After Grog Blog

PET SOUNDS

Well we've had healthy lashings of sex and violence here recently but the Ashes aside, perhaps it's time GrogFlog spruiked something that's more of a family flick. If the adventures of a young lad and his loveable mutt are more your thing, then why not check out "A Boy And His Dog"?

(1975. Colour. Script: LQ Jones from a short story by Harlan Ellison. Direction: LQ Jones. Cinematography: John Arthur Morrill. Score: Tim McIntire, Jaime Mendoza-Nava and warped snatches of John Philip Souza.)

It's all about the merry japes of Vic (Don Johnson) and his dog Blood (a largish scruffy wire-haired terrier voiced by Tim McIntire) in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. What? Sorry, didn't I mention the flick starts with an atomic explosion montage wrapped up by a title card that reads "World War IV lasted five days. Politicians had finally solved the problems of urban blight"?

So anyway we have Vic and Blood making their way through a mise en scene that predates the Mad Max movies when it comes to paying with rusty tins of food and checking in weapons to get into dusty anarcho oasises for a night of relative safety from the bandits and muties.

It's in one of these desert dens that Blood tells Vic he smells a disguised woman (Oh yeah, also forgot to mention that Blood is telepathic and Vic is perpetually horny) who turns out to be the bait to lead Vic to a massive underground bomb shelter where a "Committee" is trying to keep the Norman Rockwell dream of America alive despite somewhat trying circumstances. Which includes the fact that the men living underground for so long in a radioactive world are now all shooting blanks. Quite unlike the young rude, crude but very virile alpha male Vic - who soon gets introduced to technology more often seen in Royal Agricultural Shows.

And then the film gets really weird.

But what holds it all together is LQ Jones' (A rugged old industry pro - google his acting credits for starters) sturdy but thoughtful direction and a lotta fucking great acting.  A young and callow Don Johnson is actually pretty damn good playing a young and callow hyper-aggressive male predator. Jason Robards is even better as the ruthlessly urbane head of the troika running the "Committee", effortlessly stealing scenes just by eating a sandwich or sternly questioning an innocent Maltese terrier.

The real star though is the dog playing Blood. The best animal acting you will ever see, regardless of CGI'd pigs and all that jazz. LQ Jones said in the DVD commentary the dog was seriously considered for a Best Supporting Actor Oscar and I believe him. I'm sorry I can't dig up the dog's real name but he (at least I think it's a he) really is so bloody brillant as the boy's best friend, hiding his true feelings behind sardonic one-liners. And he and Don do make up the heart of what is basically a great buddy movie. Women? By the end, they're just something to jaw about by the campfire.

All weirdness aside, it really is a great story of a boy and his dog. Get it out for a nice family night in…and down deep under.

GrogFlog's verdict: "Right now I'm hungry and I want to get laid, so find me a broad and we'll go to the promised  land."  7 out of 10. Or 11 out of 10 if yer are the proverbial dog on the internet.

Coming soon: Oliver Reed remains irradiated,  gay communist torture, the Addams Family for grownups and who really shot President Kerrigan.

DAR, HE BLOWS!

We'll take our scape-goats wherever we can get them, thank you. Time to break out the effigies and kero.

On the attack to save series

Ricky Ponting and Simon Katich, quite rightly, were up before match referee Ranjan Madugalle when play ended, receiving healthy fines to go on top of losing a match that so nearly was won.

They will be reflecting on the nature of rough justice.

In an ideal world, umpire Aleem Dar would have been cited along side them for glaring incompetence, but that isn't how it works. His decision that Katich was out LBW to Steve Harmison bordered on the ludicrous.

And no matter we have certain differences of opinion, Spanky's articles are always the ones I read.

Australians still have fight left in them

Had umpire Aleem Dar had even a moderate match they might have pulled it off. Instead he made numerous palpable mistakes, and the visitors were the victims each time.

Australia has often enjoyed the blessing of the gods and is now feeling their wrath. Umpires are affected by the mood of a match.

It is not specifically that Dar's hand stays doggedly down for the Aussie bowlers, most of the time it's the same for the Poms. Numbers-wise, this probably reflects the benefit of the doubt. Trouble is with Dar, while he errs on the side of caution 90% of the time, the other 10% of the time, the ones that are allegedly plumb, are anything but. Then again, maybe they are plumb. Plumb wrong. It is bizzare!

Spanky is right that umpires get swept up in the moment, that clearly happened in India in 2001 and looks as if it is happening here, too. But with Dar you'd expect he would get at least some decisions right.

There is a suspicion that the umpiring fraternity have decided Australia (especially Warne) have had some favourable outcomes in the past, and have decided to do something to redress the balance. The numbers back that up.

LOANE PUNMAN

Recently at Flute I delivered the following bon mot. Mon mot, if you will.

Yesterday the comment appeared in The Age Diary. So that was nice. But without attribution. That was un-nice.

Oh, Virginia. Doh!

