Category: sport

Shining a light on The Everest

Posted on by SW

Dear Racing NSW,

I feel your pain.

All you were trying to do was share the edge-of-your-seat excitement, the spine-tingling adrenalin rush of that one day in October – the greatest sporting event ever held
in Australia, neigh, the universe: The Everest.

The Great Barrier Reef, the ultimate billboard for The Everest

They don’t understand the magnitude of what you are trying to achieve.

Those rabid, inner city, ABC-watching, latte-sipping punters. No, you can’t call them punters; they wouldn’t know the thrill of losing their rent money on what should have been a sure thing at Hawkesbury on a Thursday afternoon. Those unAustralian bastards, pathetically trying to upstage your brilliant Opera House event by waving their lights like 21st century flaming torches.

The Everest. Congratulations on the name, it is so inspiring, so Australia, so Sydney. It evokes… the 14 tons of human waste that has been carried down from base camp and other locations on Mount Everest this year.

Look, I know your promotion for the race that stops the… well, just stops, had a bit of a fall as it turned for home. I’ve saddled up some feisty advertising and PR campaigns over the years 
and I can help.

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We dig the heels in and get the whip out with the genius idea of projections.
It worked so well at the Opera House, we have a red hot go at other iconic Aussie billboards, starting with Ayers Rock. Forget that PC “Uluru” bullshit, it’s Ayers Rock. You can’t tell me that massive sandstone monolith wouldn’t make a great projector screen to beam the race live.

When I think of The Everest, I think big (also a nod to the champion thoroughbred that saluted the judge in the ’74 and ’75 Melbourne Cups). We screen the race on the big things conveniently scattered around Australia in key lose-your-shirt-on-the-punt demographics:
The Big Banana, The Big Merino, The Big Lobster, The Big Pineapple, The Big Boxing Crocodile and of course The Big Ned Kelly. They’re all champing at the bit for The Everest.

Speaking of big, our piece of resistance is a projector screen that covers 344,400 square kilometres – The Great Barrier Reef.

Those greenie-pinko protesters will tell you that it’s dying due to climate change,
which is crap, but we need to have it totally white to use as a screen. So I’ve contacted every race club secretary in Australia and a few hours before the race we’re going to have a convoy of 70,000 utes park on the Reef, revving their engines and the exhaust fumes will finish it off, just in time for the gates to spring open. I reckon next year, we actually run the race on the Reef.

In the time-honoured, venerable one-year history of The Everest,
I assure you, this will be the greatest ever. Giddy up.

©Steve Williams 2018

Rugby League — Greatest Memories of All

Posted on by SW

Australian rugby league fans have a passion that can’t be dismissed.

It’s a game we played, grew up with, watched on the telly and listened to on the radio.
We still do. It’s our game.

Here are a few random memories from when I was a kid growing up in Sydney.

The greatest team in the history of sport

*Getting splinters in your arse from those wooden seats at Cumberland Oval.
The exuberant Eels fans that torched it after the 1981 premiership win did us all a favour.

*Running onto the ground as the fulltime siren sounded to try and grab the black and white striped cardboard corner post. I was successful a few times.

*Listening to the great Frank Hyde on 2SM. When people still listened to 2SM.

*The halftime entertainment malfunctions that have plagued Grand Finals — the busted TV allegedly to promote Optus Vision (which was actually quite prophetic), John Williamson serenading an inflatable rubber tree with “Rip Rip Woodchip” after loggers had threatened a blockade of the SCG, the cast of “42nd Street” standing forlornly in the centre of the ground waiting in vain for their music to start, and more recently, Billy Idol’s hovercraft cutting the power, which was a good thing.

*The sensational prizes bestowed on guests of TV’s “Controversy Corner” — including a Pelaco shirt, vouchers for a Viking Sauna and Kevin Junee’s Run For Your Life sports store and the piece of resistance — a bottle of Patra orange juice.

*“The Theme From Shaft” used over the closing credits of Channel Seven’s Sunday night footy coverage with Rex Mossop. Not sure what a “blaxploitation” film had to do with footy, but there’s probably a parallel. “Chips and eggs” was the standard Sunday night fare in the Williams household.
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*The Chook Army (diehard supporters of Eastern Suburbs) singing “We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / We hate Ray Price and we hate Ray Price / we are the Ray Price haters”. One actually threw a grapefruit at him while he was in his petrified praying mantis pose — he didn’t budge.

*The “sand boy” running on with a small bucket of sand to for the ball to sit on before conversions and penalty shots at goal.

*Scanlen’s footy cards — that sweet smell of the thin pink strip of bubble gum lingering on the cards… and still lingers with me. Some bastard kid knocking the cards out of another kids’ hands in the school playground yelling “Scramble!!!” which meant a mad free-for-all.

*Having a birthday party with a few mates when I was about ten at Lidcombe Oval for the Chooks v the Magpies, we were sitting behind the try line and were captured in mid-try celebration mode in a photo on the back page of the next day’s Daily Mirror.

*The arse falling out of your meat pie at a brass monkey-inducing Sydney Sports Ground.

*The trainer scurrying on to the field with his “magic sponge” dunked in a bucket of water, mopping up a horrific head gash, then redunking it in the same bucket, primed for the next injury.

*One of my most prized possessions — the autographs of the entire victorious Roosters 1975 side (on an Easts Leagues Club wine list — thanks Uncle Pete).

For all its faults — and there are a few, it’s a bloody good game. It’s our game.

©Steve Williams 2018

*This piece also appeared in The Huffington Post Australia:
The Good Old Days When Rugby Was In A League Of Its Own

Australian soccer needs a drama queen

Posted on by SW

So Australia is out of the World Cup. Again.

We didn’t make it beyond the Group Stage, by forgetting the premise of the game – get the ball into the net – especially against that football superpower Peru.

Right now, the clipboard-wielding boffins at Football Federation Australia are locked in crisis-think tank-workshop-post mortems, ruminating where our campaign went wrong,
and hopefully looking down the back of the lounge for a striker.

Australia’s new soccer coach

As Australia embarks on the sandblasted “Road To Qatar”, I have the solution, and it has nothing to do with kicking said ball. It’s acting.

Stay with me. Some of the performances we have seen in the World Cup have been brilliant. Brazilian superstar Neymar took a pathetic award-winning dive and the piss, falling to the pitch mortally wounded, like he’d just had a Brazilian.

See, this is where Australia falls down. Or not. We need to get onboard this diving caper. It’s essential.

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I call for Cate Blanchett to be annointed as Socceroos coach.

This is inspired. Imagine what the Academy Award / Golden Globe / BAFTA / etc, etc-winner could do to make Australia competitive on soccer’s greatest stage. The subtle nuances of mock-agony… the unworldly talent of clutching your face, screaming like you have just been shot, when you only received a mere fairytap on your knee. Penalty. Thanks Cate.

There’s been talk of not enough “mongrel” in the Australian team… hire Alf Stewart from Home and Away as Assistant Coach. He’d flamin’ sort ’em out, quick smart. Geoffrey Rush could chime in with brilliant character acting expertise, very handy when convincing the ref you have been critically injured by a non-existent elbow. Penalty.

Don’t you see? We would beat those dive-and-piss-taking-thespians from Europe and South America at their own game.

This is the future of Australian soccer. Let’s create our own Theatre of Dreams.
“Hello, Cate…”

©Steve Williams 2018

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

Posted on by SW

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