Going for Gold

The Carnival Is Over

2004-12-15T16:04:00.000Z

Thanks for all who read Going For Gold during Athens 2004. I'm still alive and kicking over at What's New Pussycat. See you in Beijing!

Double Gold

2004-08-28T18:53:00.000+01:00

I have no jokes or smutty comments for this one. Just a WOOHOO for that amazing chick Kellie Holmes who just won gold in the 1500m. I am stuck here at work on a Saturday night so didn't even see the race, but I am sure it was just as impressive as her 800m win. Hopefully this medal will be the magic one with chocolate inside.

Score!

2004-08-27T22:23:00.000+01:00

Good things come to those who wait. And to those who weild great big sticks.

The Australian Men's Hockey Team downed the Dutch and bagged the gold last night, after coming close so many times before. They'd racked up three silvers and three bronze from previous Games.

Well done to the Kookas. And to their shapely biceps, too.

Paddle and Pillage

2004-08-26T12:50:00.000+01:00

I must confess my ignorance about all things paddling. I thought kayaking and canoeing were the same thing - basically, not rowing backwards. You know, what Grant Kenny did between bowls of Nutri-Grain. But thanks to the BBC Beginners Guide I now know my C1's from K2's and Pro Vitamin B5s.

I watched the semi-finals of the C2 yesterday and was intrigued. These poor bastards actually have to haul their boat down the river while down on one knee! I can barely kneel in front of a toilet after a big night out, let alone for 500 metres while stabbing the water with a big stick. It's like they are trying to propose to a really, really indecisive woman.

Canoeing does have a certain primal appeal. There's shades of Viking in that flimsy sliver of a boat, sturdy men grunting and groaning their way down the river. One begins to imagine they're on their way to pillage a village.

This morning Martin Marinov, Australia's first canoeing Olympian since 1964, was shattered when he placed 5th in his semi-final. His coaches were hoping this Bulgarian-born beefcake would raise the profile of the sport Down Under. But Martin, my dear, I feel the answer lies in helmets, swords and screaming villagers. Aussie blokes will flock to canoeing if they hear there's costumes, just look at those idiots on The Footy Show.

It's Like A Mexican Wave

2004-08-25T16:20:00.000+01:00

Slow Motion Replays That Never Cease To Be Funny: A camera panning across a track full of male sprinters, eight sets of wedding tackle swinging like pendulums. Tick tock indeed.

A Dingo Ate My Dignity

2004-08-25T16:00:00.000+01:00

The Saga of the Chick That Stopped Rowing shows no signs of fading, with this cracker of a quote from Rowing Australia chairman Pat McNamara:

"I think the treatment she [Robbins] is getting at the moment is like the treatment Lindy Chamberlain got."

In The Velo

2004-08-25T15:59:00.000+01:00

This afternoon it's all about cycling. Which always makes one wonder, which came first - cycling in velodromes or the Daytona 500? I suppose we have to go with the cycling since the bicycle predates the car by some stretch. But it's an interesting concept, guiding one's vehicle around in an endless slopey loop thingy.

These bikes are not the kind you'd hang a basket or a small child from. I know they are high tech pieces of equipment but they look like flimsy two-dimensional cardboard cut-outs from a high school drama production. I keep expecting the athletes to just pick them up and trot back and forth making vroom vroom noises, with Athens volunteers in the background holding cardboard cut-out trees and skyscrapers to create the illusion of motion.

Gymnastics Wrap-Up

2004-08-24T15:20:00.000+01:00

While watching the gymnastics last night I thought about my mother who is a kindergarten teacher. She is always getting her kids to collect margarine containers and plastic bags and egg cartons so they can make crafty things like butterflies and letter holders. And I wondered, how would one construct a male gymnast?

I would probably get an old pair of tights and stuff them full of balled-up newspapers, then get some wool and tie off FREAKING HUGE BULGING sections to represent their gargantuan biceps. Then I would staple some strips of cooked fettuccini to the newspaper biceps to represent the FREAKING HUGE BULGING veins. Maybe a cornflake box for a chest, some toilet roll legs. I was just trying to figure what to use for the FREAKING HUGE BULGING crotch area (egg cartons?) when I realised it was probably not an appropriate activity for little kiddies.

Anyway, the gymnastics were a cracker this year, no? We have the Hamm Medal Cock-Up, The Khorkina Strop, The Khorkina Hissy Fit, Trouble In Ring County and The Alexi Nemov Rumpus. I won't rehash these stories, but will say that Sexy Alexi can come over and tell me to hush up anytime.

