‘Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck, or 100 duck-sized horses?’
One would assume it would be the 100 duck-sized horses that would pose the most danger. Horses have been known to kill humans plenty of times in the past. A horses kick can take your head right off and a horses bite can remove the flesh from your arm down to the bone! Fight a hundred of those little buggers and you could be in big trouble! They en’masse kick your shins to splinters and when you fall to the ground they bite and trample and use their tiny hooves to cave your skull in. A hundred tiny horses could really f*ck you up!
But if you have ever owned ducks, you know this question is not so cut and dried.
You see ducks at river-fronting parks, swimming about happily awaiting thrown pieces of bread, or waddling around with what is truly one of the most amusing walks in the animal kingdom. Ducks are non-threatening and cute…
…usually.
We’ve had Muscovy ducks for years and I’ll tell ya what, they are not always super-cute! The ducks are the perfect evidence of where the origins of ‘Pecking Order’ comes from. I’ve seen the older Ducks strip the feathers from a younger one every day until by the end of the week her poor wings were just flesh and bones. And as for the Drakes, they can be big vicious brutes! We’ve given up on having more than one Drake at a time as whichever one becomes dominant beats the living shit out of the other on a daily basis. And they will attack humans – both my kids when they were pre-3 copped a savaging because they harassed the ducks too much, and our current drake can certainly put the wind up my wife when he is in a bad mood.
So a horse-sized duck could be far more of a threat to be reckoned with than one would think, especially if it is a drake. Ours has had our rooster on its back and stood on top of him, using his beak to bash the roosters head in! Imagine what a horse-sized version of that could do to a human if it got its gander up! With a combination of its talons, a hard blunt beak and a lot of aggression behind its weight, you will be begging for mercy and promising to never buy orange sauce again!
So getting to the question which would I rather fight?
The Pros & Cons:
Numbers: One huge duck to concentrate your attacks on is far easier than trying to fend off and destroy a hundred smaller targets.
I’d fight the duck.
Height Advantage: Horses can jump high relative to their height but at duck-size and with hooves, all you have to do is climb something of sufficient height and they can’t get near you. A huge duck however has the aerial advantage and can swoop down to literally crush you from a great height.
I’d fight the horses.
Bites vs Pecks: A horses mouth will be pretty small at duck-sized, but anyone who has been bitten by a small creature knows it can still hurt like hell and cause a fair bit of damage. Whereas a ducks bill when used offensively is more like a club due to it being rounded rather than pointy like a chooks beak. A huge ducks bill may crack a few ribs, but it wont rend the flesh from your bones.
I’d fight the duck.
Weight advantage:
A duck-sized horse has gotta weigh at least half a ton. Your best punch aint gonna do squat. Whereas tiny horses you could pick up in one hand and use your other to snap their spindly little legs off.
I’d fight the horses.
Natural Aggression: Both are domesticated creatures… until you piss them off then they will try to kill your dopey human arse.
A draw.
So in the end, which would I rather fight?
That’s easy. Horse-meat has piss-poor flavour. So I’d fight the giant duck, win, light a big fire then literally feast upon 500 kilos of my worthy opponent. Finger lickin’ good!
Today we have not one but two questions, from an old mate of mine – Greg in Bendigo.
Question 1: ‘Where do babies come from? I heard a stork or something or do they come from cabbage patches? I heard that rumour as well’
‘Oo-Ar, I plants me humans next to me zucchini to discourage moths!’
Forget storks. Forget cabbage patches. The actual answer is – the fear of death my friend, THE FEAR OF DEATH!
You know what a hassle it is to have bloody kids? A massive one mate! Ya can’t go out with ya buddies drinking all night anymore. Ya can’t go over to ya hippy friends’ houses to eat their special cookies and giggle at how rectangular the doorframes are. No sleep, no sex, no money – and chances are when they get older they will say all their emotional problems are your fault and stick you in an old farts home; they spending your life savings while you spend your remaining days soiling yourself and watching the orderlies steal your medication to sell to street kids. Having babies sucks!
