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Ethiad a dud?
The AFL Players Association has leapt to its feet over the state of the playing surface at Ethiad saying that, well, players can’t keep their feet.
Long bemoaned, this year the surface at the Dockland’s stadium seems to be as unstable as the North Korean government. The biggest concern though is the players are being ignored. There is a major disconnect between what players are experiencing and what the AFL are claiming as acceptable. To address this incongruity, the call is for a new set of criteria to be used that more accurately reflects the satisfaction of players.
The AFL and stadium honchos are falling back on the reasonably hollow ‘choice of footwear’ argument, but its not as if players are in six-inch stilettos and the sheer number of individuals slipping and sliding means this argument has as much chance of standing up to interrogation as Shaun Higgins has of standing upright on the Ethiad turf.
Undermining their ‘everything is fine’ argument a little, the AFL are also trying to use their weighty influence to ensure that in the lead up to the season there are no concerts or dance parties held at the stadium. That’s a start – anything that reduces the amount that the surface looks like a patchwork quilt can only be a good thing
The ground is up for another heavy weekend of ball-chasing action. While Friday night see Essendon try to wring some positives out of their season against St Kilda, the Bledisloe cup rolls into town on Saturday night. The Rugby boys are thumbing their noses at the talk of the surface, claiming they will play anywhere. The sound bite of the week goes to Wallabies coach Robbie Deans who stated, “We’d play on asphalt if we had to”. Sure there is a little cross-code bravado here but it is more likely need rather than cajones driving the bravado . The Rugby showpiece in the south has sold 50,000 tickets and the MCG’s dance card is already full. It’s Ethiad or bust.
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Just where exactly is the end of the tour?
The tour is like all of the Olympic’s athletic events rolled into one. Thickly muscled dashers have to hang tough in the mountains, the domestiques and the lead-out men struggle manfully as role-players, fluffers tasked with protecting General Classification contenders and sprinters alike. More than in any other race, the competitors – or at least the great majority of them – just seem genuinely happy to make it to the finish line.
But above all others it is the marathoners who are exalted and this year Alberto Contador is bathed in golden glory after holding off Andy Schleck, the third time the Spaniard has had the yellow on his back in Paris.
So, the Tour is over, or maybe it was already over before the final stage begun. Not because the margin was insurmountable rather the final day is homage to the status quo rather than dash to the death. No one attacks on the run to Paris, unless you’re a sprinter of course, then you’re allowed to race, but only once you get to the cobblestones. Makes perfect sense…
For the uninitiated the Tour can be a chaotic beast –a puzzling milieu of races-within-races, convention, tradition and rules-that-are-not-quite-rules – but none are as bizzaro as the final stage being one in which those competing for the GC don’t attack. At the end of 19 days of racing and 3,500km, we were left to see Contador and Schleck, separated by only 39 seconds, feign competition for the cameras, laugh good naturedly then drink more champagne. Surely the public want a climax not a forgone conclusion?
That said Contador was a deserved winner. It doesn’t matter that some see the victory as slightly stained by his failure to win a stage, the tour is about consistency over the distance and the skinny Spaniard’s metronomic legs were the best.
Best name of the tour: Canadian Ryder Hesjedal, so perfect you’d think it was an adopted nom de guerre.
Best crowd moment: What other sport has the crowd the Tour does? The unbridled pandemonium, screaming, snarling, flag waving, running beside and jumping in front of the riders is something to behold. Never was this more acute than on the climb up the Col du Tourmalet. It was frightening even on the TV.
¡Viva España! A Spaniard has worn the yellow in Paris the last five years in a row, combine that with victory in the World Cup and maybe sporting success is enough to stave off the Broke Country Blues, at least for a while.
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Aker, you can-a pack-a your bags and go
Why do so many sporting greats have such inglorious ends? Brownlow medallist, triple premiership player, game-winner, Jason Akermanis unceremoniously sacked by his club – the second time he’s been given the chop.
What happened? The wheels started falling off in May when he penned an articlestating gay footballers were better off in the closet than openly in the change rooms. Rumours of harsh criticisms of teammates in his yet-to-be-written autobiography surfaced and then he was suspended again when details of a confidential confrontation with teammates over the story aired on The Footy Show. The Bulldogs hierarchy are also citing a nebulous ‘whole bunch of other things’, which may be true but sounds like The Castle’s the ‘vibe of the thing. Basically respect for him was lost, trust soon followed and the power of the modern playing group is cemented, as it was they who demanded the strongest action.
