Throwin' some 'video killed the real blog' Kleinballs

I could be writing about other stuff. I should be writing about other stuff. More substantial stuff. I have a huge backlog of photos on my camera that I should be uploading. There's plenty of news to share. I do, after all, have some huge changes coming up. But I'm being lazy. So enjoy as I throw down some video Kleinballs!

Tying a bow on the end of the Winter Olympics, we look back at Australia's first ever winter gold, just eight years ago. I'm not sure if this is a fitting way for a desert nation to win its first gold or an embarrassing way. Either way, it's pretty funny.

As the regular season for Rugby League approaches, the league recently put on an inaugural NRL All Stars versus Aboriginal All Stars match. And Wendell Sailor – one of the more colorful characters in the league, and who's about to retire – treated us an absolutely hilarious try celebration. There certainly have been better touchdown celebrations in the NFL (Merton Hanks is an all time favorite for me), but you usually don't see overly flamboyant celebrations in rugby. So the shock factor, combined with the fact that Sailor scored the try for the Aboriginal All Stars – you'll see in the video why this latter point is relevant – just sent this one through the roof.*

*Hmmmm... a few weeks removed from this game, I just watched this video for the first time in a week or so. And I'm not so sure the hilarity's going to translate. Just trust me – there's a strong dose of hilarity in there.

Working for a training services company, with one of our core competencies being in leadership development, I read and view quite a bit of leadership-related content on the Internet. I'll concede that I could have found this video on leadership so brilliant because most of the other stuff I come across is so humorless, but... well, no... it's pretty good.

Have a random video you'd like to share? Why don't we continue throwin' these Kleinballs in the comments! Because heaven knows we don't all already have enough places to share inane links and videos.

Back in America: Parts 3, 4 and, well, ∞

In July 2008, there was Part 1.

In April 2009, there was (unofficially) Part 2.

And now, well, there really aren't any more Parts. It's Parts 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and beyond. Right to infinity.

I came to Sydney on September 14, 2007. And starting in May, I make my permanent (yet phased) exit.

To paraphrase the words Michael Jordan so eloquently used to announce his comeback, and the same ones I referenced in this blog's first post:

I'M BACK (IN AMERICA)

Much, much, much more to follow in the coming weeks and months. Until then, I leave you with this:

On KFC, Australian "racism" and American egocentricity

Several weeks ago, you may have heard about the controversy here over a KFC ad that was deemed by some people outside of Australia as insensitive at best, racist at worst. And many of you have likely already seen the ad, and perhaps have even heard plenty of people offer their unsolicited opinion. But even if you have, humor me here and read on; I think I'm in the position to have a unique perspective.

First, have a look at the ad:

From an American's perspective, in a vacuum, and without any context, this doesn't look good, right? Insensitive (or racist) Australians, right?

Well, not entirely. But before I can explain my rationale, we need to take a step back.

---

Australia has an ugly, ugly, ugly history with the people native to the land, the Aborigines. There is no denying this. Nor is there any denying that relations to this day, despite some good intentions from both sides, remain strained.

So there's that. But that's not what this post is about.

This post actually starts with the US, and its own history. Then it moves to Australia, and this country's interpretation/ignorance of that history. And then it ends by moving back to the US, and the reaction of the American people and media to that interpretation/ignorance.

Clearly, the US has as much – if not more – ghosts in the closet than Australia when it comes to its own race relations. And while those relations have improved over the years, just as they have in Australia, there are plenty of sensitivities that stew just beneath the surface of day-to-day life in the US. Those come to a head very frequently; for an example, look no further than the quotes from Harry Reid about Barack Obama that recently became public, and the subsequent media and political outcry.

It's an uber-sensitive society, filled with complexities that take a lifetime to appreciate, and one which has no sympathy for – and practically preys upon – just the slightest slips of the tongue.

Back to Australia. I've often described Australian culture as the intersection of English tradition and American pop culture. The connection to the English past goes so deep that time and time again, Australians have voted down becoming a republic, which would necessitate cutting all ties from the British Commonwealth. So to this day, the Queen of England still technically rules the country. But you turn on a TV in primetime or go to the movies or go to a newsstand, and odds are that you'll be consuming American-produced content. I was once told that my American accent wasn't exotic (if you will) because I "sound like TV".

This is all just a long way of saying that Australians are exposed to a lot of American culture.

But here's the problem: Australians don't really get American culture. Like I said, it's a complex society that takes a lifetime to appreciate. So without actually living in it, Australians' understanding of it is completely superficial. And that's where things get dangerous.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard an Australian casually throw around the n-word. Every time, it's grating to my ears. And yet every time, I have to remind myself that there are no bad intentions. They've heard it from a TV show or a movie or a song, and so they emulate it. But there are no racist intentions at all, certainly not like you'd infer if an American white person casually used it in conversation. If anything, Australians' use of the word is simply out of ignorance: ignorant of the history of the word, of how much pain it causes, of what it means today. Of course, it's the American media that we have to blame for this; no use of the n-word in the media would mean no misuse of the word by those who don't understand it.

But. If an American without this perspective visits Australia and hears that word – especially if an African American hears that word – we have a situation begging to blow up.

Which brings me full circle to this latest controversy. Or kind of. Because to get to that, I first I want to tackle another controversy from a few months earlier – also regarding Australian "racism" – that received a fair amount of media attention as well.

---

A popular variety show from the 70s, 80s and 90s, Hey Hey It's Saturday, had a few reunion shows back in September and October. And on one of the shows, with Harry Connick Jr in attendance as a guest, a group called the Jackson Jive performed a skit. Watch the skit and Connick Jr's initial reaction (until about the 2:45 mark), and then his more blunt opinion (from about 5:25 to 6:40)*:

*Don't want to watch it all? Here's the Cliff's Notes version:

A group of guys come out, dressed as the Jackson Five (even though, strangely, there are six of them), and perform a cover of "Can You Feel It". Unfortunately, the five guys who aren't Michael – again, not sure about the math there – are wearing blackface. The guy playing Michael is wearing, ummmmm, whiteface? (If you can call it that? Whatever. You get the point.) And Connick Jr, who's judging the performance, is less than impressed. While his distaste for the skit is somewhat understated at first, the host of the show gives him an opportunity a few minutes later to fully express his opinion, and he uses that time to make a more pointed statement in which he tries put the history of blackface in context.

This created a huge firestorm here, with Connick Jr stuck right in the middle. Yet amazingly, I found that most people sided against Connick Jr: "He doesn't understand our culture! We don't take anything seriously! How dare he project the sensitivities of his own culture onto us!"