But – THE FEAR OF DEATH!
‘Am I dying or am I having a baby? I’ve heard both are rather unpleasant’
That’s right, that’s where babies come from. The biological imperative to pass on ones genes to the next generation so that at least some of your DNA will survive your passing. So when you are gone there is still some living, breathing, tangible evidence that you ever existed in the first place. It’s also why when those babies grow up into adults, their parents then pressure them to have subsequent babies, so you get to see yet a further generation carry your DNA on. This way your genes may still be surviving a good 70 years after you are deep in the cold damp ground, the wormies turning you into compost inside a ludicrously expensive box. Having descendants is really the only life-after-death one gets, no matter what the priests of various religions may tell you, using fear of your own mortality to get their coffers filled.
Of course, there are great-grandkids as well, but no one really gives a crap about them. Your DNA is too watered down by that point and chances are you are probably too senile to understand who the hell they are anyway.
Question 2:‘Where’s Wally?’
Wally’s dead. Died fighting in Syria. No DNA legacy for him!
Any other info Greg might find helpful? Pop it in the comments section below!
This ‘Ask Trev’ question comes from Shannon in Pendle Hill:
‘What activities are there for someone housebound with a fractured foot?’
Some of you may remember Shannon as my big burly guide and guard from my public appearance at the Collectormania Toy Fairlast year. A towering mass of muscle, this lad is not used to inactivity so whereas for the more slothful of us being chairbound might be tolerable, for the likes of him it is a pain in more than just his foot.
‘This man is a dentist, so we can’t show you his face’
So, what can Shannon do when housebound and can’t walk, run or play hopscotch?
The answer most guys will give you is ‘That’s easy – play video games and masturbate!’ but I’m assuming that after several weeks at home already those two activities have been well and truly exhausted, so i’m going a different tact and that is house exploration. The majority of houses are set up in such a way that everything you use the most is stored at chest height, making for easy access. Things you never use are stored in the back of the tops of wardrobes and things you use only occasionally are stored on the bottom shelves so that you don’t have to bend down too often. It is that level you are working at now Shannon, so time to get creative with what is in reach!
Make dinner for the family
‘What the hell do I do with these?’
Can’t reach the upper shelves of the fridge or pantry? Then cook with what you can access. The wife will be happy as suddenly a male is actually checking out what is in the crisper (a true rarity), so salads aplenty! Of course, she may not be too thrilled with the Baking Soda, White Wine Vinegar and Pulled-Taffy soufflé that goes with it.
Try out a new fashion style
‘Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me!’
Lucky you dude – fashions go in cycles so chances are the old clothes stored in the bottom of your wardrobe are probably the toast of Milan right now! Forget the clothes up on the hangars you can’t reach; those Corduroy Pants from the 80’s and Hypercolour T-Shirt from the 90’s will go perfectly with your Souvenir 10-Gallon Cowboy Hat from your trip to Texas and the Leopard-Print G-String you usually only wear on Valentine’s Day (or want to scare door-knocking religious zealots). Talk about sex-on-(broken)legs!
Catch up on your viewing
Best. Anthology. Ever.
Can’t reach your fav Blu Rays anymore eh? Time to bust out the old DVD’s that never get a viewing. Bring on Weekend at Bernie’s 1, Legally Blond 2, Transformers 3, Jaws 4 and Tremors 5! Top that off with all 8 seasonsof Home Improvement and the hours will just fly by as your brain slowly melts into a pile of numb mush.
So enjoy exploring your home on a level that is usually reserved for kids, dwarfs and the cast of Hogans Heroes, you will see your living space from an entirely new perspective! And if nothing else, it will definitely give you all the incentive you need to heal up at twice the speed so you can get the hell outta that house again!
Heal up soon bro!
Got any extra advice for Shannon? Pop it in the comments section below!