YOU need a sharp spear gun to survive the shark-infested waters of the Sydney media. Virginia Trioli, Melbourne's most famous export since radio grizzler Steve Price, hasn't even begun her orations on 702 ABC Sydney in place of Sally Loane and the insults have already surged like hailstones in a torrential downpour. (Memo to removalists: don't forget the brolly!) The pernicious press has labelled Trioli a "cocky" feminist who will struggle to crack the code of Coathanger City, but her mate Piers Akerman is doing his bit to ensure Trioli is given room to hang her designer coat.

The Sydney Morning Herald warns: "Melburnians have a dismal history trying to crack Sydney radio. Steve Price and Judith Lucy are among Bleak City stumblers and failures." On a lighter note, the cultural commentators at the dailyflute.com blog of Paul Batey (below) think Trioli has a great voice for a guest role on The Simpsons. The best of the blog feedback: "Is Virginia full-time in Sydney or just on Loane?"

Why, though, did they feel the need to change the wording? The lower-case l works for me. And by changing S'Syddey to Sydney, they did away with several tiers of exquisitely crafted drollery. Something not missed by Flute himself with his mention of Billy Deane. Although, I really meant Juan Antonio S'Samaranch.

But SEE! See just how many layers my wordplay works on, you palestines.

CLASSHOLE

When I first started teaching my mate Mad Mick told me "At a new job, the first person who talks to you is always an idiot."

Mick was wrong. The first person who talked to me was an utter fuckwit.

How so? Well, the fuckwit complains. I mean, he really complains. Moans, whines and whinges, too. Everything is rotten, and there is nothing in the world he can't do better. Iraq, ABS braking, crop rotation, royal tennis - his way is the only way. It doesn't matter he couldn't possibly know anything about a subject. "The space shuttle? Idiots! Why don't they use unleaded?"

The other day he ordered a pizza for lunch. "Fuck me, what a rip-off. I ordered seafood, but half of this fucking wog-wheel is prawns and fish bits!" We all laughed AT him and took the piss, but he didn't seem to notice. He never does. He just sits there oblivious to our derision; smiling, nodding and laughing at whatever it is going on in his head. I think he is mad.

He's an ignorant racist, too. "Fucken rag-heads! I wish they'd all fuck off back to the synagogue." What a moron! Everyone knows Moslems pray in a Mosk.

Aaand, he is the best teacher. EVER! Just ask him. "I am the best teacher," will be his unambiguous reply. Seriously, he says that. Even if he was, which he's not, do you think a smart person would actually say that? Not just that, either. He often advises new kids they should ask for him when it comes time for the advanced subjects. "The other teachers aren't as qualified as me." It has never occurred to him he only ever teaches the basic subjects. The boss won't let him within cooey of anything difficult.

My Friday class was naming the teachers they don't like. "Best not go there," I said, heading them off before they started shit-canning staff members. They still got one in, though. "Utter Fuckwit, Tony, he's a nightmare."

I nearly told them off.

A NO-BALL'S CHANCE IN HELL

Well, that's it then, The Ashes are gone. Time to pray for a miracle - or rain. Or both. So long, and thanks for all the eel-pie, you bastards! I mean that in the nicest possible fucking way, you understand.

Ok then, enough with the politesse, let's not beat around the mulberry. In recent years Australia have profited big time from dropped catches, favourable umpiring and general opposition clownishness. "Christ, we got away with one there," is an oft heard phrase hereabouts after yet another bungle in the field or a rank howler from the men in white.

These were often at crucial moments. Most recently at Lords Kevin Pietersen put down a sitter off Michael Clarke. KP snaffles that and Australia are in trouble, but he didn't and Clarke went on to post a match-winning 91. In Adelaide, New Zealand had Australia something like 5 for 220 with Gilchrist and Clarke at the wicket. Gilly was given not out when he was plumb LBW and then cut loose to set up a comfortable Australian victory. Herschelle Gibbs famously put down Steve Waugh in the 99 World Cup. Waugh went on to make his best ever one-day hundred. Daffy Donald Duck's run-out compounded the South African misery in the semi-final. For mine, though, there was no greater let-off than when Courtney Browne put down a doddle of Waugh at Sabina Park in 1995. Waugh, 42 at the time, went on to post 200 and set up an Australian series victory. Remember, too, that Waugh had earlier claimed Brian Lara with what turned out to be a no-catch.

That's just a small grab. In the last ten or so years it is staggering the number of times Australia have been let off the hook. They have also played a lot of shit sides against who they could afford to drop catches. That is not to say they weren't deserving of success, just that they have been building up an enormous overdraft of luck and/or happenstance. Sooner or later, the debt was bound to be called. What goes around, comes aground, as they say. All that need be negotiated was When? and By how much?

Well, it's stating the bleedin' obvious, but when is NOW. And how much is TOO FUCKING MUCH.

