Say Something...

Fleetwood Mac was in town the other day. So naturally while on the tram I assumed every 40 - 50 year old getting off at Rod Laver Arena would be attending some Britney Spears concert. It could happen if she's still alive in a couple of decades, but going on current form who can really tell? But of course I could never afford to see something of that vintage and quality as I was off to the one dayer at the G' with Marcus, which of course we lost due to half the team literally getting caught out big time. I find that particular ad often comes back to bite the Vics in situations like these.

Once we figured out who was playing, a lot of fun was had speculating on who their support act would be. My favourites were Nickelback and/or Linkin Park for pure contrast in both style and quality. Just hearing "Fleetwood Mac with special guests Short Stack!" is enough to bring a smile to my stupid easily amused face. When I first heard of Short Stack could only envisage singing emo pancakes in spray on jeans and 'meggings' (Men in tights, but nothing like the Mel Brooks movie).

Indeed apart from that there wasn't all that much to smile about at the game itself. The only real point of interest was when the Chiu household lord and saviour Cam White brought himself on to bowl a couple of overs. Perhaps that was the omen I should've been looking out for. No, Whitey... no!

On a completely unrelated note, I realise it's been a very long time since I wrote anything here. Uni aside, writing these is a lot harder than it used to be given that I probably over think things too much so I end up rewriting a lot of what you see here. It's also a bit more difficult as I still link these posts through FriendFace/FaceSpace/SpaceFrame and I've become a lot more conscious as to who might be reading this pile of merde. Not that I expect many people to actually read whatever I write anyway.

I've come to see this as the test match version of blogging and my Twitter feed as the T20 version. Whichever form of the game I stick with remains to be seen. In any case, here endeth the hiatus.

Still no time to write anything overly substantial, not that said quality was ever really present to begin with. Still, it's 2am and thanks to my everlasting commitments to uni I don't feel like sleeping just yet. I don't know how regular people pull it off really.

Here's a nice photo I took early on in the semester where I didn't actually have all that much to store. Can't say there's too much time to actually play now, though I did manage to have a quick hit out the other day. Made a rotten effort of it really... I'm either blaming the fading afternoon sunlight or I've completely forgotten how to read a ball.

This is partially what I do with my waking hours now. assembling computer generated, laser cut models that don't actually work because the material is so lousy at doing anything. Unfortunately the alternative is MDF, a product widely promoted as the next asbestos. In fact I'm pretty certain I had some MDF for dinner in class tonight, fun times.


If we really can be helped we'd probably go to Nando's or KFC for some refreshing chicken grease. They make the best products to ever come out of mashing a chicken into little pieces for our nourishment. Given the chance though, I'd try and get some red meat instead... unless you want Sam Neill coming after you dressed like his character in Event Horizon, sans eyes claiming that we were meant to eat red meat while tearing chunks of flesh off you and dancing some sort of jig. What a nice thought to finish on...

Curse you Lady Gaga, what does that even mean? If the explanation of the lyrics are to be believed, she sure has one expressive body.

Cricket, cards, more cricket and then some poker. All in all a good day out, but no poker game would be complete without some sort of god hand. Such hands are more impressive as we don't use decks that are obviously rigged like those used on poker tournaments on TV. We had it on in the background and pocket aces showed up no less than three times in the same tournament. Who needs statistical reality when you can entertain everyone at home?

The closest we got to something like that was this hand. Such crazy luck, I'm so sorry Ken.


Judging from this captured memento it looks like I was the dealer in this round. Seems natural that I'd end up giving myself the upper hand...

I could blame Tandy for going to losing Bushrangers' games. I could blame Cameron White's "Six or Bust" batting. I could blame my sister for not bringing me another free piece of food. But nothing will take away the fact that we blew yet another final at the G'. This has all the beginnings of a trend, one that I don't care for at all... I sure hope we don't become the Geelong of cricket finals.

My sister is now a sports journalist in training which in short means she gets to go to the press box and go to press conferences afterwards. That meant I had a fair but undefined amount of time to waste after the cursed innings so I went with Tandy to a HK style cafe restaurant in the city and got what I always got in HK... French toast!
