A couple of days ago I posted the video of my mate Brendan and I going skydiving (the video can be found HERE).
Since then, I have pieced together all the clips that contain extra footage and, more importantly, do not have an accompanying soundtrack so you can actually hear what is being said… or screamed(many apologies for the watermark that periodically appears).
‘Ok, so maybe I was a bit nervous’
I take a certain pride when watching this video that I am one of the very few that didn’t yell or scream when leaving the plane, but as you can tell from my expression that’s probably because I was so terrified my vocal chords were frozen.
So enjoy the second video of Big Angry Trev skydiving!
Oh, and for you Transformer fans, you’ll appreciate the reference made just before Brendan and I left the plane, even if it was a bit of a role reversal.
Over the 5 live-action Transformer movies we’ve had our share of traditional bad guys (Megatron, Galvatron etc) as well as a Prime gone bad with Sentinel Prime in DOTM. In The Last Knight we get to see a Prime go bad again with Optimus siding with Quintessa as Nemesis Prime.
Like a lot of the characters from TLK, Nemesis Prime hasn’t gotten a general toy release, putting him alongside many of the other on-screen robots we have been screaming for a figure of. Luckily Takara Tomy has come to the rescue with MB-20 Nemesis Prime.
Nemesis Prime is a redeco of the TT exclusive Calibur Prime which itself was an extensive (and much needed) retool of Armor Knight Optimus Prime. He comes in a gorgeous box – I was so impressed when I received this in the mail I nearly decided to leave him MISB, but the desire to play was too much!
Truck Mode
Essentially unchanged from the past two incarnations. However in deference to the fact he is a darker character as Nemesis rather than Optimus, the paint job had been made more subdued with the red and blue being darker hues. I think this actually works to make the chrome to be found on various parts of the truck pop more. It’s a lovely looking truck, being a big solid size with excellent dimensions.
Robot Mode
Whereas AK Optimus had a big, ungainly backpack, Calibur Prime had this convert into a huge shield which was a massive improvement. This has been carried over for Nemesis Prime, where the main change from Calibur is again the colour scheme with the reds and blues more subdued and the axe and shield have been given a purple tinge instead of orange. Speaking of purple, the eyes are now purple like in the movie, and in certain lights they look absolutely fantastic! Once again, we are looking at good proportions on the toy and it’s an excellent representation of the onscreen character.
The Head
As well as the new purple eyes, Optimus Nemesis is sporting the big red streak on his face to show his allegiance to Quintessa. Both versions of the face (which can be rotated for either mask or non-mask) have this. I thought maybe it would have been good for one version to not have the streak so you could show him changing from Optimus to Nemesis and back, but it’s a minor quibble.
Transformation
It’s at the level I quite like, as in its far more complicated than a couple of quick movements, but you don’t have to take 20 minutes out of your day to get it done. The only thing I found was the head, the instructions assumed you had played with previous versions of the toy so did not say that you had to press the chest to make his bonce pop up – I had to look it up online. The back of the truck turning into the shield is very well done.
Overall
There have been very few official Quintesson-aligned toys over the years, far too few. So when the likes of Infernocusand Nemesis Prime came up for grabs I was all over it! It you have the previous versions of this toy mould you probably don’t need Nemesis, but if this is your first time encountering it or you want a representation of the on screen character, then I heartily recommend giving MB-20 Nemesis Prime a go.
Got something to say about this figure? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
Well, I did it, I skydived.. er… I skydove… um… I jumped out of a plane!
‘Whooo-hooo!’
Along with my friend Brendan, we took the plunge in Picton NSW. T’was a beautiful day for it and we were in good spirits with much joking around as they took us through some very basic training and fitted us with harnesses which made me thankful that I already had all the kids I want.
When the plane took off, I got a bit nervous. When the door opened, I got a bit petrified! And as you will see in the video, those first few seconds out of the plane gave my face the ability to convey horror in a way it had never been capable of before.