Fielding: This northern summer Australia's ground-fielding and catching have been atrocious to the point of comedic. Were it another country's team committing these shockers I would have laughed myself silly. Instead, my remote-control has suffered the mother of all hidings as chance after chance has gifted England the initiative.

Batting: Oh for an Allan Border or a Steve Waugh. At the crease, the Aussie batsmen have been cavalier to the point of careless. But now that they have decided to apply themselves, superficially a least, England have the momentum and are pouncing on nearly every Aussie mistake. Three words sum up half the top order- FTBs.

Umpiring: This is a gross and undignified whinge. Quite atypical of me, as I'm sure you will agree. Quite. Australia's appalling run with the umpires has been something to behold. It has gotten to the point that when the English go up for an appeal, one immediately expects a wicket. Conversely, the first thing that comes to mind when the Aussies create a chance is "No chance!"

Injuries: After McGrath's first test it was immediately apparent we would struggle without him. It wasn't long before that was proved correct. There would be very few Aussie cricket fans who didn't gasp with dread when they realised McGrath was going to miss Edgbaston. To make matters worse, Ponting chose to bowl.

The toss: In 2001 Australia won every toss. Here we won the first, "won" the second (Fucking Ponting!), but have since lost the last two. In any of the second, third or fourth test, had we batted first, at least one result would probably have gone our way.

Bowling: The no-balls. Trescothick in the runs? Pinch me. It is unbelievable how many wickets we have "taken" with no-balls. Although I'm of the opinion that if they weren't no-balls, each delivery would have been different and a wicket not taken, the sense of disappointment deflates the bowling side and boosts the batting side, contributing to their momentum. Second, and most obviously, England have bowled better, much better, keeping pressure on all the time with their four quicks and Giles.

To be brutally frank, it's astounding Australia are in it at all. England have bowled better, batted better, fielded better, been captained better (How long has Ponting got, I wonder?) And given our largesse, we really should be at the very least, one down.

Now. The AGB doesn't want to appear churlish. Not at all. Not even a bit. So it is with abundant and heartfelt magnamaniousness that I say "well played, England" and concede that them winning the Ashes is a jolly good thing for cricket. It sets up a mouth-watering prospect for 2006/07. Two years is long enough for you to borrow the tiny trophy and we will be wanting it back by then, thank you very little.

LOOK BACK IN CLANGER

Jumped in my car at lunch (9:45pm here in Poohtown, 3000) to hear England was 120 for one, McGrath was out again and yet another English batsman had been "dismissed" with a no-ball. It's astounding how quickly the wheels can come off. Clown catching, no-balls, impotent bowling, slack batting - what a fiasco.

Time to pray for the rain to set in. Although fuck knows why SBS think I want to watch a replay of the first day from Edgbaston. Probably Channel Four's way of rubbing in Ponting's decision to bowl - as if we'll ever forget.

January 2004.

Dropping Is Catching

Australia's attack will weaken over the next few years and the team will struggle with the increased pressure inferred by the expectation of fewer chances. This means that they must firstly remember that "catches win matches" but more importantly that "dropped catches LOSE matches". And do something about it!

July 2004.

Nothing But The Test

I meant to blog that this morning. As I see it, though, The Poms are coming along nicely and we will have to be at our best to beat them next year. Anything less and they will ambush us.

January 2005 (Read the whole post and it's comments)

Luck!

I'm not 100% convinced England are quite ready for a fully charged Australia and for the Poms to win, Aussie bad management, English bowling and the aforemention luck would have to go their way.

I'll be crossing my fingers they don't, but I'm leaning towards England.

May 2005

Ace of Clubs

Via Mike at Yorkshire Soul. By the way, Mike follows the cricket so it might be worth checking him out during the Ashes. Don't do it if England are winning -- something I predict -- because like all English swine, he would become unbearably smug.

August 2005

Tell me I'm wrong.

Off to watch the last Lost, then. Bugger the cricket!

SONG OF TANKS

"If we lose tomorrow, we'll be singing the song - don't you worry about that."

~~ E. Magpie

That was Eddie in the Subiaco press-box last Friday night during the Fremantle v StKilda match. He was talking up the prospect of Collingwood losing to Adelaide on Saturday, but winning an extra draft pick. What to make of such a flippant remark? Well, apart from the obvious - not quite the done thing to boast about dropping games - it is perhaps why he has given only cursory support to Nine stablemate, Tony Jones, after Jones' massive beat-up of The Umpire Strikes Back.

"It was probably ill advised if anything else, but I hope everybody now just takes a deep breath and if somebody made a remark well say it, and let's not hang them for it, but you know, just remember that it's - it was a pretty public area, members of the public have heard that and that's what you know, where Tony's in his rights to report the report."

It will be interesting to watch Eddie's reaction if his tanking comments are reported in the press. No doubt he will make a distiction between pretty public areas and the Subi press box. But you can't have your cakewalk and eat it, too.

HOOP CREAMS

Fine now, top hole. No doubt you'd been wondering.