I only now realise I have developed this strange habit of taking photos of my food whenever I eat out. But how else will I memorialise that egg and ham on instant noodle? I also realise I could easily make that at home for nothing, but you can't go wrong with HK style cuisine... unless the MSG and grease does something awful to you down the line.

In an entirely unrelated note, in my complete and utter boredom/supreme vanity the other day I set up a Twitter account, you can locate it here and via the widget on my front page sidebar. So far only two people I barely know use it, but if this thing takes off like everyone says it will then I might have a reason to use it 2000 times a day. Then you will all know when and what I'm eating...

...Well at least for the few glorious moments until he holed out in the deep trying to hit another six. And don't forget he also has a perfect record as national vice captain in the T20 format. It's all upside, people!

Okay, first things first. Does this look anything like me? Cos apparently he doesn't even know either.


At the very least he kind of looks more in proportion than my Wii avatar.

I've been listening to a lot of old music as of late, I'm not completely sure why but it must be partially due to the fact I've been listening to that cursed golden oldies channel on the radio. It doesn't help when the late night talkback guy on the Ms berates anyone who has a slightly dissimilar opinion to his own. Fortunately he's been fired so I won't have to complain about him any longer. Anywho, for some odd reason I feel the need to rip on the latest edition of 'Pop Hits 2008' as my ears are still bleeding after all these months.


All Summer Long, Kid Rock
Bastardising one song is usually more than enough depending on the vintage and pedigree of the song pillaged. For example Vanilla Ice ruining "Under Pressure" is one I don't appreciate. Ruining two perfectly fine songs in the one outing is even worse - "Werewolves of London" and "Sweet Home Alabama" are respectable songs that in all probability were not looking to get hitched up any time soon but no they just had to go ahead with it. I suppose it's not so bad for your average midteener who has no knowledge of any music or culture before 1998, but I am not as lucky as they are.


See You Again, Miley Cyrus
The most telling contribution to music and society in general is a cricketing song based on this odd piece of music. Writing credits should go to Marcus and myself but mostly Marcus as I recall being really tired at the time. Writing lyrics after midnight at the Pancake Parlour will do that to you. The idea for it comes from the process in which my sister and I named one of our pop eyed goldfish Bhaji, after Harbajan Singh when we misheard the chants of the Indian supporters as 'Hodgey'. At the time I thought there was no way he was that popular. For a while we explained any bizarre goldfish behaviour as someone 'just being Bhaji'. And with Bhaji constantly getting into trouble for random things like slapping Sreesanth and opening his mouth at inappropriate moments, we should really write another verse next time the Indians tour.

Bowl You Again, Yong/Chiu/Cyrus/Aramato/James

Don't Want To Go To Bed, Gabriella Cilmi
All I want to say about this song is that in case of emergency, in this case running out of words in the dictionary, just use the word 'good' as many times as required until the song is over.


I'm Yours, Jason Mraz
I'm only complaining about this song because they use it on those adverts for "Packed to the Rafters", the show which millions of people tune in each week under the assumption that Pat Rafter will be making an appearance. Perhaps giving the show a more urban edge and renaming it "Pat to the Rafters" would give it more appeal to the overseas markets. But of course understanding that would require prior knowledge of this song. As the chorus goes:


Huh? Sounds like something Mark Holden would say.

This blog post is brought to you today by the Time Life "80s Music Explosion" compilation starring Belinda Carlisle and that other guy in a suit. If you missed it catch it late weeknights on Ten. Or if the new free to air alliance Freeview is to be believed, on every single one of the 15 channels available to us in the new year. Imagine that, 15 channels of wall to wall late night home shopping on the television. Perhaps I will buy that steam cleaner I've never wanted.

I only mention this because I found myself watching the promotional infomercial in question and for some odd perverse reason found myself enjoying those 80s hits cascading across my screen. I would chalk this one up to the time of day and my perhaps mentally incapacitated state at said time, but it can't be all that - there must be something horribly wrong with me... I'm not sure what the cure for taste in bad 80s music is, it might lead to Clockwork Orange style reprogramming sessions where I end up in spasms every time I hear "Like To Get To Know You Well" by Howard Jones. Oh hold on, I already do that. Curse this medication.