Never one to shy away from self-aggrandising Aker protested his innocence and drew parallels between his demise and KRudd’s, saying, “I felt like Kevin Rudd … POW! … and I’m gone.” Last night he told the footy show ”I’ve always taken responsibility for everything I’ve done.’ In reality though no one is ever more surprised than Akermanis when fallout falls on him. That’s part of the problem; it’s everyone but him. Aker’s short statement at being shown the door: “I wanted nothing more than to help the club in the finals. The only problem is they didn’t want my help.” He has never been contrite.
Aker is a worthy challenger to Kevin Sheedy for the role of walking headline, though they are very different beasts. Sheedy is like Conficious; no one knows what he’s talking about but his words are directed toward some calculated end. Aker was born with a rare condition leaving him without check or balance between brain and mouth. Think it, say it, and get paid for it. He is guileless but not gutless.
He played some good footy for the Doggies who took him in a last gasp attempt to secure a premiership. They were right to get him as thin lines separate grand finalists from also-rans and Aker was a match winner. But he had become a contributor rather than the premiership difference. Many an indiscretion is forgiven for genius and he was a genius on the field. But the forgiving ran out in Brisbane and it has run out at the Bulldogs. Last gasps are always dangerously close to death throes and now the party is over.
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See the Bombers Blow Up! Up!
The blame/glory pendulum for coaches doesn’t rest on an even set of scales, the potential on the downside always outweighs that on the up.
That’s not to say coaches aren’t lauded when they guide teams to success, they are, just that when the wheels have fallen off often criticism seems all-consuming. Maybe it’s a function of the limits on what you can do when the sky is falling, it’s hard to sack 12 players in one fell swoop but it takes only one quick knife slash to kill a coach.
This is all in sharp relief now with the incipient performance of Essendon. The crisis is partly a product of expectation after a good first year under Knights and some cracking performances in the first half of this season. The young Bombers have seemed capable of anything, unfortunately being woeful is part of the ‘anything’ spectrum.
When the captain comes out saying the coach has the full support of the players, you know he doesn’t. Rumours abound of bust ups between the coach and players and the whole commentariat is chiming in, Sheedy – football’s equivalent walking headline to Keating in politics – claims Knights was never the right choice and the job should have gone to an Essendon man he groomed. Knights himself is, unsurprisingly, claiming he’s safe. Lloyd is calling for a total review and favourite son-cum-patron saint Hird is devastated by the form but when pushed on the coach’s future falls back on the prosaic defence of having a contract – not resounding support.
The knights (not-so)Merry-Go-Round is deflecting attention form Voss’ Lions who are hiding in the northern sun from similar intense scrutiny. Helped by the tyranny of distance from football’s southern capital, Voss is the only winner in Essendon’s collapse.
Teams rebuilding are allowed inconsistency, they are allowed to lose, but it’s how the Bombers are dropping games that breaks hearts and boils blood. Totally without vigor, with only scant self-belief and adrift in a leaderless sea. And to make matters worse they have the dangerous Kangaroos this weekend. Somebody say everything to lose?
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Unfortunate symmetry between Tour and Cricket
Overnight the narrative arcs of both the cricket and the Tour were startlingly similar. From a strong position, a descent into despair.
All the talk before Stage 9 was of Schlek and Contador. Though in the yellow, Cadel was kind of flying under the radar, was he insulted or happy about it? In the end it must have been a heavy radar he was under as Cadel was dropped at the start of the Col de la Madeleine and struggled to the finish more than eight minutes to the bad. The killer day took its emotional toll and Cadel broke down in tears before declaring his tour over and revealing he had a fractured elbow. Having started the Tour so brightly Cadel, was finished.
The surge of Schlek and Contador up the final climb in pursuit of the breakaway destroyed the peloton. It was all that is amazing about the tour. Suffering on an imaginable scale, Schlek attacking Contador before they agreed a pact and worked together. Need makes for the strangest bedfellows though agreements mean nothing in sight of the finish and the mad dash for the line as the two caught the lead group with one kilometre to go was incredible to watch. The tour is now a two-horse race.
Over at the cricket, Australia started spritely enough and though Watson (20) and Ponting (26) fell cheaply, the eternal Katich and new No. 4 Clarke settled in so at 2-171 in the over before tea things looked rosy. Enter disaster of broken-elbow proportions. Asif’s wicket-maidens either side of the break started a collapse that had the Aussies plunge to 9-229, saved from a one-day rout by bad light rather than stoic tail ending. Inauspicious were the debut innings of gloveman Paine (7) and Hope For The Future Smith (1) to say the least. And this was a side supposed to bat as deep as Barry White’s voice – not the ideal start on the road to the Ashes.
The night’s results had an uncomfortable symmetry indeed.
Cycling – cricket connection; how much does Phil Liggett sound like an ever-so-slightly more excited Richie Benaud? More than a coincidence.
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¡Viva España!