Now the great Nadia Comaneci has piped up to say the Gymnastics Overlords need to get the scoring dodginess sorted once and for all. But I say no! More controversy! More appeals! More tantrums!

It's compelling television to watch these inverted-pyramid blokes fuming on the sidelines, wringing their chalk-encrusted hands; it makes them look even more flooded with testosterone and loveliness.

As for the ladies, I think we must continue our quest to make women's gymnastics even more reminiscent of a small-town Junior Beauty Pageant. We have the miniscule girls, the cheesy smiles, the glitter-drenched hairdos, the sequined lycra, the tears and backstabbing, but with the added bonus of elaborate acrobatics. Bring it on!

My highlight of the competition: the great Carly Patterson after her bar routine in the team competition. White chalk shows up like a bitch on a red leotard, and the cameras weren't afraid to zoom in on that big paw print on her crotch.

Who Wants To Be An Olympian?

2004-08-24T10:17:00.000+01:00

Fair enough if you win. Just look at that gorgeous creature Kelly Holmes, she ran the most brilliant 800 metres last night and is quite rightly the toast of the town today. If you win gold then all is right with the world.

But if you cock it up, look out. Every heart in Britain broke on Sunday afternoon when Paula Radcliffe stopped running. Well, every heart in Britain that had nothing better to do than sit on their arse and watch a marathon for two and a bit hours, the sad bastards. Ahem. I just wanted to jump in the telly and give her a hug and seventeen litres of Gatorade.

And then the BBC News came on, and that smug lady behind the desk reeled off the headlines, "Radcliffe fails in bid for gold."

Fails.

The press coverage that followed was largely sympathetic, but the annoying bit was the reams and reams of bloody analysis of Why Paula Failed. They blamed it on the course, the humidity, the sunshine, the boogie. They even put a gallery called Photos of Paula's Pain on the BBC.

Her tearful interview yesterday was handled pretty well. She was gently probed, So what happened Paula, talk us through that bit where you stopped running, what went wrong? It was just so sad to watch someone obviously so numb and devastated. Especially when she said "I know I've let you all down". Bloody hell. I think the interviewer wanted to give her a cuddle, too. Can you imagine having the expectation of a nation on your wee shoulders?

Meanwhile Down Under there's that whole palaver with Sally Robbins, the Chick That Stopped Rowing. Apparently she's done this kind of thing before, perhaps that's something the Olympic selectors should have considered beforehand. I think her teammates inital reaction was understandable, imagine all that pent up emotion at the time, I'd threaten to chuck her out too - it was the Olympic final! But what followed in the Australian media was shoddy. Graham articulates it very well over here and links to some dodgy pieces. While Robbins' teammates are now publically expressing their support, it makes me cringe that we're now getting the Prime Minister to chip in, along with Thorpey and Cathy Freeman. How much longer are we going to flog this dead canoe?

Don't you love this whole Olympic thing, when for two weeks every four years, everyone pretends to give a shit about running or rowing or K1234 kayaks? Everyone is an expert, everyone has an opinion from their lofty spot on the couch or behind the newsdesk. Everyone is so quick to curse or canonize our athletes. And then when it's all over, we'll go back to the football and cricket.

I know this stuff is all part of the territory for the athletes themselves, but sometimes I look at this circus and wonder who'd want to be an Olympian? Those medals don't even have chocolate inside em.

In Pursuit of the Motherland

2004-08-23T15:54:00.000+01:00

Morning chat with a Scottish colleague...

Him: It's Britain v Australia in the cycling this afternoon.
Me: Ahh, the oppressed meets the oppressor.
Him: More like the oppressed meets the depressed.

Aye, right.

Hunk du Jour: Roger Federer

2004-08-22T11:09:00.000+01:00

It's the final of the men's tennis today, Massu v Fish. Who the hell?

I lost what tiny scrap of interest I had in Olympic tennis as soon as Roger Federer bowed out in the second round.

I meant to write about young Rog at the time, but I was distracted by hunky Greek divers. So let us give the World Number One the space he deserves.

Roger endeared himself to me in the 2003 Wimbledon final when he turned on the tears after defeating Mark Philipoussis. Please don't write to tell me I have some sort of crying fetish.

PROS:

His name is Roger. ROGER! Plenty of scope for smutty jokes.
Swiss. Easy access to quality chocolate.
Swiss. Clean, punctual and precise.