I said it at the time: that is the worst justification ever. Seriously. The second you try to emulate something from another culture, the onus is on you to make sure you're not breaking that culture's rules.* The guys who put on that skit broke some serious rules, and they – along with everyone else who refuses to see why it was harmful – need to make a respectful effort to educate themselves on the history of blackface in America.

*It's like when you go to another country; you obey LOCAL laws, regardless of how absurd they might be to your own sensibilities. I don't see anyone bringing chewing gum to Singapore, unless they'd like that government to go Michael Fay on their ass.

Bottom line, that skit was insanely insensitive. And that's even before factoring in that it was only three months after Michael Jackson had died. THREE MONTHS!

---

And finally – finally! – we come back to what started this whole post: the KFC cricket ad. Just in case you need to refresh your memory, here again is the ad in question:

Again, in a vacuum, this ad looks pretty bad, perhaps as bad as the Jackson Jive skit.

But here's the thing: after the ad made its way onto YouTube, Americans watched it in that vacuum and took it way out of context.

Hmmm. I'm not sure italics on that "way" emphasizes my point enough. How about repeating it a few times, with bolded, italicized caps on the last one? And let's stretch out that last one, too: Way, way, WAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY out of context.

Let's take another step back: I am an American, through and through. I love my country. I wouldn't trade my nationality for anything in the world. Despite some of the baggage that comes with it, especially living internationally, it's a source of pride for me. Having said that, America is a ridiculously insular culture. It's something that has always disturbed me, and this insularity rears its ugly head with all too much frequency.* It's done it again here.

*Fortunately, most of these occurences are pretty inane. Take, for example, the following passage from a Joe Posnanski blog entry a few months ago, in which he recounts a dinner with a friend:

One of the topics of discussion was how at any given time there is always one person who is widely considered the funniest person in the world (or America, anyway). This isn't necessarily the person WE think is the funniest person in the world; I've already told you I don't think Robin Williams is all that funny. It's more like the national plus international consensus. We did not spend a lot of time on the dates (and I should say here that I added a few names that Michael might not agree with) but we generally think the funniest person in the world title has, at one time or another, been the following people.

– Richard Pryor
– George Carlin
– Chevy Chase
– John Belushi
– Eddie Murphy
– Robin Williams
– Billy Crystal
– Dana Carvey
– Mike Myers
– Jerry Seinfeld
– Jim Carrey
– Adam Sandler
– Jon Stewart
– Will Ferrell
– Tina Fey

You all know I love me some Posnanski. Seriously... the man crush runs deep. But I couldn't help but note the absolutely insane hypocrisy in this passage. First he concedes that this list of the funniest people "in the world" may be just confined to America. Okay... so it's just the funniest people in America, I guess? But then he says three times – not once, not twice, but THRICE! – that it's an international list. Right... so now it IS the funniest people in the world. But THEN he goes on to list 15 comedians, all of whom were popularized by American culture! Riiiiiiiiight.

Anyway. Where was I? Ah yes – the KFC commercial.

Let's provide all the context that almost no one in America would know prior to viewing this ad:

• It's currently cricket season in Australia.
• The West Indian cricket team is in Australia to play some matches.
• KFC is a major sponsor of Australian cricket.
• As a major sponsor of Australian cricket, KFC is running a series of cricket-related ads.
• In each of the ads that KFC is running, Mick, the main character, is faced with some sort of inane obstacle that's preventing him from enjoying his cricket. So he uses the apparent magical power of KFC chicken to get others to shut the hell up so he can get back to the cricket.
• The ad in question is the only one in this series that features people from the West Indies. Not African Americans, mind you: West Indians.

So. There's that.

To me, this comment from this article on Media Bistro sums it up brilliantly:

Sorry Americans. It only the guilt of your hundreds of years of oppression against blacks that is apparent here. The stereotype of an African American having an affinity with fried chicken is an AMERICAN stereotype, fostered by AMERICANS and spread through popular culture by Americans.

KFC are a major sponsor of the summer cricket in Australia. It also happens that the West Indies are one of two touring teams this summer (including Pakistan) and the blacks depicted are West Indies fans. It really isn't a stretch to see this ad in its context as a supporter sitting solo amongst the opposition supporters and getting them onside by buying lunch. The rest is your guilty minds looking for somebody else to blame for a stereotype you created (and that only exists outside America thanks to American comedians whose black people/fried chicken jokes have made it outside your country).

Get a grip and get off your high horse.

The ad has nothing to do with African Americans, or the American stereotype that black people like fried chicken. But why confuse the American media with the facts when they can take it out of context, interpret it as they want, and blow the whole thing out of proportion? And we get to where we are today.*

*Frankly, I'm shocked that there's never been an outcry in the US about, ahem, Coon cheese. Exhibit A, B and C.**

Yeah. Context.

**If you click on ANY link throughout this insanely long post, please make it any (or all) of these. Classic Australian commercials.

---

Is Australia racist? Short answer: no. But if it wants to emulate the US – as it does with regular frequency, and as the Jackson Jive did – then it better make a concerted effort to understand it.*

*Ironically, the Aussies just got to try the shoe on the other foot when these idiots from Russia did a little Aborigines on Ice routine.

Do I expect this to give the entire nation perspective on the whole Jackson Jive thing? No. But still.

But America has some introspection to do as well, and it better realize that before passing judgment on others – as the media did with this KFC ad – then it too needs to stop being so egocentric and understand other cultures.

And then we can all put some shrimp on the barbie and gobble down some Coon cheese.

Throwin' some parental Kleinballs

The parents have arrived in Sydney! Spent the weekend with them, and on Thursday we head off to Adelaide and the Flinders Ranges. It'll be my first time in the actual Outback, so should be good... although beastly hot.

Speaking of beastly hot, it was 42°C (108°F) in Sydney on Saturday. Then we got a thunderstorm. Then we got some hail.* An hour later, the temperature had dropped by 15°C (27°F).

*I've only seen hail twice in Australia. Each time, my parents were here. Strange.

My dad has somehow developed an unhealthy obsession with lamingtons. So when we went into the city on Saturday, he immediately initiated a frantic search, stopping in every bakery we passed until he got his paws on one.

Two years, four days and four months after I arrived in this country, I finally got myself a New South Wales driver's license last week. Until my California one expires, which unfortunately happens in just a few weeks, I find myself in an ideal situation. For everyday sort of use, the NSW license will make things easier. But on the off chance that I get pulled over by a cop, I can pull out the CA license and plead ignorant.