Perhaps the most disturbing part of becoming accustomed to a dodgy late night television advertorial is the fact that I visited the Time Life website as part of a follow up for this post. Frankly I shouldn't be surprised that such a site exists as this will give them the opportunity to bombard me with out of copyright material both online and on TV. Even more disturbingly there are six ratings for this product, meaning at least six people have no knowledge of the internet and how to acquire music from it.

Oh and before I leave you with that nice thought, it has come to my attention that people have been pancaking without my presence. I imagine this is how it feels to be cheated on, so is this the time where I act like a jilted lover and play "(I Just) Died in your Arms" by Cutting Crew while sobbing over the onion soup I'm preparing? Hey, that's conveniently on that Time Life 80s compilation! I'd make an insensitive Brett Lee comment but I'm paranoid that he'll track me down in his giant bouncing ball and pound me to death on the pavement.

Just a quick one for today. I don't normally outsource my brutish college brand of humour but this one really made me laugh. The day you see Say Something written with a Punjabi slant on current events is the day it's all over.

Of course you have to actually know the song for it to make any sense and the MS Office stylings are a bit cheap, but I love a good pie chart gag once in a while. This love is only exceeded by my affinity for Venn diagram jokes.


In other news, Brett Lee managed to snare the Allan Border Medal from the hands of the anti Indian Hayden and Ponting (hey, that wasn't written by me...!) in what my dad might describe as being a "disapponting" year for the two of them ("BOING"... that was definitely not me). In celebration, let us all sing the anthem I was performed many times in the past and will now share with you, the reader.

BRETT LEEEE!!!!
BRETT LEEEE!!!!
Brett Lee was a man
I mean, he was a bowlin' man
Or maybe he was just a bowler
But he was still BRETT LEE!
BRETT LEE!

Bowlinating the countryside
Bowlinating the peasants
Bowlinating all the peoples
In the thatched-roof COTTAGES! THATCHED-ROOF COTTAGES!

When the English line-up is in ruin
And bowlination makes them cry in their sleep
Only one guy will remain
My money's on

BRETT LEE!
BRETT LEE!

And the Brett Lee comes in the NIIIIIGHT!

Okay, so I didn't exactly make up a lot of the lyrics. The ones in red are the one I rarely have the memory to perform and so I have not really made anything up for them. Notice how nothing rhymes. The original was not much better, but it is Trogdor after all. Feel free to offer suggestions. The best one will win a prize of some non-description.

So really the song comes down to:

BRETT LEEEE!!!!
BRETT LEEEE!!!!

Bowlinating the countryside
Bowlinating the peasants
Bowlinating all the peoples

And the Brett Lee comes in the NIIIIIGHT!


I for one think it's better off this way.


PS: I was watching "Ice Princess" the other night for some reason. The family was watching that while I was squinting trying to watch Top Gear in the Picture-In-Picture. No dice. Apart from being a Disney production, I was surprised to see it starred The Key from Buffy being best friends with the cheerleader from Heroes whose mother happened to be Kim Cattrall. I sat there in amazement thinking this must have been the first role for Cattrall in a while where the plot didn't involve her trying to have sex with everyone/thing in sight. She was trying to screw Trachtenberg's character over at one point though, does that count?


PPS: I just finished reading the original "I Am Legend" after having to wait two months for it to show up at the library only to have the family dawdle about with it for the first two and a half weeks and forcing it upon me with four days to go before it was due back. It's quite popular right now for obvious reasons but I'm sure most people will be disappointed (or should I say disapponted, "kerching!") to find out the book is nothing like the movie. The movie manages to do a decent job of it, with many of the plots altered slightly to either suit modern times or for various other movie reasons. I would've liked to have seen a movie loyal to the original storyline, but I'm not too fussed I guess. Will Smith does own the role good though the ending was crapola.


Haha, fooled you into thinking this wouldn't take long! Now you've wasted five minutes you're never getting back*!