The final turned out to be a battle of one great team and a not-so-great one, with the emphasis on battle. A flurry of yellows decorated a pretty brutal match and it came as no surprise when the cherry on top was, well, a red cherry for Heitinga’s second bookable offence. A dismissal always felt a formality contingent only on time, the surprise being it took till extra time. The crash-bang technique adopted by the Dutch, not quite an expression of the Totaalvoetbal legacy, was a concession to their inferiority as a team.
Still the stifle and counterattack theory may have delivered them the game if not for just the right amount of scragging from Puyol and just the right amount of goal keeping excellence by Casillas, as Robben was played through on goal by Sneijder only to fail in the finish. Despite the loud protestations by the Dutch that they didn’t get the best of the refereeing decisions, they were clearly second best with the ball and the best at hacking and clattering.
Football-speak is full of code: ‘Enforcer’ translates as ‘thug’ whom your supporters love but everyone else hates, perfect for Van Bommel. The worst of the cynical infractions though was reserved for De Jong who channelled the spirit of the great striker-cum-ninja Eric Cantona to kung fu kick Xabi’s chest. How he wasn’t walked immediately maybe says a lot about the sticky pocket in which ref Webb must have stored his red card. He said before the match he was determined not to let reds dictate the result. Still the Dutch had a good tournament and one game a reputation should not make. They were great in all but the showpiece.
Spain might have started the tourney slowly but they are the most deserved of winners. Equally, they have been the best team in the world for the last three years, but they may have to cut the “fury” bit from La Furia Roja, their play was clinical and controlled and the faith that they would score never wavered, not once were they panicked into long balls. The one thing above all else that this final should be remembered for is that the power of football triumphed over ugly physicality.
¡Viva España y gracias Sud Africa!
(This post contains no mention of any invertebrate sea creatures with supposed sixth senses.)
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Uruguay Forsaken
Suarez thrusts his head back and screams, “Lord, why have you forsaken me!” Surely if divine intervention filled him with volleyball spirit and guided his hand in that last moment against Ghana as he claims, then God has now abandoned Uruguay.
The Dutch banged three past them – including a contender for goal of the tourney by the unlikely Van Bronkhorst. Uruguay were flattered by 3-2 with a second in junk time though their first via Forlan was a belter, even if aided by some questionable keeping. (Aside: why did Tabarez take Forlan off? Madness.) The Dutch looked good, compact and tenacious, and their two most potent weapons in Sneijder and Robben still have the capacity to step it up.
The other result was a bit more of a surprise. A towering header by everyone’s favourite centreback, Puyol, was all that separated Spain and Germany at the whistle. Defensive organisation did for the Germans in the end as the Spaniards denied them the space they had against us, England and Argentina. Without that space Ozul, Schweinsteiger and co suffocated. Spain haven’t been great this tournament, beaten in their first hitout, scrappy against Paraguay in the quarters better against the Germans, but far from brilliant. They have some momentum though and being La Furia Roja – The Red Fury – they have science on their side: : http://tinyurl.com/2es9sbw. It’s science!
Surprisingly, at the death it’s two European teams. The hopes of an African nation taking the Cup are dashed and despite filling four of the eight spots in the quarters, the Latin Americans are home. Neither Spain nor Holland has held the cup aloft before, it’s going to be a cracker on Monday morning.
Side bets: Love when the golden boot is to be decided in the final, Villa and Sneijder go in locked on five each.
Dear Del Bosque re: Torres Del Pine – keep him on the bench, Pedro is great.
Att: Van Persie – the ball is the round thing.
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Le Tour Kicks Off and Riders Fall Off
There are a hundred ways to love the tour. A hundred different ways to be captivated by the three-week cycling spectacular.
You can be charmed by the pretty scenery of castles and little hamlets, forests, rivers and towering mountains. You can be awed by the suffering of the riders and their inhuman tolerance for pain. You can shake your head at the chaos of spectators, support cars and competitors or you can be fully immersed in the incredible nuance of the tactical battle. And then, of course, there is plenty of crash-porn.
Those whose blood lust gurgles with every bingle must be loving the first three stages as so far the teams have been subjected to just about everything but roadside IEDs. A hairpin in the final kilometres of Stage 1 saw carnage as riders tried to take it five-abreast at 60kph. The Stage 2 bang-ups – as the riders screamed down a rain-slicked hill – frustrated the boys on bikes so much they unionised, agreed to a non-aggression pact and coasted over the line as if it was the final stage’s symbolic cruise down the Champs-Élysées. Makes sense, it’s a French race and no one protests quite like the French. Man the barricades! Cancellara asserted his will by holding back the peloton despite a few recalcitrants opposed to the go-slow – was it a good thing? The jury’s out.