Bit of a sports deluge the last few weeks. We got the Australian Open in full swing, Australia's playing Pakistan and the West Indies in a series of cricket matches, and I'm doing my best to stay up to date on the football playoffs. Good time of the year to be a sports fan here.

Australia Day is tomorrow. While we won't be going up to Macmasters Beach like two years ago, we'll be doing much of what we did last year at the Ascot: plenty of food, drinks, cricket (playing), cricket (watching on TV), tennis (watching on TV) and music (annual Triple J Hottest 100 countdown).

Couple of big posts planned for the next few weeks. We got a lil' something to do with Portuguese chicken and a lil' something to do with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Although chicken's involved in both, the posts promise to be very different in content.

Avatar: Surely this is all a big joke

In high school, I went to the movies practically every weekend. I loved going to the movies.

In college, I went to the movies once a month, maybe once every two months. I guess I had a few more options to entertain myself. It happens as we exit our teenage years.

Since college, my movie-going has been in constant decline. And now it's gotten to the point where I might go two or three times a year. I find this sad, but only really upon reflection, because I certainly don't do anything to change it.

Avatar broke a loooonnnng movie theater-less streak for me. Before that, I'm really not sure what I'd last seen in a theater. Slumdog Millionaire? It's a distinct possibility. But with Avatar, well, all the makings were there for a mandatory visit to the movies. Based on all the reviews – from critics and friends alike – it promised to be a spectacle of grandiose proportions.

I was not disappointed. Everything I expected from Avatar, I got, and then some. It was truly a cinematic experience; no way you could get that from watching it on a TV, as I generally watch movies these days. Hell, I was so spellbound, that halfway through the movie, I realized my eyes were tearing up because I hadn't blinked in probably half an hour.

It was a great experience. And it even may have rekindled some of that love of the movie-going experience that I'd held so deeply back in high school.

But then, at least to me, a strange and perplexing and infuriating thing happened: serious accolades for Avatar began to come in. As in, 'Best Picture of the Year' accolades. This of course culminated (at least up until now) in the film winning the Golden Globe for best picture (drama) – not to mention best director – on Sunday.

Now. It's one thing for a film to be entertaining, to be visually stunning, to be revolutionary in its production. Avatar was all of these. I'd go as far as to say that that's an inarguable fact. Yet a great movie, these qualities don't necessarily make. Merely a good movie, these qualities don't necessarily make. And as much as I enjoyed Avatar, it's borderline good. That's simply what happens when you take a tired, formulaic story and combine it with some of the most hackneyed, clichéd dialogue imaginable.*

*Back in December, before the movie had been released, Joe Posnanski actually devoted an entire blog post to one line of dialogue from the trailer... a line of dialogue that we're all very familiar with. Needless to say, Posnanski wasn't impressed and wrote off the movie based on that one line.

(I'll also note that Posnanski starts that post in a very similar fashion to how I've started this one. But I'm gonna plead innocent; unless it was subconscious – and I guess I have to concede that that's a distinct possibility – it's completely coincidental.)

What's really sad to me is that we've been down this road before with James Cameron's last epic, Titanic. Visually stunning and supremely well-made? Yes. But a tired and formulaic story combined with some of the most hackneyed, clichéd dialogue imaginable? Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.

Titanic swept all the award shows. And now I fear that Avatar is going to do the same.

I don't know. Maybe it's just my interpretation of what should constitute a 'Best Picture'. All three Lord of the Rings movies were at least nominated for the Oscar for best picture (with the third installment winning), and while I only saw the first one, I thought that it too fell into the well-made/crap story bucket. (I'm assuming – although potentially very wrongly – that the last two of the trilogy were similar in style and content.) But I look at other Oscar winners from the past, and just about every one is backed by a great and compelling story. Let me repeat that, with some emphasis: a GREAT and compelling story.

In my opinion, Titanic is the rare exception to this rule. I'm guessing that LOTR III is as well. And if Avatar wins the Best Picture Oscar – currently a prohibitive favorite to do so – that'll be one more exception.

Three exceptions to a rule aren't exactly an exception anymore; they become part of the rule. But if a movie only has to be well-made to be considered great, well, then I'm not sure what we're doing anymore.

I'm not saying there isn't a place for movies like Avatar. Of course there's a place for them. There will always be a place for them, and I consider this to be a very good thing. But is one of those places the Golden Globes, or the Oscars? No. Never.

I wish the voters would come to their senses in time for this year's Oscars and deny Avatar the biggest of accolades, but I don't expect that to happen. Maybe it's all just a big joke on me.

I'm with Coco

Plenty has been said this week about the Conan-Leno saga over The Tonight Show. So apart from saying that I'm firmly on Conan's side, I'm not going to add any more.

But. This video. It's simply brilliant.

Partying like it's 2008

The final days of 2008 were amazing. Those final days were so amazing, in fact, that I essentially did them all over again this year, in the final days of 2009.

Some may view such repetition as a bad thing. I do not. Not when you've identified a surefire recipe for success.

Last year's Christmas was spent with a friend's family – Yogi and the Davis family – overlooking the ocean at Macmasters Beach. This year's Christmas was spent with another friend's family – Shorty and the, uhhhh, Short family – in the slightly less exotic Wagga Wagga.

After driving from Sydney to Wagga on Christmas Eve, I was awoken early the next morning by Shorty's sisters,* both of whom were eager to rip open some gifts before Christmas services.** After a brief, one-hour service – actually pretty painless, especially if you want to put it up against High Holiday services – we were back to the house for a day-long feast.

*Shorty's sisters are in their 20s. Yet to this day they still force the family up at 7 on Christmas morning to open gifts.

**Shorty's birthday quite unfortunately falls on Christmas. So not only did he grow up with the dreaded Christmas/birthday combo gifts, but he's been to Church on his birthday every single year of his life. Even the "but Andy's Jewish!" excuse this year wouldn't fly.

It's absolutely no secret that the Short family can eat. Big time. And we did so on Christmas day, by stuffing ourselves on four varieties of meat – turkey, ham, chicken, pork – and a few of your staple veggies, like potatoes and sweet potatoes and pumpkin. My. Lord.

This was of course topped off by desert, which included fruit salad, ice cream, pavlova, trifle, and the pièce de résistance (well, for me at least), plum pudding with brandy sauce. Oh. My God.

That was lunch. We did it all again for dinner. And then again for breakfast the next day.

We could have kept on feasting on the leftovers all throughout Boxing Day, but instead, it was time to cook up a whole new feast! This time it was to the barbecue, as the Shorts ticked off more types of meat that hadn't been consumed yesterday: rissoles,* sausages and steak. And what Short family barbecue could be complete without a potato bake? Oh, I think there was some salad, too. And most importantly, the plum pudding made another appearance.**

*Basically a hamburger patty, although a little thicker than what you see in the US and usually prepared with herbs and other seasoning mixed in.