CONS:

Roger jokes liable to getting lost in translation
Swiss. Clean, punctual and precise. Sometimes you want things dirty and confused.

RATING:
3.5 kalamata olives out of 5.

Fresh Dribble

2004-08-21T21:58:00.000+01:00

The party capital of the world this Saturday night would have to be Vilnius. There's fireworks, flags and dancing in the streets as Lithuania has just defeated the USA 94-90 in the basketball.

This tiny wee Baltic nation is bonkers for basketball, here's hoping they can keep going into the finals. And keep up that party mood, guys - I'm off to Lithuania next week for a holiday!

Retraction

2004-08-21T18:54:00.000+01:00

Not all men look sexy when they cry. Some look like big red baldy bears.

But the show of emotion is endearing all the same. Well done Mr Hackett! He just successfully defended the 1500m freestyle title on what has been a golden day for Australia.

Now hurry up and grow your hair back, buddy.

P.S. Memo to journos, can we please give up that horrible phrase "guts and glory"?! Sporting prowess does not just come from the gut. Some alternatives:

Biceps and Brilliance
Shoulders and Success
Arse and Achievement

Tasty Tears

2004-08-21T13:25:00.000+01:00

Is it just me or is it incredibly sexy when sporty men cry?

Today Britain's Matthew Pinsent took his fourth successive Olympic gold as part of the coxless fours team. No wonder the fella's emotional. I think the laurel wreath really adds to the look, I just wish they'd take my advice on the togas.

UPDATE: It's been a champagne day for Britain, with a gaggle of golds and minor metal. I can't help feeling proud of em, despite my loyalties being further south. The UK press were so quick, as always, to savage the Team GB in the first few days of competition, writing them off Worst Team Ever and trotting out the usual editorials questioning the millions of Lottery funds poured into UK sport. So Saturday has been a big finger to those scumbags. Scumbags who'll no doubt be crowing about Our Heroes in full colour liftouts in the Sunday papers.

Pong Ping

2004-08-20T15:43:00.000+01:00

I am trying to have an open mind about Table Tennis. I am trying not to lump it in the Bullshit Olympic Sports category alongside synchro swimming and football. But after watching it for half an hour yesterday my enthusiasm was as fake as a bored housewife's orgasm.

So how do we improve the image of Table Tennis? It actually is an immensely popular sport in terms of participants, but the general public have never really fallen in love with it. I see this marketing strategy going one of two ways:

OPTION ONE: Take it seriously.
When Denmark defeated the Swedes in a doubles match yesterday, one winning Dane did a euphoric leap into the stands, a la Pat Cash Wimbledon 1987. The other guy triumphantly hurled ping pong balls into the cheering crowd. Why not take this further, and treat the game with the seriousness of its tableless cousin? Sure, it already looks ridiculous with four people crowded around a small rectangle of wood, but I think there's room for some ball boys crouched beside the net, an umpire looming over from a very tall chair, and a bigass electronic scoreboard to tell us how fast they're serving.

OPTION TWO: Take it back to the basement.
The charm of ping pong lies in its basement/living room/garage suburban origins. If we can tap into this we can capture the imagination of the public. It's a simple matter of a few decor changes in the Olympic arena. A well-stocked bar fridge, a crumbling darts board, some randomly scattered beanbag chairs, a poster of a bikini chick on a motorcycle, plenty of potted plants for balls to get lost in, plenty of cats or small yapping dogs to tread on while searching for said balls. Male contestants must be bare chested and wear small shorts, sip beers between serves, and occasionally spank their partner's arse with the paddle.

On Golden Pond

2004-08-19T15:52:00.000+01:00

GB gold at last! Shirley Robertson's Yngling crew clinched gold with a race to spare.

I have no idea what a Yngling is. A small green man from planet Yng, or a herbal tea that aids digestion.

But who cares? Shirley is Scottish and here at the Palace of Scotch Sport my colleagues have something to rejoice about. Everyone is smiling. Well done ladies!

I caught a bit of the sailing in my lunchbreak, and discovered a whole new level of snoredom. It is hard to make a televisual spectacle out of a bunch of yachts slowly lurching their way around some coloured blobs. The BBC has sent Suzi Perry along in an attempt to add some sauciness to the reportage, I mentioned her in the last post - she is the veritable vixen who gets down trackside during during the MotoGP. But motorbikes are sexy on telly, sailboats not so much. Even Sexy Suze is struggling with the material.