But after those initial few seconds, the euphoria took over. It was amazing! It is kinda silly to think I was white-knuckling it when in a plane with a seatbelt, yet totally exhilarated when plummeting towards the ground from over 4 kilometres in the air at over 200kph! The freefall was definitely the highlight and an incredible experience that I cannot recommend highly enough – everyone should try it at least once in their lives!
Way too soon for my liking the chute was pulled and freefall ended, leaving me to hang like a slab of meat off the front of my instructor as for the next few minutes we floated towards the ground. It was so serene and silent up there, I could have happily stayed in the air all day. Fear was non-existent, calm bliss was in abundance.
After we landed, rather than thanking the powers that be and kissing the ground, all I could think was ‘I wanna go again!’
Enjoy the below video: Big Angry Trev goes Skydiving!
Of course, that main fear, that overriding fear, that fear that can knot your stomach like a cats-cradle is that something will happen to your kids. You enrol them in swimming lessons because you fear them drowning, you hold their hand when crossing the road because you fear them being hit by a car, you give them a big kiss and cuddle, not long after having to tell them off doing something naughty, because you fear that they will feel you don’t love them.
But there is another fear, a fear that you seldom think of but is there all the same, you fear not being able to be there for them.
Without going into details that I don’t consider I have the right to share with the wider public, the clan I come from has experienced extreme heartache this century. We have had parents lose their child – the most horrific thing that I can ever imagine happening to anyone – and conversely we have had young children lose a parent. Both scenarios have caused more heartache and loss than I could ever put into words here.
It is the second scenario that right now sits at the forefront of my mind, and is causing a level of fear I have seldom encountered in my life.
Once I became a parent, my life became secondary to that of my son and a few years later also my daughter. I exist and my purpose on this planet is to care for, look after and love my children. That’s my job and to me there is nothing else that comes close to being as important. To this end there are a lot of things I don’t do that I either used to and don’t anymore, or had never done and now never will. I don’t get blind drunk or take drugs because that would impair my ability to care for my kids. I don’t do dangerous things that might result in me going to hospital or stupid things that might result in me going to jail as that means I won’t be at home to look after my little ones. I look after myself primarily so I can look after them. I figure I have no right to put myself in a scenario that would take me away from them.
Of course, now I have a skydiving ticket. It’s for this Sunday.
“Who me? I’m not worried! Do I LOOK worried to you?!”
A gift from my wife for my 40th birthday. I can’t blame her as when I was in my twenties I really wanted to go skydiving and have always professed it’s still on my ‘to do before I die’ list. But the timing really does suck. 10 years ago I would have literally leaped at the opportunity and 20 years from now, when my kids are grown up, it would breathe some life into the old duffer I had become. But right now, as the Househusband who spends all his days looking after his two kids, all I can think of is ‘What’s gonna happen to my kids if something goes wrong?’
Yes, I’m aware I might be coming across a bit of a coward here who is just making excuses but it’s not really that. Yes I’ve developed a problem of heights that I didn’t have when young and that’s not helping my anxiety much. But then I’ve Bungy Jumped and gone on helicopter rides and stood on the edge of cliffs so I can deal with it. And yes, I’ve never liked the idea of death much, as an Atheist I don’t believe in an afterlife so when you go that’s it. But as much as I don’t want to experience it, I’ve never massively feared death and would lay down my life to protect my family without a single moment’s hesitation. I will say that the fact there were 5 skydiving deaths in Australia last year and two of them were at the exact venue I will be doing my dive at has given me a serious case of the willies though.