**My current list of favorite Australian food that's not commonly available in the US: meat pies, sweet chili sauce, plum pudding with brandy sauce. I'm sure I'm forgetting a few more.

Throughout the day, the rest of our caravan for the trip to Melbourne and Falls converged on Wagga. And so continued the near-identical trip from last year. Again, this isn't a bad thing.

The 27th was a day of transit, from Wagga to Melbourne. We made our way down there by early evening, set up camp at Shorty's brother's apartment, and headed out for a barbecue at a friend's place and drinks. We had a big day ahead of us, so we kind of took it easy. Kind of.

The 28th was Day 3 of the Boxing Day Test match between Australia and Pakistan. First ball at 10:30. Stumps at 6. Seven and a half hours of cricket and no result (not that one was to be expected). I loved it.*

*And bucking the trend that I cited in my post from before this trip, in which I said that I was sports kryptonite for successful home teams, Australia ended up winning this Test match!

And then, it was on to Falls! Up quite early on the 29th, we caravanned it down to Lorne, got to the festival area, slowly made our way to the campsite, set up camp, and got to it.

One massively key point of difference between Falls this year and last year: the weather. Last year, it was freezing at Falls. FREEZING. And rainy. This didn't stop me from having a great time, but it really didn't help. This year? Hot and sunny! And I loved every minute of it.

I'm not sure if the music lived up to last year's, but it was still fantastic, with The Temper Trap, Art Vs Science and Major Lazer being highlights.

And on New Year's Eve, with the Hilltop Hoods on the stage at midnight – a somewhat dubious choice to bring in the New Year, in my opinion – we said goodbye to the Naughts or Naughties or Oughts or whatever the hell we're calling the decade... and then kept on going for several more hours. It was fantastic.

What wasn't fantastic, however, was New Year's Day. First, it had rained that night, and we woke up to a wet and gray morning. Everything was damp. Second, after packing up, it took us all of three and a half hours to drive out of the site. And third, later that night (and perhaps due to an ill-informed lunch of KFC; ironically, my first KFC in exactly a year), my stomach revolted.

Not a great way to start a new year, by any stretch, but the days prior were a great way to close out the preceding one. Just as they were last year.

Farewell, 2009. Helllloooooooooo 2010!

I got your New Year's Resolutions right here

Recap of my Xmas/NYE trip on this here blog. Soon.*

*I will not define "soon".

Post more frequently on this here blog.

Upload photos from my last several months to this here Internet.

HAPPY 2010!

And I think it's gonna be a (good good) time

To nearly quote Elton John.

Last year, in the days leading up to New Year's, I spent Boxing Day in Wagga Wagga, the next few days in Melbourne (partly to catch Day 3 of the Boxing Day Test match*), and the remaining days of 2008 at Falls Festival.

*Looking at the Wikipedia page for the Boxing Day Test match, I didn't realize that Australia had absolutely DOMINATED that match before last year: 9 wins in a row, and 14 wins (and two draws) in the last 18 years. So of course they lost last year. As soon as I enter the arena, you can always count on a dominant sports team to lose it. Just ask the French National Soccer team. Coming off a World Cup victory in 1998 and holding onto an ungodly winning streak, I went to see them play Russia in June 1999 for a qualifying match for Euro 2000. They lost. Of course.

This year, in the days leading up to New Year's, it's exactly the same: Boxing Day in Wagga, a couple of days in Melbourne for the cricket, the last few days of 2009 at Falls Festival. Only difference from last year is that my stay in Wagga will start a few days earlier, with Christmas with the Short family.

If this year is to live up to last year's trip, it has an uphill battle to fight. Last year was epic. Everything about that trip. But I'm pretty confident that this year can match it. Perhaps even exceed it? I wouldn't be surprised.

But let's not get our hopes up, at least not too much. A big week lies ahead of me. It should be good. And I just may report on it here sometime in the next few months.

Have a great Christmas (for those of that ilk) and New Year's, everyone.

The 2009 Melbourne Cup: The official, definitive and final recap

So. Let's see. The Melbourne Cup was on November 3. Today is December 23.

Yes, I let some time go before writing about the trip (or, well, anything on here). That being said,* there is an upside to my indolence: by waiting so long – or I guess more aptly, by putting it off for so long – I can pretty much guarantee you that this is the absolute final recap on the 2009 running of the Melbourne Cup.

*I just slammed my way through Season 7 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Brilliant, brilliant stuff. And we basically got an entire new episode of Seinfeld out of it! They certainly made up for the finale. Oh yes.

You see, as I first noted two years ago, this nation goes absolutely mad for the Melbourne Cup. Hugely mad. It's called "The race that stops a nation" for a reason. Literally, everything stops. Everyone gets in front of a TV. I wouldn't be surprised if the streets were completely deserted.* In Melbourne, the day is a public holiday!

*Problem is we'll never know, as there's no one there to check. It'll forever be up there with the whole "tree falling in the woods" conundrum.

Anyway. As I was saying. Everyone goes mad for the race. But the thing is, it comes out of nowhere. Seriously. A week prior to the race, most people in Australia couldn't name a single horse that might be running in it. Then, like a flash in the pan, everyone gets into it. The local and national news are covering it. It's on the front page of every sports section, if not the main section. It's the topic of discussion at every water cooler. People can recite the entire 24-horse field in alphabetical order, reverse alphabetical order, by age, by sex, by jockey, by trainer, by owner, by country of origin, you name it.

The race is run on a Tuesday.

And then it's over. The media dissects it on Tuesday night and Wednesday. Maybe you get a few remnants on Thursday. And that's it. Just as fast and unexpectedly as it came, it's gone. No more mentions. It's almost like it never happened.

Which brings us back to me! Seven weeks and a day after the race was run, here's my little recap of the race and day. And as the above paragraphs were meant to illustrate, in my very longwinded way, this surely has to be the last thing ever in the history of civilization to be written about the 2009 Melbourne Cup. I feel honored. And perhaps a little daunted by the responsibility.

So let's break this bad boy down thematic style.

The gambling

Yeah, I may have made some proclamations that I was gonna get ridiculously knowledgeable on the race, and I swear I made a few token attempts to do that. But for the most part, life kinda got in the way. So going into the race, my level of knowledge was at about 20% of what I would've liked. And that included zero knowledge on any of the races other than the big one.