Fruit Fact: The papaya, from the tree Carica Papaya, is also known as mamao, tree melon, or pawpaw (not to be confused with the true pawpaw). It is a fruit native to central and South America.

The true pawpaw, also known as a prairie banana (not to be confused with the tummy banana), is a fruit native to North America. The name, also spelled paw paw, paw-paw, and papaw, probably derives from the Spanish papaya, perhaps due to the superficial similarity of their fruit.

The papaw in the jar, though, comes from Carica Papaya. An inconsistency? I think so. Wicked Lucas is having a go each way. It is important these things are revealed, don't you agree?

Mind you, it also claims to be Fresh Fermented Fruit; but let's not go there.

SCRAWL ... YEAHHHHH!

My friend Will is sick of tedious email arguments about football. At least for this week. Before he pulled the pin, though, he jotted down this list of thoughts on the state of the game.

Naturally, I don't agree with everything he writes, he follows Collingwood afterall, but he makes plenty of good sense, so I reckon the list deserves a wider audience. Be interesting to know what you readers think. Well, those of you who barrack for Melbourne, anyway. The rest of you are witless oafs.

Footy Beliefs and Prejudices

1. No priority picks.


2. No draft concessions.


3. No automatic blockbusters/derbies - make everyone play each other equal amount of times over three year period - it only enhances 'blockbusters' when they come around - Anzac Day maybe the only exception. I'm dreaming, I know, but it would be the best thing for the draw.


4. Ban teams 'selling' home games. Hold a raffle or something, Dees, you lazy so and sos.


5. More footy in Darwin, Tassie.


6. Keep fund for temporarily struggling teams, but don't prop up cheats or the incompetent.


7. Day Grand Final at the MCG.


8. Aside from the Friday night debate, TV does a good job with footy. But ALL GAMES OF EVERY CLUB playing interstate MUST be televised live in their entirety on free to air under the new deal. And a better deal for northern states must be part of it as well. At least allow Pay TV to do it live there if the free to air companies won't/can't.


9. Other finals played at venue of team that finished highest on the ladder.


10. Death of standing room and home grounds has been the biggest loss from necessary changes to footy in last thirty years. We should have kept some smaller grounds.


11. No Monday games! Mix is right now. Less Sunday games in Melb.


12. National footy is a success and the game has never been stronger, but it is time to take the training wheels off and let the competition operate without artificial impediments.


13. You can't socially engineer or legislate to make people barrack for a team, these things go back generations. Some clubs are just more popular than others, and it is not just because of 'success'.


14. You can't make TV executives make 'fair' decisions when they are pouring cash into your comp.


15. Eddie is good for football, but he shouldn't call. Don't watch/listen if he's so much of a problem. It is good for football to have a loudmouthed Collingwood president.


16. It's the greatest game in the world, but must be wary of a trendy cultural cringe push for the round ball game. (And I hope soccer thrives here) Just because soccer is international doesn't mean it has a superior game or culture. Footy, especially in Melbourne, is one of Australia's greatest cultural icons.


17. You can have the most money or exposure, but it doesn't matter if you can't recruit properly.


18. AFL, though lacking jingoism of interntaional sports (which, I for one, think is a good thing), has to be close to the best competition around - Premier league and most US sports are a joke, winnable by only a few, are determined by money. By luck and good management, we are handling the onset of professionalism reasonably well.


19. The league is diminshed if any of the current clubs goes under. A 'pure' market driven ten or twelve club comp would be boring - artificial means if necessary should be used to keep current set-up.


20. It is just as tough to compete with nine other teams in one state as to be the only team in an entire non-footy state.


21. Nathan Buckley is a good bloke and a champion footballer. Those who boo him expose themselves as the biggest morons in sport and the dark side of the tall poppy Aussie psyche.


22. Club culture is underrated. No two clubs are alike, though many modern commentators seem to have forgotten this. Even Freo has a unique sensibility.


23. Those who don't go to games regularly don't REALLY love footy.


24. Grass roots footy needs to see more of the dough the game generates.


25. If Collingwood doesn't win the flag, it doesn't matter which team it is as long as its not Essendon, Carlton, Richmond, St Kilda, Melbourne or Hawthorn. I could handle Bulldogs, Cats, Roos, Swans and the other interstate teams.


26. Diversity is the strength of footy and this comp and it is being undermined by modern set-up. But people, the fans, are the forgotten bedrock. It is in good, parochial hands, no matter what a few journos think.

NOT OUT

Remember how Gra Gra was Gay Gay? And that he did, then didn't, die of AIDS relatedness? Of course you do. What a rumpus!

Going by the commotion that accompanied Hinchy's 'exclusive' revelation, it will be a long time before another media outlet tries the same thing. One of our papers, for instance, is sitting on a story that an Aussie icon, someone you'd never expect, was fond of the Chocolate Cha Cha. They want to run with it, trouble is, they don't know how to do so without copping the same sort of backlash Hinch copped.