So then exactly why am I so scared about this Sunday? It’s the idea that if something goes wrong (and let’s face it – it does happen) that I’ll never see my kids again. I’ll be separated from them forever and they will have to grow up without their Dad. My beautiful children – my son who loves cricket and fishing and video games and Transformers won’t have his old man around to help him learn to ride his bike without the training wheels, how to operate the pedals on a manual vehicle, how to stand up to bullies and be a good man. My daughter, who has a giant mass of near-untameable blond curls which stand out from her head like the afro of an angel, she will no longer have a Dad to teach her about animals, take her for piggy-back rides and later threaten any boys that get interested in her when she gets older. Yes they will still have their mother and could not ask for a better one, but they will have lost their other parent, their Dad who makes their lunches and cooks their dinners and gives them neck-rides and tickle fights and a million kisses and cuddles each day.
So more than heights, more than actual death, more than anything else the idea that I won’t be there for my kids anymore has gotten me filled with fear. There are times I feel almost paralyzed by it, or like I will break into tears. This past week I’ve had trouble sleeping, I’ve been moody and snappish and morose. After doing so well with cigarettes for so long I’ve been smoking a pack a day, which is really stupid as that is one thing that will guarantee your kids lose you sooner rather than later. I’ve been drinking more than a few beers each evening to try and knock me out come bedtime. Given my attitude, my wife is probably wishing she had given me an experience that wouldn’t cause such stress – a night in a 5-star hotel with a steakas big as my head, some ancient scotch & a large cigar followed by a night of passion would certainly have been a nice way to welcome me into my fourth decade without the prospect of becoming the dimensions of an oversized pancake. Save the skydiving for when my kids don’t need me anymore.
Of course our children are unaware of what is going to happen on Sunday, I don’t want to worry them. They probably think things are great right now as I’ve been taking lots of extra time to play with them, been giving them little treats each day and, even moreso than usual, just picking them up at random times to shower them in kisses and warm hugs and tell them how much I love them. Because deep in my heart I know there is the possibility, however unlikely, that these are my final chances. After all, all it takes is one strap to break or chute to tear and dear old Dad is a splat on the ground. Of course I could just not do it, I have that option. But what can I say, as well as being a Househusband I’m also an idiot male that never backs down from a challenge and never chickens out. I just hope that male pride doesn’t kill me. Thank Primus that a mate has decided to do it with me; Brendan – I’ll do my best to not hold your hand on the flight up but I’m not making any promises.
So what do I do in these last few days before the jump? Well I guess I just gut it out and try to keep the paranoia under control. It doesn’t help to have a very active imagination and I’m even making my wife sign a form I wrote acknowledging my wish for assisted suicide if I end up in a permanent coma or am permanently paralyzed and can never move again (a horrific fate worse than death for someone as active as me – every moment would be hell). But I need to remember that hundreds of these jumps happen all the time and that resulting deaths are few and far between. Even moreso I need to remember that I am Big Angry Trev and I will kick skydiving’s arse!
And above all, I just need to keep lavishing the love on my two kids, so that if something does happen that’s what they remember of me – a Dad who loved them with every fiber of his being and always will.
Got anything to say about the above? Pop it in the comments section below.
Edit:Just thought I’d pop this in. It’s the day after writing this blog and I am feeling soooo much better. Writing the above was very cathartic, really helped me vent my paranoia and thus work through it to get past it. I’m feeling ready and raring for the jump – watch this site for the upcoming video soon!
The short-lived Season 4 of the US Transformers cartoon introduced (or perhaps jammed in is a more accurate term) a slew of new characters in its 3 episodes. Notably very few of these characters had Earth modes and most of the new Decepticons were weird space animals, showing the direction the brand was heading in. Also new concepts were introduced in these episodes such as Clones.
Two of these characters were the Decepticon Clones Pounce and Wingspan, two of the few Western on-screen G1 toys I have yet to obtain. These characters got a far greater outing in the Japanese cartoon and it’s from Japan that I have obtained the new toy versions of them. So let’s have a look at the LG61 Clones – Pounce and Wingspan.
Pounce – Robot Mode
‘Thundercats Ho!’
Now this is what a Clone should look like – not a hint of kibble anywhere to hint at what his alt-mode is (besides the big sticker which we will address later). Nicely proportioned, good colour scheme – quite nice really. Shame he has no guns.