I placed and lost some bets on races one through six. And the big one, Race 7? I nailed it!! Granted, I put bets on several horses, but as the race neared, I settled more and more on Shocking as my singular pick. And Shocking did it. Unfortunately, that means that the other five or six horses I had money on didn't do it, so on the day, I broke just about even.*

*This "breaking even" thing doesn't exactly count the whole day, which included an evening jaunt to the casino during which I very much did not break even. Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh, not even remotely close to even. Let's move on.

The spectacle

Attendance on the day was 102,000 people, which I think is the largest crowd I've ever been a part of. But because we weren't in a circular stadium in which you could see everyone else, it didn't really feel like there were 102,000 people there. Not even close, really. If I had no knowledge of the day or the race, I very well may have guessed that the attendance was something around 40,000.

Regardless of how big I perceived the crowd to be, it still felt like a huge event. There was a buzz on the train heading out to the track. Everyone was dressed up. Each woman was seemingly trying to outdo all others with her hat. The lawn for general admission was absolutely packed. The vibe, even when we arrived at 10:45, was downright giddy. And that giddyness increased even more so as the day progressed, as more alcohol was consumed, as the anticipation increased. So when it came time for the big race to start, just after 3, we were ready. We were very ready.

The race

I'd (kinda) done my reading. I'd placed my bets. I'd secured my viewing spot. And at just after 3, the 2009 Melbourne Cup started.

One thing about the Melbourne Cup. It's long. LOOOOOOOOOONG. At just a shade under two miles, it's half a mile longer than the "long" Triple Crown race, the Belmont Stakes. So even after the race starts, you need to control your emotions. Settle in. Don't get too excited. At least not too early.

What pretty much makes this impossible, however, is that the horses run by you twice: once, right after the start, and then again, as they come down the stretch. So when they flew by us that first time, we all lost it. This is what we've been waiting all day for!! WOOOOOO!!! But then they were gone. And we waited. Sure, we could see the race on the big screen, but it was pretty hard to make out who was in what place, and it was absolutely impossible to hear the call of the race, not above the noise of the crowd.

Eventually, the horses rounded the last turn towards the finish and headed back to us. And as they passed us, about 100 meters before the finish line, there was Shocking leading the way! And there went Shocking to keep the lead right to the end!!!

Everyone went wild.* Some people may have had Shocking, most probably didn't, but it didn't really matter. We'd all just watched the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

*The "everyone" excludes Maz, who was feverishly trying to figure out if he'd hit his trifecta. It wasn't until he actually went to the betting window, presented his ticket and received several hundred dollar notes that he was convinced that he'd won.

The post race

There are 10 races on Melbourne Cup Day. And for the most part, people not only got into the big race but the preceding six races as well. The last three races, however? My lord... after the big race, it was like the Plague had descended on the track. Blink, and everyone was gone. And the seagulls swooped. Oh yes... the seagulls swooped.

After watching a race or two more and drinking some of Maz's winnings, we made haste as well, back to our hotel and then onto the casino and the city.

The next day

Noise. Yeah... noise.

LOUD NOISES!!!

This is what I awoke to the next morning. As they ripped apart the parking lot outside our hotel room. I mean that as literally as possible. The concrete that was in the parking lot the day before? It was no more. At 8 in the freaking morning. On the day after the Melbourne Freaking Cup.

So, yeah. The day didn't start out so well. And it really didn't get any better. Maz, Joanne and I wandered around the city, first on a failed attempt to go to the Coffee Bean that I'd found on a prior trip, then on a failed attempt to go to the hotel that Maz was staying in that night. But we finally got to the hotel, collapsed for an hour, and then I was off to the airport.

I was miserable. I felt disgusting. But I'd been to the Melbourne Cup. And it was good.

I hope

Just because.

---

I hope. sound bite  Morgan Freeman sound bites

I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still, or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel. A free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

From the notebook: The Curse of Dingman

Yeah. The Yankees won. I'm acknowledging it. Great.

Before we move on for good, I guess it would be fitting to use this space to do another "From the notebook" post and reprint an email that I sent to a group of friends on November 7, 2003, shortly after I gleefully watched Josh Beckett and the Marlins vanquish the Yankees in the World Series. (My lord... there was glee.)

Enough of the Bambino or the Billy Goat... the Curse of Dingman is the real deal! For each person you forward this onto, whether they're a Yankee hater or not, the Curse of Dingman will be extended 3 years!!

---

In 1993, in the 36th round of the amateur draft, the Yankees selected Craig Allen Dingman, a young right-handed hurler from Wichita, Kansas. Seven years and three Yankees World Series titles later, Dingman was given a chance to be part of the storied franchise when he was sent up to The Show. And what do you know, but a few months after that promotion, the Yanks bested the Mets, their cross-town rivals, four games to one in the Fall Classic. Dingman's stature as a good luck charm was solidified.

For whatever reason though, the Yankees didn't see the signs. Because just days before they set out to defend their title in the 2001 season, they traded Dingman to the Colorado Rockies for one Julio de Paula.

But something was afoot. Something the Yankees should have seen coming faster than a Steinbrenner rage-induced coaching staff overhaul. Because ever since that fateful move, despite making the playoffs each year and going to the Series twice, the Yankees have never again won it all.

THE CURSE OF DINGMAN LIVES!!

Apparently this email was only forwarded to three people... hence a nine-year spell in between Yankees World Series victories. And the Curse of Dingman? It no longer lives. Sigh.

You know how I enjoy throwin' some Kleinballs?

I feel like there's some Andy Rooney-ness to the cadence of this post. Imagine he was reading the below to you. Perhaps you'll get more enjoyment out of it. Or not. Anyway.

You know how I said I was gonna learn everything there is to know about the Melbourne Cup? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, it's looking like that isn't gonna happen. But I'm semi knowledgeable at the moment -- just placed my first bet, $5 on Roman Emperor -- and have some reading material for the flight down to Melbourne tomorrow.

You know how I said Pedro was gonna get torn apart by the Yankees in Game 2 of the World Series? Yeeeeaaaaaahhh, didn't quite happen. Kind of some middle ground there. Although 3 ERs in 6+ IP at Yankee Stadium... if you're a Phillies fan, I think you have to be happy with that from 2009 Pedro Martinez.

You know how I said the Angels would win the World Series? Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh, clearly na ga da. I just pray the Phils can pull something off here.

You know how I beat a very consistent drum about Joe Posnanski being a great freaking writer? Yeeeeeeaaaahhhh, I'm still right on that one. He's done it again, this time on Derek Jeter.

