a long time ago in a year far, far away: 1977. The same year as Queen Elizabeth’s Silver Jubilee, and the Bee Gees released the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. No doubt hardcore Star Wars types have drawn some form of nerdish, non-existent, vortex-time-space-continuum-parallels between all three.

I was a young kid in 1977 and didn’t buckle to peer and advertising pressure to get on board the (Harrison Ford leg-fracturing) Millennium Falcon (see, I know that much). I was more interested in chasing girls, kicking a footy and playing cricket in the backyard than playing with Luke Skywalker figurines. Back then, being a smart arse, too-cool-for-school type of kid, I refused to see the film everyone was talking about. Thirty eight years later, nothing has changed. Each to their own.

Although, I’d much rather read about these hardcore Star Wars fans (have I used the word ‘geeks’ yet?) shooting each other in imaginary interplanetary battles at Star Wars conventions than psycho-terrorists on the streets of Paris doing the real thing, or a would be American President shooting his mouth off. Again.

The ribs and spine assist in expanding buy cheap levitra the lungs with air. By treating this hypertensive disorder women viagra online from the root of it. They promise you the best way of enjoying an erectile dysfunction treatment! With the recent statistic report, it has been seen that not many are truly concerned about the issue and viagra in usa are really very stressed due to it. While both substances work according to the usa cheap viagra same principles, there are certain differences. Another issue I have with the whole Star Wars palaver is the concept of the money-grubbing prequel. Not a fan. They squeeze all the narrative and cash out of the several thousand sequels, and then Trevor pipes up with “I know! How about a prequel or twelve?” Sequels and prequels should be banned by the UN.

Let’s just hope reality TV shows don’t catch on. Imagine a Kardashian prequel — the pre-school years. It probably wouldn’t work because it would be before the days of selfies, belfies and lip fillers, but if you steal my idea Momager Kris Jenner, I want a cut.

I have to say my all-time favourite Star Wars scene is a stand up comedy bit by Eddie Izzard which some genius set to stop-motion Lego. The scene is set in the Death Star canteen and features the immortal line from that asthmatic bloke in black: “It’s not a game of who the f*ck are you.” The wickedly ingenious concept of killing people with trays and/or thoughts and a penne arrabiata shout out is brilliant.

If all the dialogue in the Star Wars films was as good, Eddie Izzard played every character and they were created in Lego, I’d be a lightsaber-wielding fan-boi.

As is, I’d rather be sleeping.

©Steve Williams 2016

*This piece also appeared in The Huffington Post Australia:
‘The Force Awakenzzzzzzzzzzzzz’ Mania Is Sending Me To Sleep

FFS World, It’s Zoolander, Lighten Up

Sadly, I have suspected for quite a few years that the world has entirely lost its sense of humour, and it was confirmed this week.

An apparent non-non-binary Benedict Cumberbatch

I was reading one of the furious flood of online news articles screaming in outrage about a scene in the new Zoolander 2 movie.

No, correct that, a scene in the trailer of the new Zoolander 2 movie. So people are taking umbrage at a movie that hasn’t even been released yet.

FFS world, lighten up.

Apparently some (and our emphasise some) of our LGBT friends and outraged kindred spirits supposedly acting on their behalf are frothing at the mouth that the new film is sexist and transphobic. Really? The pitchforks and flaming torches are being aimed at a ten second scene involving Benedict Cumberbatch playing an apparent androgynous-looking model being asked if he has a hot dog or a bun.

That’s it. You’re losing your mind and clambering to the moral high ground over that? Seriously?

In another article, some earnest and no doubt well-meaning type was rabbiting on that a non-binary model should have been cast to play the Cumberbatch role. I have no idea what “non-binary” means. Is it algebra? (I was probably in the sick bay feigning death when they taught that bit at school)

It becomes purely in the hands of the common people. tadalafil in india It might be purchase of levitra explained in a way that there are presences of the harmful cancerous cells that get circulated across this gland marking the significance of this truth was mentioned in1924 when Dr. It helps in preparing students who are new to driving for the upcoming written exam and discount price viagra frankkrauseautomotive.com road test. In the case of female infertility, since the causes are many, it is always better to see a spebuy levitra from canada t or other health proficient for conclusion. As I said, all this is over a ten second scene in a movie nobody has seen. The Champagne corks would be popping in the Paramount Pictures marketing towers thanks to the gazillion dollars in free publicity. There are even petitions to ban the film. Now that’s hilarious.

It’s been a fairly shit year. The heartbreaking plight of refugees fleeing the Middle East and Africa resulting in dead children washing up on beaches, commercial planes being blown out of the sky, ISIS goons throwing people off buildings because of their sexual preference, a Sydney police accountant being shot in the back of the head by a fifteen year old as he left work, not to mention the recent events in Paris that killed 130 people whose only crime was going out on a Friday night.

We could do with a laugh. If Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson and Benedict Cumberbatch can provide a few in a light comedy, offending a few easily-offended in the process, then so be it.

As a kid, I was brought up on a healthy diet of comedy — English imports like Monty Python, Dave Allen, The Goon Show, Fawlty Towers, Derek and Clive, and brilliant Australian productions including The Naked Vicar Show, Paul Hogan, Blankety Blanks, The D-Generation, Doug Mulray, Andrew Denton etc, etc. Yes a lot of it was crass, immature, challenging, totally politically incorrect and simultaneously f*cking hilarious. Maybe they have all affected my moral compass Bermuda Triangle style, but I doubt it.

What happened? When did we lose our sense of humour? When was a jihad waged on satire and comedy?

Today people want to be outraged. They want to be angry and vent on Twitter and Facebook and violently hammer the keyboard creating cranky online petitions.

All of this is totally fine. You just need to make sure you’re angry and outraged over the important stuff, not a ten second bit in a movie trailer.

©Steve Williams 2015

Rolf Harris: guilty of cultural cringe

I never liked Rolf Harris.

“When was the last time Rolf Harris actually went out here?”

Not quite true — as a young kid I liked his song The Court of King Caractacus. I’d enjoy the silly word play, giggling as the song sped up to its climax until I got the hiccups.

Now using the words “climax” and “Rolf Harris” in the same sentence conjures up disgust.

Many words have been written about his trial and conviction on indecent assault charges.
I’m not going to add to them, other than I hope his pathetically weak sentence is increased and the man rots in jail.

My dislike of Harris started long before his name was even linked to any wrongdoing.

Rolf Harris was too Australian, while simultaneously not Australian enough.
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He was jingoistic at its worst — which didn’t go down too well with my fellow Australians.

It was so fake and as we say in Australia, “bunged on”. He was guilty of cultural cringe. I used to watch Harris painting his bog-standard landscape scenes of the Australian outback and the bush and wonder, “when was the last time you actually went out there?”

The Poms (and many Australians) lapped it up — this simple act of the misplaced Aussie overseas. Harris stuck to that act for over sixty years.

It turned out we couldn’t trust Harris, unlike British Paints that he flogged for years.

The sense of betrayal felt by English and Australian fans of Harris is quite palpable. Though this betrayal is obviously nothing compared to what his victims have and continue to endure.

©Steve Williams 2014