*Refunds of time will be honoured if possible upon presentation of coupon and depending on how you plan on wasting my time. No talk of how reality TV gets better and better each year please. I will throttle you myself.

Here's a rundown of what my Friday and Saturday consisted of.

Friday - 6.30pm
Get off work and jump on the train to Eltham. Allegedly perform Jedi Mind Trick on ticket inspector by showing him a Zone 1 ticket at Montmorency. Of course just typing it doesn't make it real in case of libel, but they really should find a better way of policing fare evasion which doesn't involve assuming people are awful criminals. You know, guys like me (if indeed I did do it...)

7.30
Arrive at Eltham station and jump into Marcus' car to find out Sri Lanka is playing like crap. Break into rendition of Marsland's "Vengabus/Charminda Vaas is coming" because I can. It's either hilarious or bewildering depending on your knowledge or sense of humour.

8.00
Arrive at Marcus' place then receive phone call from his girlfriend Eileen where her family has failed to detect a mutant kebab that had been growing in their unused oven for almost three months. Images of Resident Evil style slayings of semi sentient undead kebab men somehow conjure themselves up in my head. With an imagination like that, it's times like those that I'm most glad to be me and not some mindless git.

8.40
Actual conversation with Eileen takes this long as we have a big conference call over speaker phone, just like Jack Bauer would with the President. Tomb Raider is on and she announces some sort of liking for Angelina Jolie for no particular reason. I suppose I have no issue with that.

9.00
Around this time the Australia v Sri Lanka game is done and dusted and was very disappointing indeed. But never fear, as Marcus introduces me to the wonderful world of indoor cricket... through corridors and doorways. For the next couple of hours we barely avoid smashing priceless family heirlooms while we upgrade our hand eye coordination. Every now and then we use the door jambs to our advantage with Beckham like bends to fool Hawkeye.

11.00
One the only reasons I would shell out some hard earned for the infinite repitorium (where TV shows go to die in an endless cycle of repeats) known as cable comes on in the form of Conan O'Brian. Due to the writers' strike he fills time by giving an audience member a tour of the NBC building where they run up and down stairs a lot. It sounds a lot less interesting than it actually is. O'Brian is a champ.

Saturday - 12.00am
At some point we sit down to watch the replay of the T20 game between the Kiwis and the Poms. England is actually good for once which is a nice change of pace. We also go for another innings of household smashout and play cards for a bit until 2am or so. At this stage I've been awake for almost 20 hours and really should know better.

3.00
The cricket ends and early episodes of WPT comes on. Van Patten is in the early stages of perfecting his toolish facade. Oh wait, he was always like that. Backgammon comes on at 4am and try as I might, I will not be able to pick up the finer qualities of the game at this time of night. Some random Russian girl is playing there and happens to be less than half the average age of everyone else there, not to again mention the fact she is female. Backgammon championships are a lot like chess championships, but with fewer groupies.

6.00
My timeline is very foggy at this stage for good reason, but I think there were only two hours of backgammon. You know it'd do a lot better if it had commentary by Dennis Commetti or Vince Van Patten. I don't know of any good backgammon jokes, please send them in and explain them in 500 words or less.

Around this time more cricket comes on. This time it's the replay of last night's game and I sleep through the awfulness.

12:00pm
Awaken to uncertain morning and feel need for more cricket. No, not really but a shower took care of that. They have a a mini hourglass in the shower which helps them with water restrictions and all. I suddenly feel like the Prince of Persia in the Sands of Time where the floor of the shower cubicle opens up to plunge my awfully drenched naked body into a snake pit. Then all I'd have to do is turn the hourglass upside down and all would be well again! I continue playing Sands of Time for the next half hour, single handedly undoing all the water Marcus' family would have saved over the course of the month.

I know you didn't need all that imagery, I'm so sorry. In case you were wondering, I didn't spend all that time in the shower. I kid, I kid!

2.00
While waiting for lunch, we go to the backyard to play outdoors cricket where we can hit the ball slightly harder. Lunch comes and goes, where I forget how hot hot English mustard actually is when I put dollop upon dollop on into my burger roll. It has a certain Wasabi feel to it which clears my sinuses up good. I try not to show it but I occasionally have to take an extra drink.