You know how it's been a 14/17 hour time difference between Sydney and the East/West Coast of the US? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh, just an FYI with Daylight Savings Time, now it's 16/19.

You know how I'm going to Melbourne tomorrow? Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaahhh, I should probably pack for that and then get some sleep. Good night, Planet Earth!

Is Charlie Manuel feeding Pedro to the dogs?

7th inning, Game 7, 2004 ALCS, Yankee Stadium. I remember it too well. Up 8-1, the Red Sox were on the verge of completing the greatest comeback in baseball history. Yankee Stadium was silent. I was euphoric.

And then, inexplicably, improbably, incomprehensibly, Terry Francona summoned Pedro Martinez to pitch.

In 2004, Pedro was already in decline. He was still great, yes, but he was a far, far, far cry from the Pedro of years past. And in his previous two starts in that year's ALCS, he had allowed 7 runs in 12 innings.

I still don't know why Francona did it.

(Well, I think I know why he did it: Pedro needed redemption. Not just for how he had performed up to that point in that series, but for how he had performed in, ahem, a certain other Game 7. But for the game, for the team, for Red Sox Nation, it was a silly, ridiculous, absurd move.)

Visibly amped up for this appearance -- clearly too amped up, enough to lose control of his emotions -- Pedro got absolutely obliterated by the Yankees. It was like batting practice for them. And Yankee Stadium came to life. It was awful. Just a few pitches into the inning (consecutive doubles by Matsui and Williams on what I recall as one straight, lifeless fastball after another) and I was mush. This is supposed to be a moment of triumph! A moment I'll remember for the rest of my life! Why Terry, WHY??!?

Thinking about it today, it felt like Pedro allowed 20 runs that inning. In fact, he only allowed two. But the damage had been done. After systematically ripping the heart out of every Yankees fan over the last 3 games and 6 innings -- beating their team in every conceivable, cruel and crushing manner possible -- those fans had hope again. There is nothing worse than a Yankees fan with hope. Nothing. So because of that, for what he allowed to happen, to this day, part of me still hasn't let myself forgive Francona for it.

Game 2 of the World Series will be Pedro's first playoff appearance against the Yankees since that awful moment in Game 7. So I ask: Is Charlie Manuel pulling a Terry Francona? Is this a sentimental start, a chance for Pedro to finally redeem himself?

I'm sure Manuel would laugh that question off. As it should be laughed off. But does part of him think that, just a tiny, tiny bit? Well, at the very least, it's crossed his mind.

Either way, Phillies fans should just go ahead and write off Game 2. Because Yankee Stadium will be shaking. Freaking electric. And Pedro, unless he can find some zen-like way to contain his emotions, is going to try to overpower the Yankees lineup. He can't overpower the Yankees lineup.

Phillies fans: take your well-deserved win in Game 1 and be happy with it. The series will be tied at one apiece going back to Philly.

However! I will add that despite my near certainty that Game 2 will transpire like this, and despite my absolute hatred of all things Yankees, I'm still very excited for tomorrow, to see the moment Pedro steps onto the mound to start the bottom of the 1st. It will make for great, great theater.

And hey! Maybe, just maybe, Pedro will prove me wrong.*

*I pray he proves me wrong, and finally redeems himself.**








**And I think he can do it.

Jumping into the deep end

For the majority of the time that I lived in New York, I worked for an advertising agency that counted two of the racetracks in New Jersey (Meadowlands Racetrack and Monmouth Park) as clients. Great clients. Some nice perks. And I worked hard for them. But one thing I never did, one thing I never fully committed myself to, was to really immerse myself in the experience and learn about the horses, the track, the place. I just worked for my clients and tried to help them bring more people to the track. And sure, when I went out to the track myself, I generally had a good time.*

*One aspect of the races that has never led to good times? The betting. I've won a few bets here and there, but I've never left a racetrack up. Never. This has haunted me nearly as much as my failure to catch a ball in the stands at a professional baseball game.

I don't know if regret is the right word, but I've always had this lingering sense of disappointment that I didn't get into the racing more. It would be interesting, right? Learn about the horses, the trainers, the owners, the jockeys. How they all have a hand in shaping the journey, how they all have so much invested in the races. There are some real stories there, which we might occasionally hear about during the Triple Crown or perhaps in a movie like Seabiscuit. Part of me always wanted to really immerse myself in that, if even for one day.

Well, that day has come. As I said in my last post, I'm going to the Melbourne Cup in just over a week. So I've committed myself to learn everything I can about the day: the race, the preceding races, the horses, everything. I'm going to walk to the track next Tuesday with some serious knowledge. Who are the favorites? What bets offer the best value? What's each horse's handicap? How have the horses fared in previous races? How have they fared in races run in similar conditions? I'm gonna know it all. I'm gonna take the Melbourne Cup by storm. And by the end of the day, I'll be making a pose similar to that guy in the photo.*

*Or more likely, not at all. My streak of leaving a racetrack down will undoubtedly continue. But at least I'll have fun. I think. Hopefully.

Throwin' some aimless Kleinballs

It's strange. For me, writer's block is usually accompanied by a certain sense of complacency towards wanting to write anything, anything at all. I have nothing to write about, and I don't care to write about anything. And historically, that has generally sorted itself out; one day, the urge (and content) strikes me. So I write.

With my current bout of writer's block, however, I really do want to write. Yet I feel like I have nothing to write about. That's not to say that I have nothing going on in my life -- I'd like to think I've been keeping myself pretty busy recently -- it's just that the urge isn't striking me. Who knows.*

But I've had enough of this. I'm just gonna write. We'll see what happens. I guess it's some sort of ill-conceived, haphazard throwin' of some aimless Kleinballs. Not that they're not all like that, anyway.

*Upon rereading these last paragraphs, it occurs to me that I think I DO know what's going on: Twitter, and the Twitter-ization of Facebook. Before those two platforms, blogging was the best way for me to broadcast my thoughts, my ramblings, my HILARIOUS takes on life. But now... well, they say that Twitter is "micro blogging". For a while I didn't really grasp what that meant. But I think I do now, and they -- whoever THEY are -- are absolutely right. I have a funny thought? Twitter. I've come across a link I want to share? Twitter. I want to randomly share the opening line of All Along the Watchtower? Twitter. And then there's Facebook doing all it can to imitate Twitter's success.

Put it all together, and Twitter and Facebook are cannibalizing the content for this blog. Do I therefore need to redefine how I use this space? Maybe. And it might necessitate the cessation of the Kleinballs series. Because if anything was suited for Twitter, it's those little thoughts that don't deserve a whole blog post on their own. But let's not let this ruin the moment; for now, the Kleinballs live!