I watched a bit of footage from this morning's races, and noticed that the sailing commentator seems to be channeling Sir David Attenborough. There's all those long... pauses and whispered... tones that you usually find in wildlife documentaries. The Italians... are in the lead... and now... here comes... The British... and don't forget... the Jap... anese.

I can't watch the sailing without expecting to see one yacht try to eat another, or else issue some sort of... primitive... mating... call.

Totally Oarsome

2004-08-19T12:06:00.000+01:00

The problem with sports media is that there's a limited bag of cliches and puns and nicknames that journalists and presenters can draw from. Let's look at nicknames. If you're a lady swimmer who's brill at butterly, you're bound to be dubbed Madame Butterfly. If you're a male gymnast who's a dab hand at the rings, of course you're Lord of the Rings (maybe).

So yes, a lot of recycling has to go on. Yesterday I was watching the rowing with my Scottish colleagues and the BBC referred to the British coxless fours team as The Oarsome Foursome.

"No way!" said I, "You call your guys The Oarsome Foursome too?"

I found it all rather amusing. However, the original Oarsome Foursome(TM), the multi-gold medal winning Aussies, had a major strop in 2000 when the British media started applying the term to the UK team. And fair enough - these guys have made a living from that name, appearing in advertisments for tinned fruit and launching a fitness video.

But crikey, what else are you going to call a quintet of talented blokes hauling themselves backwards down a river? The Rockin Rowers? The Pretty Good Paddlers? Nooo... that has no reference to quantity. And sounds utterly rubbish.

The best team nickname in the world in my book: The New Zealand basketball team - The Tall Blacks, naturellement.

In terms of imaginative sports commentary that leaves the cliches behind, you can't go past the BBC's Charlie Cox. Alongside that sexpot Suzi Perry, he brings pizzazz to the MotoGP with his wacky phrases, like "madder than a moray eel" and "winds that'd blow a dog off a chain".

Tutu II

2004-08-18T20:46:00.000+01:00

Ron Bensinhom, the crazy Canadian who flung himself off the springboard in a tutu, was today sentenced to 5 months in prison. He was released on bail after paying a €500 bond.

His last appearance was at the World Figure Skating Championships in March, when he pulled the same tutu/casino advertising stunt as Michelle Kwan prepared for her warm-up. What a turkey.

According to the CNN story, he is but one of a pack of roving tutu men who have also gatecrashed the 2002 European Cup Final in Glasgow, this year's Superbowl and the 2003 US Golf Open.

The Bronze Age

2004-08-18T11:08:00.000+01:00

The gym was packed last night, all sorts of sculpted types lazing about on the plush couches before their classes. The swimming was on the telly, Team GB's great hope Stephen Parry about to compete in the 200m butterfly final.

When he beat Phelps in the heats the night before he'd given the most articulate and optimistic interview to the BBC, all aggressive and determined. He wanted to rally the troops, urge them to rise above their disappointing meet at Sydney 2000. It was inspiring stuff.

So I was late to my stupid BodyJam class to watch the race. I cheered out loud when he took the bronze. All the gym bunnies didn't even look up from their lattes.

That's what I miss about being at home for the Olympics. How it feels like the whole nation is behind the team. I miss the obsessing, the constant sporty talk, the unabashed patriotism and cheering. The fans are just a bit quieter over here.

Anything For Love

2004-08-17T13:27:00.000+01:00

Whoever said Canadians were boring? Slap that person.

Hunks du Jour: Nik and Thom

2004-08-17T09:59:00.000+01:00

Journalists and commentators alike should be banned from referring to any event or athlete using the following phrases: Greek Gods, Greek Tragedy, Greek Philosophers, It's All Greek To Me, Freaks and Greeks. Etcetera.

That said, what other phrase than Greek Gods can you use for these lusty lads? The host nation won their first gold in the 3m Springboard final last night. And didn't Nikolaos Siranidis and Thomas Bimis look fine with those laurel wreath thingies on their head? The wreath has had its critics, but I'm a big fan. I would like to see it taken a step further, in which the athletes are not only handed a wreath but also a toga. Or a fig leaf. Yes, this would mean naked medal presentations.

Furthermore, is there anything more pleasing to the eye than a man dripping with water? Just remember the famous scene from Pride and Prejudice when Mr Darcy emerges from the lake after an impromptu dip. And there's also the scene where he takes a bath and his butler holds out his bathrobe for him so he can slip right into it after he's done splashing. I would like to be that butler. Perhaps at the Beijing Olympics I can volunteer to be Towel Girl and pat the divers dry.