Pounce – Puma Mode
Protoform bearing hips
Like many Transformers with a quadruped alt-mode, Pounce suffers from having oversized upper hind legs. Don’t know why this is – you can trace it all the way back to the G1 Predacons. Due to his arms adding a lot of bulk on the underside of his animal mode, he does not look particularly streamlined. I think his legs on the whole are an improvement on the sticks the G1 toy had though. His colour scheme is based on his Headmasters appearance rather than his G1S4 appearance, personally I think the Hasbro colour scheme is a bit better than this.
Wingspan – Robot Mode
‘Am I wearing a Klingon insignia?’
The only kibble in evidence here is his alt-modes wings on the sides of his calves. However they are very thin and sit snug against the body so at least the kibble is very minimal. Like Pounce he looks pretty good as a robot overall.
Wingspan – Hawk Mode
Living up to his name
There is a good wingspan on the hawk mode, which I guess one would expect considering his name, and the darker purple on them works well. The claws underneath have got decent detail and make it easy for him to balance, even if not very far off the ground.
The Clone Concept
‘Wow – we actually DO look alike!’
One of the things that irritated me with the LG58 Autobot Clones was that with all the extra kibble that Fastlane was sporting they looked too dissimilar. The Decepticon Clones have done much better here, with only a tiny amount of kibble visible on Wingspan’s legs which you can ignore pretty easily if you try. However like the Autobot Clones, these two sport big stickers which show what their alt-modes are, kinda defeating the purpose of ‘the enemy doesn’t know which is which’ concept. The rubsigns on the original G1 toys was much better.
And thus the mystique is blown
Overall
I am far more impressed with these two than I am their Autobot counterparts. They are good representations of the original characters and whilst I think Pounce’s Puma mode could have been better, it’s still an improvement on the original. These two will make fine additions to your Generations/Legends collection.
Got anything to add? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
One week I am taking a plunge, a huge plunge. I am going skydiving.
To be honest, the idea is scaring the hell out of me! But, with that idiotic male mindset, I fear backing out and not being able to look myself in the mirror more than taking the dive.
This upcoming battle with gravity has reminded me of the last time I did something of this ilk. My girlfriend and I were travelling around New Zealand in 2005 and we came to Queenstown, widely considered the home of extreme sports. As we drove into the town my girlfriend, rather cunningly I might add, said “Well one of us has to Bungy Jump while we are here, and I’m not doing it”. Since there were only two of us in the car, that left me with the short straw.
When it came to the jump, I’d like to say I strode out confidently but in truth I was, if you will pardon the expression, shitting broken glass! In fact I have to give some of the credit to me actually doing it to the jumper in front of me. It was a 16 year old girl with her g-string about an inch above the back of her jeans. If she wasn’t going to chicken out, how could I as a 27 year old man wearing sensible underwear?
So, with every sense in my body screaming at me that this was really stupid, I took the plunge! IT. WAS. FANTASTIC! It was so odd that I had been so scared beforehand and then after doing it all I wanted to do was to do it again! I can certainly see why people by day passes for unlimited jumps.
So, in prelude to my skydiving endeavor next week (and if something goes wrong, thanks for reading folks!) enjoy the below video of Big Angry Trev Bungy Jumping.
There are not many institutions, let alone individuals, who are held up on seemingly unshakable pedestals. Pop stars are not – we just wait for the next drug scandal or bad album. Scientists are not, even though they should be. Politicians? Forget about it – the amount of credibility to be found in Canberra would not fill a metaphorical teaspoon.
So who does that leave? Well for us Aussies it’s usually our sporting heroes. But even those are not universally revered. If you live in certain states then chances are you don’t give a stuff about AFL and likewise with Rugby. Basketball still has the stigma of being an American sport and Soccer is considered too European too be a true Aussie pursuit.
So we have the cricket.