Went 3-for-4 on my picks for the divisional series of the playoffs. And glad that the one series I was wrong on was the Dodgers! Although I'm still really wary of that starting pitching. Looks like the offense is getting it together, but you can only put so much trust in a rotation of two incredibly inconsistent, young guys and two old farts that are using smoke and mirrors.

For those of you out there who like your statistics represented visually, Information Is Beautiful is a great blog that I've been reading for the last few weeks. Especially like the visualizations for caffeine and calories, the death of the music industry, the walled world, time travel in popular film and TV (takes a few minutes to wrap your head around that one, but well worth the effort) and how safe is the HPV vaccine. The guy who does the blog also has a book out now... I'd get it but for the fact that I don't have a nice coffee table to let it collect dust on.

You may remember my posts about the Melbourne Cup the last two years. And while I still haven't grasped why this race holds so much cultural significance, I've stopped trying to figure it out and have just accepted it as fact. It's really a HUGE day -- think the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont all rolled into one -- and in no place more so than Melbourne, where it's actually a public holiday. So this year I've decided to go! I fly down on Monday morning, go to the race on Tuesday, then fly back on Wednesday. I'm pumped. Much more to follow, I'm (kinda) sure.

The Socceroos -- that would be the nickname for the Australian national soccer team, of course -- played the Netherlands in Sydney on Saturday to a nil-nil draw. It wasn't a very exciting match.

That is all.

The drunken Miggy Cabrera baseball playoff preview

Two years ago, I brought you The pom-pom baseball playoff preview. Last year came The John Higgins baseball playoff preview. So this year? Well, you didn't ask for it, but you got it: the return of the baseball playoff preview!

The inspiration for this year's preview goes to a player whose team didn't even make the playoffs. The Tigers did come tantalizingly close to doing so but ultimately choked away a division lead and lost out in a one-game tie-breaker -- a game that looked like it may have been one for the ages* -- to the Twins on Tuesday.

*For all the baseball watching I've been doing on the Internet the last few years, this may have been my best experience yet, the one that felt the most visceral. I really felt like I could get into this game, that I could imagine the moment, the crowd, the tension. MLB.com's Gameday is pretty freaking good, and its latest integration with a Twitter feed, which allows you to track people's reactions right next to a pitch-by-pitch account of the game, makes it all the better.

Miguel Cabrera, you're an idiot. You get paid $14 freaking million dollars a year, yet you feel so little responsibility towards your team, your owner and your fans, that you don't care about playing at full capacity? After a big night of drinking, I can hardly walk, yet you go out knowing that you're gonna have to hit a 95 mph fastball the next day? That's a joke. A joke! I don't get it. You have practically half a year worth of the offseason to drink to your heart's delight, yet in the middle of a pennant race, as your team's division lead is dwindling away, you're getting so drunk -- not to mention with members of a rival team! -- that your GM has to act as your babysitter and pick you up from the police station at 7:30 in the morning?

And I don't even care about the drama that resulted from the drinking, the shady bickering with the wife; that's another issue that needs to be dealt with separately. It's the fact that you went out at all... just absurdly dumb, arrogant and irresponsible.

Oh. And then there's your responsibility to me. That's right. ME. I had you on my fantasy baseball team, and coming down the stretch this year, when I needed you most, here are your stats for the last week of the season: .158 avg, 1 run, 0 home runs, 0 RBIs, 0 stolen bases. Faaaaaaaaantastic.

Okay. Phew! Rant over. And with that pleasantness out of the way, let's get to it.

Minnesota Twins
I like this team. Not just the 2009 Twins, but the Twins franchise in general. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone here. Just something so likable about them. Especially because they seemingly persevere every year without the resources of the big market teams. In the last six years -- just because that's how far I cared to look back, but I'm sure the same would hold true if I looked further -- here's how their payroll has ranked against all 30 MLB teams: 19, 20, 19, 18, 25 and 24. Here's how their record for each of those years has ranked in the league: 6, 11, 3, 17, 10 and 11. For those keeping track at home, the average of their record versus the league is ten places higher than their salary versus the league. That's good.

Colorado Rockies
Yawn. They were hot going into the playoffs in 2007, and I correctly picked them to go to the World Series. They're hot again this year going into the playoffs, but, well, they just don't seem to have that je ne sais quoi. Really, nothing they do is above average; it's all relatively solid. A recipe for postseason success this does not make. Pass.

Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
Let's make a pact to not make fun of their name anymore, okay? The whole "Los Angeles Angels of California in Orange County of Anaheim off the 405" thing has gotten old. And you know what else has gotten old? It really pains me to say this, but I think it's the Angels' futility against the Red Sox in the postseason. This is the year the Angels get by the Sox. Maybe Mike Scioscia* will finally overcome whatever makes him cower in the presence of the Sox. Maybe the Angels will release a real, rabid, rally monkey into the Sox' dressing room. Maybe the Ghost of Nick Adenhart will strike. Or maybe the Sox will simply come undone. (More on this later.) I'm not sure exactly what it'll be, but I just have a feeling that it's gonna happen.

*Yes! Didn't need to look up how to spell his name!

St. Louis Cardinals
This is a good team. A frightening team. You know how I said the Rockies don't do anything really well? These guys do a lot of it well. Really well.

New York Yankees
It was nice not having them around last year, right? Oh well... guess it would've been a bit nuts to think we could make it two years in a row. But I'm happy to report that they're not going to the World Series. To the ALCS, yeah, probably. But that pitching... I'm not convinced. I could easily see CC throwing a stinker or two, AJ will throw multiple stinkers and Pettitte's 85 years old. Glad we can dismiss them!

Philadelphia Phillies
The defending champs! My God, I was so happy to see them win last year. One of the highlights of the year for me. I walked around with a grin on my face for the rest of the day, not at all for me, but for the people of Philly. That was awesome. But this year? I'd like to feel good about them -- really, I would -- but that bullpen... yeesh. Sorry Philly, but you can only cash in on so much karma at a time, and that was well and truly done last year. There's none left. That's kinda what happens when you boo Santa Claus, throw batteries at opposing players and cheer when they suffer near-fatal injuries.

Los Angeles Dodgers & Boston Red Sox
Like last year, I'm grouping them. I'm know. It's gutless. But I can't separate them. I won't separate them. Still, I'm comforted this year by a simple fact that didn't hold as true last year: both of these teams are flawed. Deeply flawed.