Me, I'm ambivalent. Perched on one shoulder, Good Tony advises "It's no one's business." On the other, Bad Tony screams "Get it out there, you craven dogs!" Their proposed headline is a killer.

PS: I once shoplifted a Cherry Ripe. The truth will out, see.

C CAPTAIN

Where there's smoke, there's ire.

The inside oil from Cricket Australia is that there was indeed a heated exchange between Ricky Ponting and Shane Warne. Apparently Ponting had been ripping into everyone and generally coming the c**t. Warne told him to "chill out and stop being a grumpy bastard" at which point Punter spat it big time and Adam Gilchrist had to physically intervene.

Bonus Rumour! Matthew Hayden is an unpopular member of the team and everybody would be much happier if he was flicked.

GOLD TRAFFORD

Is this the best test series of, like, ever? There is one other obvious candidate, Windies in Straya 1960/61, but due to a severe lack of tooth I'm not in a position to comment first-hand on that ancient epic. Certainly this series is the best in my time watching cricket.

Anyhoo, the third test.

1. That was Australia's best ever draw.


2. Ponting being awarded the Man Of The Match was one in the eye for Vaughan. While the English skipper's innings was a fine knock, Punter's bordered on, well, Border. There is no higher praise in world cricket.



3. It could be time to consider technical assistance for umpiring decisions. Not sure about the logistics; how it could be done. But too much is resting in the hands of superannuated cretins like Morgan Freeman and deformed Pacific islanders like Billy Bowden.


4. Brett Lee must be yearning for a boring match. Although ostensibly a bowler (some of the time, anyway), these two not-outs could be the making of him.


5. Flintoff is quite the competitor but doubts remain ("England threw the ball to Andrew Flintoff, some of whose deliveries continue to raise independent eyebrows"). Still others appear curious.


6. Despite Vaughan's lemon-sucking and Ponting's finger-eating, these two teams seem to get on amazingly well.


7. Hope. In both the Edgbaston and Old Trafford fourth innings, England looked as if they were hoping for wickets. In the same position Australia would have been expecting them. Warne makes a difference, of course.


8. Speaking of Warne. He is the best cricketer in my time watching the game. Long may he continue.


9. Gerain't no keeper. Don't believe this tosh from Bumble Lloyd. "Jones has had his critics, but they can all keep quiet now," he quipped when Jones caught Warne. A soft rebound catch, no matter how odd, is no substitute for consistent excellence behind the stumps. Jones cost England this test with his clownish efforts in the first innings. Gilchrist was not much better. It's down to him England were in such a strong position here.


10. Momentum. When Forrest said "keep up the scare" he was not watching a rerun of Halloween XXII - The Return of the Pumpkin. He was on about the long accepted military strategy of keeping the pressure on. Never give the opposition a chance to regroup. Ponting made a stunning blunder in Birmingham by taking his foot off England's throat when they were down, thus handing them a chance to steal back the momentum. Yet now, from a precarious position, Australia have managed to draw this test. THEY are now the ones who can take the most out of this Manchester result and reclaim some of that lost momentum.


11. McGrath has a decent time to get his ankle right.


12. Katich and Gillespie need to be replaced by Watson and Larry Tate. Watson because he can bat and provide an option with the agate. Tate because England won't know what to expect. He's a nasty bowler and a wicket taker, too.


13. Despite their dogged determination in the last two tests, Australia are playing poorly due, primarily, to a combination of the England bowling and their own lack of attention to detail. Now, though, the pressure is back on England who will be wondering just what they have to do to beat Australia enough times to win the series. In both the second and third tests and for periods of the first, they played all over Australia but have still only managed to win just the one. And that by just two runs.


14. England will also be concerned that now Ponting has a score, an example will be set for one of Langer, Hayden, Martyn or Gilchrist to also get amongst the runs. Australia have scored a motza against substandard attacks (there's been a hint of the dreaded FTB about them), but now are faced with a pretty good one. Pretty good. Flintoff is consistently menacing, as is Jones. But Hoggard has been ordinary and Harmison, while threatening, bowls far too many loose balls. Giles is handy because the Aussies have never been comfortable against offies. It's still 1-1, though, and with ten days break, the Aussies have a chance to get their games in order.


15. We'll have none of this "we were lucky" and "saved by the weather" nonsense. That lost day merely ... ahem ... robbed -- Yes! ROBBED, I tell ya! -- Australia of the valuable time necessary for McGrath and Lee to knock off the required 50 odd runs. We were home and hosed.


16. Still, despite my renewed optimism, Australia need to lift their games (if England let them) a long way whereas all England need do is continue apace. England have their noses in front.

Aussie Rules is a fine game. So are Major League Baseball and the National Football League. Soccer is passable - they need more penalty shootouts and to scrap off-side. The two rugby's have their moments. Sports without a ball are no sport, at all. Motor racing is for savages.

Cricket is THE game.

SCHOOL OF COCK

"My name is Tony Teacher and I like duck."