To wear the Baggy Green is a dream that even the most sporting inept of young men dream of. Even I did. I was on the school team in Primary School, though my lack of coordination combined with an inherent fear that a speeding ball was going to remove my head guaranteed I was perpetually the worst on the team. But even I dreamed of playing for Australia, smacking 6’s out of the park all over the world for the glory of my team and my country. We hold our test cricketers in esteem with a level that no other sport receives in our great brown land. We pin on them so many of our hopes, our dreams and our national pride.
Yesterday that all came crashing down.
For those that don’t know, our team was caught cheating. So what, all teams cheat now and then, everyone does it etc etc etc.
No, not the Australian Cricket Team. Not before. Not until now.
The greenest member of our Test Side, a young man named Cameron Bancroft was caught on camera ball tampering. By the application of yellow tape to make the ball pick up grit, he hoped to change the way the ball flew in order to frustrate the opposing batsmen – a well known and much despised way to cheat.
Attempting to hide the evidence in front of television cameras – not bright
But we cannot lay the blame simply at the feet of this young man, because it was the leadership members of his team that put him up to it, headed by the team skipper Steve Smith. After being caught in this flagrant act of cheating a press conference was called and Smith admitted that it was a premeditated action, multiple members of the team conspiring to purposely cheat. He even had the audacity to go on in his interview that he felt he should still remain captain.
Well he won’t be captain any longer if the public has anything to say about it. The public are pissed off!
Why are we so pissed off? Well as said before, we hold our cricketers up to a level that perhaps only the biggest of our Olympic heroes also reach. They represent us on the world stage in a sport that we have so often ruled. They go out into the world, armed with a green hat and a piece of willow and shine for us. To be captain of the Australian Test Cricket Team is perhaps the highest position a player of sport could ever hope to achieve in our nation. Beneau, Border, Lawry, Ponting – they are names that every person knows. As for Bradman, he is a true legend in our society (and didn’t have to put on a metal helmet and rob people to become it). Our cricketing captains are the closest we have to home-grown royalty and someone that little boys see as tangible heroes. Oh they go may through slumps in ability or difficulty with the ACB, but for the most part they are unimpeachable. Unlike so many other countries teams, our team and our captains have always been the squeakiest of squeaky clean and beyond reproach.
Smith’s actions took that away from us. He stole that from us. He ruined that for us!
How dare he.
HOW DARE HE!?
You bastard!
How dare you Steve Smith! How dare you sir! You were given the top job in Aussie sport and you sullied it, you dragged it through the mud! Do you really believe Australians will forgive you? You might as well forget about the massive amount of sledging that our team will have to endure from other counties on the field for years to come, you need to worry about what you will cop from the home crowds when you next play in Australia, if you ever get that chance. The Captain of the Australian Cricket Team is a sacred position, a sacred trust. You have betrayed that trust. You have betrayed us. My 5 year old son is really getting into cricket, shows no interest in other sports but is always eager for us to head down to the local nets and smack a few balls around. I won’t be buying him a poster of you anymore, I won’t be holding you up as a figure to emulate. In fact I’ll go out of my way to make sure he never learns your name. Because I don’t want him to feel disenfranchised with a sport in which his interest is just beginning to grow. You have gone from a source of national pride to a source of national shame. Aussies are very fair minded and the fact that you put your youngest, most inexperienced team member up to such an act, putting him in such an awkward position that he either betrays his captain or his sport, just compounds the nature of your crime. If you had any decency at all, you would quit right now and do your best to become a ghost because you will not be welcome in many social circles on your home turf anymore. We can forgive losses, but we cant forgive this.
So can Australian cricket ever recover from this. The answer is yes, but perhaps not entirely. As the years progress it will become a matter of history but Australia can never get back the ‘Well, we have never cheated’ mantle – its gone forever. It has been stolen from us and the nation mourns.
My love of the sport remains, but my love of our team and especially its captain, does not.
Got something to add? Would love to read it in the comments section below!