The Dodgers have holes everywhere. They also have holes nowhere. If the Rockies are your prototypical solid team without any flash, the Dodgers are your definition of schizophrenia.* The question is, which team shows up? The one with perhaps the deepest lineup in the NL? The one with two starting pitchers who can match up with those on the Cardinals and Phillies? Or will Manny continue his space cadet ways? And will the inexperience and inconsistency of the Buzzsaw and Kershaw shine through?

*Yes! Absolutely had to look up how to spell that!

The Red Sox are -- sigh -- the Yankees of the last few years. Their roster is seemingly full of immobile 1B/3B/DH types. They're old. They lack the passion of previous Sox teams from this decade.* So I just can't get excited about their prospects for this year. Next year? The year after that? All the way through the teens? In Theo and Co, I absolutely trust. But this year? In the immortal words of Dana Carvey impersonating George H.W. Bush, a na ga da.

*I want to be perfectly clear that I'm talking about this Sox TEAM, not the organization. Yeah, the Sox franchise may be more similar to the Evil Empire than any other franchise, but they're still different enough. As in the Yankees' payroll is $80 million dollars higher (over 50% higher!!) than that of the Sox. As in Theo could outwit Cashman any day of the week. As in John Henry is actually sane.

Wow. Going into this, I really didn't have much of a sense of who I thought would win each round, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to make any picks. But I think I just worked myself towards some clarity, and I'm happy to make them official. To recap, I guess: Yankees over Twins, Angels over Red Sox, Cardinals over Dodgers, Phillies over Rockies. Angels over Yankees, Cardinals over Phillies. Angels over Cardinals.

So! There we are. Another baseball postseason staring us down. I'm excited. Who knows how many games I'll get to watch, but I'll savor every opportunity I get. And hopefully next year -- just maybe! -- Miggy will lay off the booze. He has all this postseason and several months afterwards to drink himself silly.

Orange Sydney

I woke up this morning to the sound of the wind rattling my windows. Sounds about right, I thought. We're supposed to have some heavy wind today. Then I opened my eyes. And everything was orange. Deep, dark, saturated orange. Riiiiiiiggggghhhhht...

I opened the sliding door to my balcony. Felt warm and there wasn't a smell, so I figured it was just some heavy fog, with the rising sun behind it adding some drama to the colors.

I went for a run in Centennial Park. There was hardly anyone out there. Usually the park is teeming with people exercising in the morning. But with the orange color slowly graying, I stuck by my fog hypothesis and thought little of it.

Got back to the apartment and turned on the lights. Normally a yellowish color, my sight had been so distorted by the orange that they appeared to be blue.

It wasn't until I turned on the TV that I realized, no, it wasn't fog. It was a huge frickin' dust storm. A huge frickin' dust storm that was covering half the state! So during that run, I probably managed to inhale a few pounds of the stuff. Fun!

I had a morning meeting in the city. On the bus coming in, pedestrians were walking around with makeshift masks over their mouths. And when I made it to the meeting, on the 47th floor of a building that usually offers amazing views of the city and harbour, there was nothing to see.

Spending a day in that stuff, after starting it with a run, I'm feeling it now. Itchy throat. Slight trouble breathing. A bit of cottonmouth.

Of all the videos and photo montages that I've already seen, I think this is the best.

It was a strange day. A strange, orange day that I won't be forgetting anytime soon.

Two years

Two years ago on this day, I landed in Sydney and began this adventure. No job. No place to live. No clue as to how any of this would play out. Just a dude, a vague sense of direction and a couple of bags. Two years ago on this day. TWO YEARS!

Three houses, two jobs, 12 roommates, nine AK All Day Faces,* three toilet flushing experiments, 16 Kleinballs and several Portuguese chicken-related incidents later, here I am.

*If only I ever get around to posting ALL the AK All Day Faces I have stored away on my computer...

I don't even know what else to say about that. Has the time flown by? Yes. Do I feel like I've made the most of my time? Yes.

Do I know what the next year has in store? No. Not at all. But I guess that's a good thing.

A shocking sports weekend of epic proportions

I find that my weekends are often defined by sports. This happened in college, this happened in New York and it's happening in Sydney. And while sports can fill a weekend with glee, it can also cast doom on our days of rest.

This past weekend, a huge shadow of sports doom descended upon Australia.

The first blow was the Bledisoe Cup match between the Wallabies and All Blacks on Saturday night. The Wallabies are Australia's rugby team. The All Blacks are New Zealand's rugby team. And amongst the many rivalries between those two countries -- sports or otherwise -- this one takes the cake. New Zealand may be a bit more rugby-mad than Australia, but Australia still loves it plenty. Imagine USA-Canada in ice hockey... except pretend that the US still actually cared about ice hockey, just a little. It would be kinda like that.

Anyway, I was fortunate enough to score some tickets to the match. So out to the Olympic Stadium I went, looking forward not only to what is generally a great match, but also to New Zealand doing the haka, a Maori dance that was traditionally performed before a battle in the hopes of scaring the bejesus out of the enemy.

Based on the premise of this post, you already know this ended poorly for Australia: All Blacks 19, Wallabies 18. And even though it was close, with New Zealand taking the lead for good in the last few minutes, it was actually pretty non-eventful.* I mean, relatively speaking. If I was expecting a 9, I got a 7. So, you know, I was let down a bit.

*In rugby union, teams will often score many of their points off of penalties. And that's pretty much what happened here. 30 of the 37 points in the match were scored off of penalty kicks. Imagine an NBA game in which 81% of the points were scored off of free throws, and that's what you have here.

Even the haka wasn't great. If you scroll ahead to the 5:10 mark of this video, you can see it. But in my mind, the gold standard for the haka came in last year's Rugby League World Cup, when New Zealand and Australia faced off in the final:

Now that's a haka.

The second calamity of the weekend actually didn't come until late Sunday night, when Australia officially lost the Ashes, one of cricket's most celebrated rivalries, to England.

Australia dominated the tournament from 1989 to 2003, winning every single time. And even after losing the Ashes in 2005, they promptly won them back in 2007. So going into this year's contest as the #1 ranked team in the world, it was widely expected that they'd win again. After four test matches, the series was tied at one apiece (with the other two being draws). Starting the fifth and final test match, everyone thought Australia had the momentum. They didn't. And late Sunday night in Australia, England won back the Ashes. Which would be that tiny little urn that Ricky Ponting, Australia's captain, is holding in the picture. Yeah. That's what they play for.

And the final sports catastrophe of the weekend? Let's go back to New Zealand and my ice hockey comment. For in a match that I'm sure no one even knew was happening, New Zealand took out Australia for the first time ever in ice hockey. Is that really necessary, after a weekend that will live in infamy? I think not.