Stage 3 was peppered with no less than seven stretches of tyre-puncturing cobblestone that reduced more than a few riders to crash test dummies. Cadel – who may have thought he was back on a mountain bike – is sitting pretty in third, the Schlek brothers have been split up with Frank breaking his collarbone, Contador looks ominous, Lance has a power of work to do and we are no where near the mountains yet.
Just when you thought the World Cup coming to its conclusion in Jo’berg would allow you full nights of slumber, the three weeks of the tour are here. At least the stages are finished by 2am…
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Suarez, World Cup hero or villian?
The concept of cheating always comes up at the Cup. It’s as dependable as criticism of the ball. Diving – simulation in sanitised FIFA speak – is forever rearing its ugly head. Australians (though not immune to mimicking Loudy Tourky ourselves) like to decry it as weakness. We shake our heads and wonder how someone can emasculate themselves by rolling on the ground holding their head as if shot when there was no contact at all. Others see it differently, that going down is a black yet subtle art, a legitimate arrow to have in one’s quiver.
This highlights how the World Cup may be a single tournament but it is made up of myriad teams from disparate nations, each with a unique culture that informs their sporting tradition. There is no singular definition of fair play, one team’s cheating is another’s wily trickery and diving is not the only manifestation of this is-it-isn’t-it foul play.
The Uruguay Ghana quarterfinal was a tremendous contest of beautiful football and fierce challenges. An unforgettable match not least for the controversy that surrounded its final moments. Deadlocked at one-all after 90 minutes, and with neither team able to manufacture a goal in extra time, Uruguay were under intense pressure when striker Suarez cleared the ball off the line with a double-handed swat. He was duly given his marching orders but Asamoah Gyan stepped up to take the spot kick only to see it clang off the cross bar. Suarez handball was the last act of open play and the game went to penalties. Of course, Uruguayan goalkeeper Fernando Muslera saved twice and just like that Ghana were out.
It’s been fascinating to see how Suarez last-gasp volleyball effort has been reported. He is staking his claim to the Hand of God legacy, calling it a moment of brilliance in which he had no choice. In Uruguay it is seen as the desperate act of a national hero, and its true that without this interference Uruguay would have been out for sure. Ghana and the whole of Africa are horrified, tormented by what could have been, a continent in anguish. FIFA, despite early posturing about severe sanctions, have given Suarez only a one-match ban. Fair play or foul? Pre-meditated or instinctual? Experts ruminate, countries celebrate and commiserate, the football world is divided, but none of that is going to change the fact Uruguay are in the semis and Ghana are back at home.
Australia, not so bad! Germany is the real deal. A team with an average age more at home in the schoolyard than football’s biggest stage is setting up for a dynasty. If they do take the whole thing – as they look likely to – then Australia would have lost only to the two winners at the last two World Cups. Small consolation.
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Ashes set to bring cricket to boiling point on Aussie soil
IT’S shaping up to be a brilliant summer of cricket in Australia. The Ashes Tour is set to revitalise Aussie cricket after a couple of comfortable summers for the Australians on their home soil.
The English are talking themselves up to be the Golden Generation of cricketers after their 5-nil whitewash of Australia in the NatWest Series just fresh from winning the ICC World Twenty20 in the West Indies.
Andrew Strauss’s men will have extra motivation against the Aussies following their embaressing 6-1 defeat in the corresponding Ashes series last year.
So is Australia ready for such a challenge? They appear primed under the leadership of Ricky Ponting. It is as if they need a challenger in test matches because they have so often just bustled aside their opposition in recent years with relative ease.
South Africa was perhaps its biggest challenger in the past few years. The South Africans were brilliant in Australia over summer and if the English can live up to expectations, you’d expect them to make a similar match of it.
There are still many chinks in the Australian armour. Yes they have some young talented cricketers surging towards stardom, but there isn’t the amount of depth that there was when the team was at its peak in the early to mid 2000s.
Of course, they would love some of Shane Warne’s spin magic and some of Matthew Hayden’s steady centuries but they have built a new generation of cricketers that are living up to the same name.
The English appear to be following the Aussies in the way they have conquered the world. Its World Twenty20 win shows they have a lethal combination for one day matches, but the tests will be a massive test for them.
Tell us what you think. Will England provide the contest we’re hoping for in this year’s Ashes series?
- Ethiad a dud?
- Just where exactly is the end of the tour?
- Aker, you can-a pack-a your bags and go
- See the Bombers Blow Up! Up!
- Unfortunate symmetry between Tour and Cricket
- ¡Viva España!
- Uruguay Forsaken
- Le Tour Kicks Off and Riders Fall Off
- Suarez, World Cup hero or villian?
- Ashes set to bring cricket to boiling point on Aussie soil
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