BODY LANGUAGE

Spice amuses me. So it's been a little disappointing none of our major organs have managed to inkorporate any KORPSE puns into their headlines. It was a given, wasn't it?

Sure, were I a subby at a major paper I would have likely baulked at anything too outrageous; shown the appropriate restraint and all that jazz (What's the bet they were gravely tempted to let fly). But as Joe Idiot out here in punterland, reading such a headline would have been a guilty pleasure. "Ooo, zesty," I would have sniggered.

SQUIZZY GILLESPIE

There was Jason Gillespie - arm dead straight, wrist tightly cocked, fingers straight down the seam, shiny side to the off and Ritchie in the box. "There it is," opined the doyen. "Huh," opined the viewer. This viewer.

Back from selling cars and Athers requested elaboration. "Ritchie, be so good as to explain to us lesser beings what precisely it was you were talking about before the advertisement."

"Well Michael, (Doyen rarely refers to anyone by their nickname) let's have another look, shall we? Watch how Jason's shoulder drops away before the point of delivery. That is where he is losing his zip." Or words to that effect.

Just like the rest of his action, you could see Gillespie's shoulder drop away. Clear as crystal. What a marvellous piece of instructive footage. What a marvellous invention is this ultra-slo, high-res replay facility.

The thing is, though, I've only seen it used on Dizzy. Why is this? It would appear to be an excellent tool for analysing a bowler's action, and a veritable boon to any telecast. Great for the bowler himself, and wonderfully instructive for up-and-coming youngsters. Much more convincing than the over-used Hawk-eye.

It already works a treat with other things, too. Simon Barnes has put significant time into evaluating batting technique, and it is often used for catches and boundaries, but it seems much less frequently used on bowlers.

Why?

Wouldn't YOU like a good squizz at the techniques of Warnah, Harmy, Pidge, Hoggy, The Kat, Cooky, Gilo, Binger, Freddie and co? What to do, what not to do. I know you would. Let's have a good long look at them. There's nothing like learning directly from the best.

Telecasters should expand it's use here at this Ashes and elsewhere. If they can use it in the UK, well, they should be able to use it anywhere. The MCG, Sabina Park, St George's Park, Eden Gardens, McLean Park ... Kandy.

I really do look forward to it's expanded application. There should be no reason AT ALL why it wouldn't be used worldwide. I can't think of even one - can you? No, I thought not. That's settled then. It's only a matter of time before it is used with EVERY bowler. Every bowler.

And it needs a good name. What say you? Super Slow Mo has a nice ring to it, but it's not quite right. Almost. But not quite.

YEARNING A CRUST

-- "Please, Sir, may I have some?"

-- "Shhhhh!"

Groak: noun

One who stands around while others eat, hoping to be asked to join in.

Wide is the world of weird words, wouldn't you say?

GRIND GUIGNOL

Call me a bit of a romantic if you like, but I can't help feeling productions like "Mandingo Ass Blasters #17" didn’t quite deliver on the promise of porn's golden age. Back in the late 70s and early 80s, they put some time, money and effort into adult flicks like "The Opening Of Misty Beethoven", "Babylon Pink" and "The Devil In Miss Jones". And then there was (cheesy jazzfunk soundtrack screeches to a stop)… "Café Flesh" (1982).

(At this point I'd normally provide production credits, but in this case they're not helpful in sourcing the flick or would be spoilers for the rest of this GrogFlog. So read on gentle reader.)

To be fair, you couldn't really call Café Flesh a porn movie. Yes, there is some penetration and ejaculation but sexually arousing you is not the aim of the folks behind this bizarre V-movie. You'd spend more time pinching yourself than touching yourself inappropriately while watching this crazed little number.

Written pre-AIDS but set in a post atomic war future, Café Flesh sets the scene with title cards and a VO about how after the Nuclear Kiss, 99% of the survivors are sex negatives who can't do it anymore without getting really sick – while the 1% who are sex positives and can get off with nothing worse than le petit morte, have to perform for the sterile majority’s pleasure at Café Flesh. It’s a real eros/thantos dichotomy thang, complete with a coherent plot, symbolic caged songbird shit…and lashings of hair gel.

Café Flesh the venue is a strange, neon-splattered bunker of a nightclub, run by "Mum" with Mr Joy as a proto-Buscemi doorman sardonically tending a bank vault-like entrance - and presided over on stage by Max Melodramatic (Andrew Nichols), a mutant cross between Cabaret's Joel Grey and Lenny Bruce at his foulest.

In fact the whole flick is like Cabaret meets Liquid Sky with a soundtrack by Devo gone sleazo. Or this case, a soundtrack by Mitchell Froom, who went onto produce acts ranging from Los Lobos to Cibo Matto, become a de facto member of REM and marry Suzanne Vega. And the scriptwriter, "Herbert W. Day" is actually Jerry Stahl who also moved on write episodes of "Twin Peaks", "Northern Exposure", "ALF" and several other TV series before penning "Permanent Midnight" about how his smack habit fucked up his writing career (until he wrote a book about it though).