3.00
Back for more cricket. A live ODI between NZ and England is on, but England have suddenly forgotten how to play 50 overs cricket and are promptly bowled out for a low total. It was so bad we decided we had to go outside and play just to prove even we are less incompetent than those stinking Poms. It's strange how much easier the ball is to his when you're not facing scoreboard pressure. It also helps that we're not trying to tear each other's heads off with each delivery.

Sunday - 2pm
By now I have been home for a fair while but the match between us and the Indians comes on the TV. I watch about 10 overs before I decide I've had enough and go upstairs for some much needed sleep. I later wake up at 7 to discover we're in deep shit anyway, so no big loss really.

And that's all from me for now. If all goes well I'll have an epic post that'll reek of effort and will hopefully muster a chuckle or two out of a couple of you. Laters, y'all!

Well another year has passed, and capping off the old year I am pleased to present you with Say Something's 50th post! I suppose I would've passed this milestone at some point sooner or later but my laziness seems to have coincided with the conclusion of what has turned out to be a pretty decent year. And with that it's time to tell my last story for the year, so sit tight and enjoy the ride.

We had the pleasure of going to see the Aussies take on the Indians at the MCG for Boxing Day this year, and I managed to be there for the first two days which is a lot more than usual, given that I can only take so much spectating of this fine sport in one punch. Cricket is not for everyone, especially when you consider the fact that the game is only outdone by football/soccer for the proportion of time where nothing happens. Even for a more than casual supporter like myself there are times when all that blocking doesn't exactly stimulate the senses.

But not to worry, we were all promised that the Indians would have more than enough batting prowess to menace the Australian Test squad. After all names like Tendulkar, Dravid and Laxman are not to be taken so lightly. Surely they would do a better job than the Sri Lankans did when they came down here the month before. The huge gap in between innings for the locals had only made our thirst for the game even more umm... thirstier than before. It was time for a showdown.

For the first day it certainly seemed that way. The Australians won the toss and elected to bat, and the Indians did a fine job of it at first. It took Hayden and Jacques around three overs to get off the mark in a fine contest as the bowlers tried to tempt them into playing rash shots. It's always a good show when spectators sarcastically applaud the batsmen for making contact with the ball, even with a defensive shot.

At some point during the morning session a small party of Indian supporters came along and sat next to us. For some reason they were all wearing sailor hats and holding up nonsensical banners like "India makes cricket famous, and Indians make cricketers famous". Most of the other banners were in Indian, but if this was an example of things to come, perhaps it was better I didn't know. I'm not pretending to be all high and mighty about people's choice of slogans, but I'm sure there was an error in logic somewhere along the line. I hope that didn't come off as accidentally racist, but if you see this blog up on Today Tonight you'll know somethings gone slightly awry.

Taking pictures at the cricket seems to blur into one... all pictures seems to look the same after a while. But each year presents new opportunities to document and mock, so here we go...




Day One presented the MCG with an additional $12000 to the coffers of the mighty MCC as two streakers decided they had too much money and it was probably better off elsewhere. The guy grainily photographed here made it halfway to the pitch before being tackled by the police, while the second guy made it across the wicket before anyone could apprehend him. It really does highlight how unfit we as a nation are if our best streakers can't even make it across a field. They're not wearing anything that will slow them down aerodynamically which really does disappoint me.




Speaking of sources of unfit streakers, at some point during the day it was time to grab something to eat. On the way into the ground we saw a Nando's trailer operating near our gate which was very appealing, given that their food doesn't feel like it came out of a cesspool filled to the brim with enough grease to slicken John Travolta's hair in all those films he made back in the 70s. However it did come at a small additional price. How much more? If you couldn't be bothered squinting at the photo above, here it is in its full crapulence.




