“Hey Juzzy, what’s the barrel for?”

“Fishin’.”

“And the shotgun?”

“Fishin’.”

Welcome to my wrap up of the Olympics, folks, and please bear with me if this rant is even more incoherent than usual, because I honestly don’t know where to start.

I just need to open with a big fat “I told you so” to everyone who was listening to my predictions in the lead-up. What did we get? A whole shitload of boring gits in the studio, ponderous video montages and endless fucking repeats of Australian fucking swimmers. We got censorship, we got journalists getting bashed, we got Chinese grannies left homeless because their land was compulsorily acquired for stadia and new hotels with no compensation. We got footage of the Grannies being threatened by police until the cameras were off, at which time they were arrested and sent off for re-education. We got industrial strength chutzpah from the Chinese government with the “oh yeah, we promised open access for the media and stuff, but hey, we’re China. You didn’t actually believe us did you? When you guys gonna work it out??? Ha ha ha ha ha get fucked!!!!”

I have to concede that I was wrong about the build quality of the Olympic precinct, however – I was sure that the same people who had built the schools that fell down in the earthquakes a fortnight prior had been engaged, and we were going to see some stadium collapses that would have shaded the opening ceremony for spectacle and human misery.

It is open to conjecture whether all the athletes arriving home safe and well is actually a good thing, however. All the pissing and moaning and demands for more government money from the AOC and assorted athletes since they’ve got back is wearing thin already, and if I read one more whine from some spoilt little shit athlete about how the Olympics bring us together as a nation and give us all a common blah blah wank fiddle…

Fuck off and get a real job you little jerks, one that doesn’t entail me paying for you to train every day and live at the AIS and get a free trip overseas to shag all the other taxpayer-funded parasites and come back for a gig on Dancing With The Stars.

So, let’s start with a lament for all those pesky sporting events that got in the way of channel 7’s Stephanie Rice/Michael Phelps show. You know, the ones that don’t get much of an airing at the best of times, like the shooting or the archery. Yes, they were in the Olympics, but of course you wouldn’t have known it because Australia’s medal chances dropped out early or we never had any to begin with. As for the field events, well it’s lucky we got a gold in the pole vault, because otherwise we would have seen exactly nothing. Discus for example? We saw three throws, two of them fouls, from an Australian. And that was it.

So what we got in the way of coverage of most events was a couple of minutes, at best, of an Australian competing, completely out of context, perhaps a medal winner or two, then more super slo-mo montages and replays of medal-winning performances we’d seen at least twice an hour for the past week. If you’re obsessed with Stephanie Rice, Michael Phelps, Usain Bolt and Qantas ads, then Seven’s coverage fulfilled your needs. If you’re like the rest of us, well, you got fucked.

A good example was this: I flicked over to 7 and got, surprise surprise, a bunch of ads. Then, it’s the lovely Joanna Griggs in the studio, who intros an Australian competitor in the white water slalom. So we get exactly two and a half minutes of an Aussie in a kayak. Then it’s back to Joanna, and another ad break. Then we’re back, for a two minute montage of various bloody swimmers, and we got some wonderful underwater shots of female water polo players.

Just a quick nod to the inventor of GussetCam. Whoever he is (and he must have been a he) should be congratulated for turning the viewing of all female sport (except weightlifting and dressage) into a relentless search for stray pubic hair or labia. When combined with the super slow-motion high definition, it makes the gymnastics and the hurdles a bit disturbing, to say the least.

Then I changed the channel. If I had a dollar for everyone I’ve heard say “Thank goodness for SBS” in the last couple of weeks, I’d have about six hundred dollars. Strange that whenever I turned it on I got table tennis or football, but I’ve never been that lucky with SBS. My whole life of late-night channel-surfing has been catching glimpses of a French chick putting her clothes ON.

So what were the standouts from this Olympics? Usain Bolt won the 100 and 200 (and obviously was in the same queue as Leyton Hewitt when they were handing out dignity and humility). Michael Phelps won eight gold in the swimming, and Stephanie Rice is a babe, who may or may not be shagging Michael Phelps. Tamsin Lewis showed once again why we should stop handing out money for track and field – has she ever actually won anything against anyone who’s any good? She’s had plenty to say, but never ever had anything to back up her grotesquely inflated sense of self, except passably good looks and a decent bod.

She’s held in only marginally less contempt than that rower who bottled, and I’d be surprised if any sponsors would want such a non-event associated with their brand. About the only thing left for little Tammy is to get it all out and shake it all about for a men’s magazine, and the sooner she does so, the sooner we can all forget about her, at least until she shows up on Celebrity Wheel of Fortune.

Phew, sorry about that. I haven’t reached that level of bile since the last time I saw Tony Abbott on Lateline…

London in four years should be better, but for now I’m watching the Paralympics, and enjoying the sight of Chinese people being disgustingly rude to the disabled.

* * * *

So, we’re into the first week of the AFL finals, and I think I should revisit my predictions from the May issue…

Geelong: I was right, they can’t be beaten.

Footscray: Well, they ran fast the other night, just mostly without the ball.

St Kilda: double chance avails us of the opportunity to get creamed two weeks running by teams with some balls. I love Robert Harvey, and I wish he didn’t have to go through this.

Hawthorn: Yeah, they’re good, but I was wrong about nobody noticing, and I WILL kill the next sub-editor who runs a “You Buddy Beauty!” headline.

Adelaide: Gone, but unfortunately back next year.

Richmond: Ninth. Again. Terry Wallace still mad.

Collingwood: Hate!

North Melbourne: eyeing off the draft concessions for the new Gold Coast franchise, and shuffling their feet nervously.

Sydney: less than 20,000 for a final. Apparently there wasn’t enough marketing done, because people in Sydney still don’t know about the Swans. They’ve been up there for a quarter of a century now, how many NSW residents live in caves???

Andrew Demetriou made it back alive from Beijing. Bummer, but at least it gave him the opportunity to play the naked emperor, yet again, when confronted, yet again, with the not entirely implausible suggestion that a team in western Sydney may in fact be entirely implausible. Face some challenges, he says. Sheesh. Why does he hate Tasmania so much? Daryl Baldock? Martin Flanagan? They’ll have their own team in the Super 16s Rugby before he acknowledges their Australian Rules credentials..

* * * *

Finally, a quick wrap up of local sport. The KOT held its first pool comp a couple of Mondays ago. Huuuuuge thanks and pats on the back for Toby for arranging it, Ben as always did a standout job as ref/MC. Big Tone won the singles, against some terrifyingly serious competition in the form of Toby, and the doubles, well, your beloved editors somehow took home the chocolates, despite way too much to drink and Jane forgetting her glasses.

Done for now, and Tamsin, if you’re reading this, we got the ad copy, but what was your phone number again? 1-900-SLOWRUNNER or something?

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