To cum to the point, Café Flesh is a seriously strange movie – partly because it's trying to be seriously strange on a small budget and big coke-addled hopes, and partly because the hardcore sequences are staged as seriously strange and very unerotic and twisted performance art numbers.  Rat-nosed milkmen, back projected oil pumps, bone-wielding babies, nude babes with monocles and Hitler mustaches and finger clicking tuxedo arms sticking out of the floor take what prosaic porn plumbing there is in the flick well into some XXX Twilight Zone freakiness.

And throughout it all Max Melodramatic is taunting both the nightclub audience and you the viewer about why you like to watch. He's rubbing your nose in the fact he's getting off on the fact you need to watch the show to get off. But I defy anyone to get off, or even wood, while watching this very very very peculiar piece of Nu Wave polyester art anti-porn.

GrogFlog verdict: "Welcome to the carnal charnel house." 1 out of 10 if you're there for the sex. 7 out of 10 for the high weirdness.

Coming next: Oliver Reed gets irradiated, Don Johnson gets hoisted with his own petard, Lon Chaney Jr gets blown up and Jason Robards eats a sandwich.

PSYCHO STOMATIC

Adj. Relating to or concerned with the influence of the mind on the stomach.

Sunday night was roast night. Roasts are brilliant, my favourite food, and judging by the odours emanating from the kitchen, this one was shaping up no different. Then just before dinner came a portentious warning "Look, you don't have to eat the vegetables, I used Old Lard."

Old lard? Fuck!

Wrong food scares me. "You shouldn't have said anything," I managed to wheeze. It's not as if I would have noticed and, really, the chances of getting a tummy ache were slim. But now? Now I KNEW an ingredient may be dodgy and no matter how good or bad the meal tasted, I was going to dwell on the fact it was irrevocably, Old Lard.

I am nothing if not well mannered, though, and despite approaching each morsel with an elevated degree of circumspection, I gird my knife and fork, put on my manly napkin, adjusted my stable table and dug right in.

As you would expect, it went off fine. The spuds and pink lump things were slightly soft, but that's a mere cavil. And who am I anyway? The Michelin man? No, the meal was fine. In fact, I wolfed it down.

But. What if it's not just Old Lard?  What if some budding Escoffier reveals his secret ingredient. "You are going to love eet. There eez a pinch of dog turd in the Peking duck. It adds that litte je ne sais quoi. Bon appeteeet." Not sure I'd approach such a meal with the same steadfast resolve.

To be told, or not to be told: that is the question.

THE DISMISSAL

The cricket then.

After less than two hours fitful sleep and the remainder of the night spent restlessly pondering the match (quite possibly there's a defect in my brain), it was more than a little irksome to wake up and read this.

Dismissal drama haunts Kasper

MICHAEL Kasprowicz claimed he would be haunted for the rest of his life by his controversial dismissal that ended one of cricket's greatest Tests last night.

A heartbroken Kasprowicz slumped to his haunches after umpire Billy Bowden, perhaps incorrectly but understandably, adjudged him caught behind off a ball he gloved down the leg side to wicketkeeper Geraint Jones. It left Australia three runs short of victory in the second Test at Edgbaston.

In a development 30 minutes later, television analysts searching through replays found what they considered to be proof that Kasprowicz had his hand off the bat at the time the ball hit his glove and therefore should have been given not out.

Doesn't that just take the baked fucking confection?

Still, I would have given Kaspro out, too - that's even after seeing the replay. And to be fair to Billy Bowden, he would have found it virtually impossible to give it not out. No, this is not intended as a whinge. Kaspro could have been given out El-Bee several overs earlier and these things tend to even out.

Besides, I can generally -- frequently, even -- make a better fist of childish, bitter moaning than that.

Like this: Bowden DID HAVE a shocker! Stupid Kiwi.

And this: Why was it Jones took the winning catch? He is a hack who would not get a game in first class cricket here in Straya. Well, he probably could get a game for Victoria; as a batsman. And he might just shunt Party Patel out of the Indian side.

That's a far better class of grumble, wouldn't you say.

A CLOSE RUNS THING

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fucketty Fuck!

Cricket is THE BEST sport.

BONE HEADS

According to noted dogologist, Dr Stanley Coren, Afghan Hounds head the list of the 10 stupidest pooches.

The "Top" Ten.

1. Afghan Hound
2. Basenji
3. Bulldog
4. Chow Chow
5. Borzoi
6. Bloodhound
7. Pekingese
8. Mastiff
9. Beagle
10. Basset Hound

And what do you do with stupid things? Well, as with women's magazines, 99% of pop music and people who drive brightly coloured cars - you make more of them.

Dog clone a world first

DOG owners may never have to say goodbye to their beloved pooches after scientists yesterday revealed the world's first cloned canine.