Holy Jeebus, what a bargain! Lining up at the end of the queue seven metres away didn't ring any bells, it was only when I was two customers away from the prize when I realised my eyesight was not deceiving me in some sort of cruel joke. At the outlet outside Telstra Dome they manage to sell combos for a decent price, but here it was clear that the definition of value has to be compared to each other overpriced store at the G'. It made little sense for me to pay full price for each item, especially when they didn't even give you a damn bag to carry all the crap you bought off them. It took me five minutes to find a spot to put everything down so I could reach for my reentry pass and even then it was hard not to feel hard done by.

Still I didn't let that minor piece of extortion get to me. We had the rest of the day to enjoy as the Australians batted on. The Indians had the best of the afternoon sessions as they took wickets at regular intervals and it really seemed like they'd be able to use that advantage during Day Two. How wrong was I.


Lousy Charades-Like Game

On Friday we all got together for a nice day of drafting at Darren's place. Nine of us turned up which was a pretty cool achievement considering the fact we are playing MtG after all. Describing details when it comes to card games makes for kind of dry reading so in summary I managed to come second playing a Giant deck that fell at the last hurdle to Xiao's Treefolk/Elf deck due to some unhelpful topdecking, some poor play on my behalf and the fact I passed on the Timber Protector which won him the third and deciding game. As the saying tattooed on Ben Cousins goes, Such is draft. Overall that wasn't that big a deal as we both got the cards we wanted.

Later on we played a game where we played idiots living in a small village accusing each other of murder Midsomer Murders style before lynch mobbing them in a game which required a lot of creative ways to die and a lot of sleeping. Random accusations and a lot of bluffing were required to be any good at this game in order to hunt down the werewolf mafia that were whacking people off at random. Fortunately we knew each other fairly well, as I reckon that a group with tensions running deep would manage to bring it all to the surface in a bout of wild allegations and the entire party would end up on the set of Springer in a show themed, 'When Good Games Go Bad'

My personal highlight of the night came when we started playing a game known as Taboo. The basic gist of it is to try and get your team mates to guess the word on the card without using any of the associated words listed alongside it. No gestures or funny sounds are allowed either so it's all in the phrasing. Answering the questions wasn't so bad for me for the most part, but trying to string clues together is slightly more challenging as you are racing against the clock. At one point I flipped over a card with the word 'benefit' written on it. I stumbled around with the neurons inside that thing I claim to be a brain before coming up with something that went a little like this.

"Umm, how about... 'Friends with _____?' You know, when friends become more than just good friends? Argh, (can't believe I was about to say this... especially in a friend's living room with his family several rooms away) you know what they call them... Fuck Buddies?"

Cries of "Come on! Someone has to know this!" were met with dumb silence (I mean that in the least insulting kind of way) while the opposing team sitting behind me cottoned on as to what the hell I was on about. In retrospect the reference was probably a little too obscure for everyone's purposes seeing as it wasn't exactly in common use. The most recent reference to that phrase came from Boston Legal... and only Xiao had followed that storyline. Maybe I should've gone with "the opposite of detriment" or something like that, I dunno. It was certainly worth a try though, and at least everyone left that night slightly the wiser.


And that brings us to the end of another journey for tonight. It looks like this will be the last post I'll be able to muster before the new year overwhelms us all, so I'd like to say thanks to everyone who bothers reading this whenever I get around to sitting down, typing and proofreading (kinda) for a couple of hours, the comments make it really worthwhile. It really started out as a way to chronicle all the crap I get up to during the year, and then I figured that if others could get a laugh or two from my bizzare and sometimes off putting outlook on life, well then all the better. I'll be off for a couple of days so in the meantime I hope you can keep yourselves busy. It's been a pretty good one, with all its ups and downs and upside downy parts and I'll be back to do it all again in the near future. Happy new year, y'all!

Or conversely if you happen to be running the Australian national football (soccer for locals) team, "People want Dutch!" (Thanks to Get This for that gag). It's certainly an odd sight when a team/flush/raft of ducks (as opposed to a load or stumble of drunks) have a sit in not far off your front door. Maybe they were out looking for food on garbage day.


People Want Cricket!