Anyway, back to these Adonises. Adoni?

PROS:

Once again, dark hair and dark eyes
Once again, dishevelled hair upon pool exit
Greek. Possiblity their Mum cooks good food.

CONS:

Greek. Might leave you after you got fat from their Mum's cooking.

RATING:
8 kalamata olives out of 5.
That's 4 olives each.

I Really Should Be Holding You

2004-08-16T20:03:00.000+01:00

Of all the crappy temp jobs in Scotland, I was fortunate to find one at a sporty place. We do all sorts of cool things like give money to people to build bowling greens and skateparks. This means it's okay to talk about sport all day and/or kick a ball around the office.

Overheard today:

"So what do you think of this whole disgraced Greek sprinter fiasco?"
"It's a sham."
"I would go so far as to say it's a Greek tragedy."
"Aye. It's Tragedy!"
"When the feeling's gone and you cannae go on, it's tragedy!"
"It's hard to bear, with naebody to love you..."
"And you're going naewhere."

New Balls, Please

2004-08-15T16:26:00.000+01:00

Today the evergreen Tim Henman crashed out of the Olympic Tennis in the first round.

Overheard:

"Bloody hell. Hasn't he retired yet? Who'd the old boy lose to this time?"

"I think it was Arthur Ashe."

"Or Jimmy Connors."

"Aye. I'm predicting Connors v Edberg in the final."

Hunk du Jour - Alexandre Despatie

2004-08-14T22:33:00.000+01:00

My sister and I were watching the final of the 10m Men's Synchro Diving, commenting on pikes and splashes and degrees of difficulty with all the expertise that comes from a solid twenty minutes of viewing. We were also urging the Aussies to pummel the Brits.

Sadly we did not. The Australian team of Mathew Helm and Robert Newbery took bronze behind The Brits. The Chinese bagged the gold, miles in front.

But the winner on the day was sport, and the sport I am speaking of is of course, the Sport of Perving. Among the pasty Brits and Ukranians this tasty morsel shone through - Canada's Alexandre Despatie.

PROS:

Dark hair and dark eyes. That whole Mr Darcy thing going on.
Hair that looks nicely dishevelled when emerging from the pool.
Hails from Quebec. Speaking French is sexy, even the wacky Quebec strain.

CONS:

He is sponsored by McDonalds. You didn't get that six pack by eating Le Big Mac, buddy!
He was born in 1985. 1985!?! As soon as I discovered that fact I felt horribly, horribly dirty.

RATING:
2.5 kalamata olives out of 5.
Two olives were deducted for making us feel like Mrs Robinson.

Open Sesame

2004-08-13T23:59:00.000+01:00

Photo: Vince Caligiuri, SMH

It's just not the same. How does one adjust to an Olympic Games without Bruce McAveny smearing the proceedings with margarine and sacchrine? I'm watching the BBC coverage of the Opening Ceremony and there's the commentary guy sounds thoroughly bored with it all. Here's some obscure African country with crazy costumes. And here's those Australians with their cameras again. And next up we have an little Icelandic singer. Come on man, it's Bjork! Show some enthusiasm!

Never have I felt so desperately homesick as tonight. I am missing Bruce, Sandy and Joh more than I've been missing Weiss Bars, sunshine and Continental Malaysian Creamy Satay mix. I tuned out towards the end of the athlete's parade, only looking up at the telly to see The Flame had been lit.

Is it just me or does that whole torch setup look a little bit smutty? Like a diagram from some sort of How Babies Are Made book? Hmm.

Five Ring Circus

2004-08-13T22:35:00.000+01:00

I love the Olympics. I measure my life in Olympiads. It's a nice handy unit of time, more interesting than your usual years and minutes and so forth. Thus, it's been six Olympiads since my sister was born. Three Olympiads since The Late Show was on ABC. I've also been blogging for an Olympiad. And it's been an Olympiad since I bought new trainers. I must buy some new ones, they're really starting to honk.

I thought living in the UK would make me lose the Olympic fever, what with the stuffy BBC commentary and general lack of Olympic zeal amongst my Scottish accquaintences. But as soon as the athletes from all those wacky little countries of the globe started trotting out into the arena tonight, I got that ol' tingling feeling. Rather than cluttering up WNP, here I am on Blogspot, Goin' For Gold for the next two weeks. Or at least until the novelty wears off and/or drug scandals erase my faith in humanity.