The Rin Tin Ten.
(Brainy barkers, don't you know)

1. Border Collie
2. Poodle
3. German Shepherd
4. Golden Retriever
5. Doberman Pinscher
6. Shetland Sheepdog
7. Labrador Retriever
8. Papillon
9. Rottweiler
10. Australian Cattle Dog

Papillon?

GAIETY

In Papua New Guinea gayers are called Biscuit Men. Anyone know why? "Full O'Fruit," suggests me.

It's quite the pun-fest, is the biscuit world.

GOT THE HUMP

"Which 10 countries have the largest camel populations?" went the question at trivia last night. Naturally, I humped -- sorry about that, couldn't resist -- jumped right in: "Straya!"

"No," was QM Leon's definitive reply. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization of The UN he was bang on the moolah.

1. Sudan 3,200,000
2. Mauritania 1,300,000
3. India 900,000
4. Kenya 830,000
5. Pakistan 800,000
6. Chad 730,000
7. Mali 470,000
8. Niger 420,000
9. Ethiopia 327,000
10. Mongolia 275,000

The approximate world camel population is 20,000,000

But. Neither Boynton nor myself were particularly chuffed with that set of numbers. We are often told that Straya has a ginormous camel population; easily one of the largest, in fact. Today I checked up on Wiki.P and allegedly we have 700,000 of the blighters marauding around out back. Kicking crocodiles, chasing snakes, stealing dingo pups, kidnapping British backpackers (we train them up to that, by the way) and having a fine old time indeed.

As they say in the land where entrees are main course - go figure!

Ung you later.

WHOLE OTTA LOVE

Sincerest apologies. I have completely neglected football gossip. So without further ado ...

Word hot off the street from down Gee-Long way is that Cat One got busted having "sexual relations" with Cat Two's girlfriend on the weekend. ALLEGEDLY, Cat Two along with Cats Three, Four and Five sorted things out with Cat One with the result that Cat One ended up in hospital with a broken nose and two black eyes.

No idea whether Cat One actually does have two black eyes; should be easy enough to find out (Calling all Slatts). But what the hell - no names, no hackdrill.

BATSLOTTO

"England would have a much better chance of winning The Ashes if they produced under-prepared pitches to turn each test into a lottery."

-- Nasser Hussain during the Lord's Test.

Nass is right, of course. The best way for England to win the series is for their speedsters to scoot through the Aussie batting line-up. This is most likely on difficult tracks.

Today in the Herald Sun ...

England sends SOS to seamer

AN UNDER-PREPARED Edgbaston pitch has become a cricketing lottery, prompting England to send an SOS to all-rounder Paul Collingwood.

Naturally, it's the weather cops the blame. Naughty weather.

CHAIRMAN OW!

We once had a colleague who knew nothing whatsoever about teaching; even less than me. Topping that, he knew nothing at all about the subject matter. At least I know my onions.

How he came to be teaching is anyone's guess. He arrived in Australia in the mid eighties claiming political asylum from Bulgaria or Poland or Romania or one of those countries with bad dentists and applied for the first job he saw in the papers. Teacher Wanted read the advert. He rocked up to the interview, presented some paperwork (we later speculated it was a wad of $50 notes) and stated,  "I am teacher!" Next thing you know; he is teacher.

Not surprisingly; he is hopeless.

His stock-in-trade was a not-so elaborate technique educrats like to call Copy That Down. Walking into class he'd look at what the previous teacher had left on the board and command the class to "copy that down." It didn't matter what that was, it could have been a story about a mathematical cow. "It become handy," he'd sagely advise the puzzled students. It became a running gag that other teachers would leave jibberish up there on porpoise.

It wasn't long, though, well a year or so, before the powers-that-be twigged. But better than flick him, they made him the department dogsbody. Bloody handy he became, too. He'd do all the photo-copying, get all the printing organised, all that kind of stuff.

His great love, though, was invigilating. This was a doddle because he didn't have to do much more than hand out the papers, order "Start now!" and count down the time "1 hour left ... 30 minutes left ... 15 minutes left" etcetera.

He took it seriously, too. Muck around in his tests and you would be summarily out on your ear.

In fact, he took it so seriously that one day he sat his chair up on the front desk so as to better observe the room. Trouble is, he fell asleep. And you see the wheels in the picture? That's right, you guessed it. Down he crashed in a bundle of arms and legs. Right on his back.

He never returned, but rumour had it he was working for the education department, and last anyone knew, he was still there. Mind you, the older teachers have managed to keep up with his shenanigans by reading the Herald Sun letters page to which he is a consistent, if not obsessive contributor.

Last October he ran for Federal Parliament.

MEO: BRAVO!

A pretty fair assessment, if you ask me.

"I don't want to analyse it too much.

It's dangerous to stop and think of so many things. Just one question - do you like it ... or don't you?"

-- Howard Hawks

Update! Films, that is. Films! "I don't want to analyse FILMS too much." Not the scoreboard at Subiaco. Not pawpaw oil. Nor, indeed, any combination thereof.