On a completely non duck related topic, my Sunday was spent playing cricket with the guys from BH/Uni. The days leading up to Sunday were kind of worrying when buckets of water were being dumped on us from the skies for two days in a row, but when the day came everything seemed to be just fine. Sure it was a bit on the cooler side but there wasn't as much sun to burn us to crisps of our former selves.

Marcus and I rocked up fashionably late due to church commitments on his behalf, but that wasn't all too bad. Showing up slightly more refreshed than everyone else who had been there for about an hour before us, we took this chance to rip apart the tired and weakened opposition for about 40 minutes before we too began to realise that we needed more exercise more often. Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Highlights for the show reel included several run outs due to the harsh uncompromising nature of Tippity rules cricket and the near regulation artificial pitch we managed to commandeer for the day's proceedings. The ground wasn't too damp save for the odd bog and quicksand death trap so play was fairly smooth. As per usual Ken and Darren got their eyes in after some uneasy moments and sent deliveries from us pie throwers all over the ground. On a personal note, I managed to snare four or five wickets bowling the usual medium paced pies which I was happy to celebrate Brett Lee Chainsaw Massacre style.


People Want Cards!

The day's play ended at about half past five once all of us had built up enough lactic acid to create the most disgusting and exhausting health drink ever made. It seemed a bit too early to call it quits for the day, the sun was still in full view and we were a truckin' convoy up to no good. For the next twenty minutes we sat in the back of our cars pondering our options while slamming down soft drink in some sort of dodgy looking Coke dealing operation. I'm not one for highlighting subtle gags or puns but I'm really hoping you at least pretended to get that one... it is the charitable season after all, why not spare a laugh for an earnest journeyman of a blogger this Christmas?

We finally decided on trying to hold a draft between the remaining six of us before anyone realised boosters are fairly difficult to acquire when it's six in the afternoon on a Sunday. Chadstone held very little joy for us as most places were out of stock or had the wrong product. We might try and hold something like that later on in the week providing people can be bothered showing up. It should be good fun though.


People Want Shane Watson! (Well, not everyone...)

In slightly tangential news, the week before I was running about the park in circles while trying to attain match fitness in my ongoing battle against childhood obesity which ended a long time ago, but my side obviously hasn't heard the news yet like that Japanese soldier hiding on a Pacific island not knowing the war had been over for 60 years. However I am doing my part for the youth of today in the hope of setting up some sort of carbon credit trading system but substituting simple carbon for more complex hydrocarbons so just remember you could be walking down the street with my arse.

Anywho, the run itself was all well and fine with little incident. It was only after I got home where I was lying on the couch several hours later stretching and relaxing when I went and pulled a hamstring. Imagine the supreme irony of it all, me writhing in pain while laughing in full acknowledgement of what the Ironator had done to me, in a case of what I like to call the Shane Watson Effect or Syndrome, whichever you find funnier.

For all of you who are not familiar with the man with the eponymous Effect in question, Shane Watson is a cricketer who plays for the state of Queensland and occasionally for our national team, providing he doesn't succumb to an injury or minor misfortune of which are many and well documented. When he's not playing, he attempts to get back into the team by casting curses on his fellow team mates so that they may know his pain. Don't believe me? Then how about the time Brad Hogg almost clipped himself out of contention when he got an infection from a rogue nail clipper gone totally mad? And how could Brad Hodge dislocate a disc in his back while putting his pants on? Stuart MacGill being an out of shape spinner with a wine dependency problem? Such weird misfortunes cannot happen to the entire team ala Mr Burns' Nuclear Plant Baseball team style without a catalyst, and I submit to the judge and jury that the man sitting in this court today with the voodoo doll is responsible.

On the other hand, the Shane Watson Effect sounds a lot like that recent annoying advert campaign for none other than the Lynx Effect. I think you all know where this is heading... imagine Watson passing people in the street spraying them with an aerosol can while exclaiming the catchphrase "Boom Chicka Wah-Wah" and dancing toolishly. He waltzes off into the distance, and you think nothing of it until you suddenly develop cramps out of nowhere or materialise on the top floor of the Eureka building only to fall down the numerous flights of stairs within.


So in conclusion - People Want Things! (Unless it's Shane Watson or a muscle cramp)