SLEDGE OF REALITY

Australians are often accused of being evil sledge maniacs. Wilfully and wantonly assaulting the delicate balances of both the ethical and aesthetic aspects of international sport.

When one of our oafs transgresses there's often a castigative chorus of tut-tut, and the sportsperson in question is told to pull his or her head in.

And, yes, there's no doubt we sometimes step over the line and make gross spectacles of ourselves.

What's not often enough raised, though, are two things.

First, we might be infamous for it, but others do it just as much. Viv Richards could often be seen "offering advice" from second slip. Hell, when he was batting he even sledged the bowler. Allan Donald was a lunatic. And anyone who saw the Rugby Test on Saturday night would have seen Lawrence Dallaglio shooting from the lip pretty much all night.

Second, everyone here does it. And by and large, no-one means any harm by it. What's more, we actually LIKE doing it. Personally, I love it.

With that in mind, it's been suggested that I don't like the English, what with all the piss-taking and sledging, but it's just not true. Give or take the odd angry shot, I pretty much only ever get stuck into people I like.

And I like Poms. I just don't want them to win The Ashes.

If Jonny has kicked England's curse, let's hope it all ends in Ashes

For those of us who used to think Stirling Mortlock was a minor character in Star Trek, England's victory in last year's Rugby World Cup was the source of only mild irritation. That was caused by triumphant Pommy mates who hadn't noticed the absence of leather arm patches on our jackets and Beemers in our garages and confused us with someone who gave a damn.

But while we suffered the predictable and, given that Australians start gathering ticker tape if our boys take an early lead at the world marbles championships, well-deserved taunts that sprung from years of sporting repression, you could not help but be quietly pleased for the English as they polished their first major trophy since the 1966 World Cup.

While England didn't exactly play in a way guaranteed to keep the remote control from the hand of the restless viewer, they were clearly the best team. Johnny Wilkinson was not only the James Bond of goalkickers, he seemed like a nice chap. Clive Woodward was cast as Darth Vader, Margaret Thatcher and Mike Brearley rolled into one. But what is sport without an anti-hero?

So it seemed right and fitting that the English bathed in their great triumph by bestowing knighthoods on everyone from the coach to the bloke who inflated the balls.

In forthcoming weeks, however, the full consequences of that extra-time victory could be felt. For we will soon find out if, by coolly knocking through the deciding field goal - then presumably slipping off for a celebratory martini, shaken not stirred - Wilkinson also lifted the curse on English sport.

England's soccer team has already stepped up to the plate at the European Championships.

Soon we will know if all the misery and disappointment that has befallen that plucky XI in the past 38 years has been swept away by Jonny's deadly right foot.

The early signs were not good. David Beckham's calamitous missed penalty in the 1-2 defeat by France, not to mention Zinedine Zidane's two extra-time goals, bore the mark of classic English sporting tragedy.

However, England have a habit of struggling early at major championships, then eking out the necessary points to get to the knockout stage. Thus, having raised the hopes of those back home, they break their hearts - a process usually involving Germans and penalty shoot-outs or Argentinians who momentarily think they are playing volleyball.

Even allowing for the cute story of 18-year-old star Wayne Rooney, not to mention Beckham's quest for tabloid redemption, this campaign doesn't seem any different.

Assuming they get the necessary point against Croatia on Monday, inevitable disaster awaits the Poms in the quarters or semis.

However, like a lot of Australians whose first exposure to soccer was the old BBC Match of the Day, I hope Jonny's kick has done the job and that England win Euro 2004. After all, we have a soft spot for the England players because we see their club games. Despite a lukewarm friendly last year, there is no real England-Australia soccer rivalry.

So, while I'm not about to get a Union Jack tattoo and start headbutting frightened Portuguese, come on ING-ER-LAND.

And an even more shocking confession: I wouldn't mind if Tim Henman continued the English sporting renaissance by becoming the first local man since Fred Perry in 1936 to win Wimbledon. In fact, I hope he does.

Sure, "Tiger Tim" - and the English use the nickname without a hint of irony - is not exactly the Schwarzenegger of the lawns.

He skips around the court merrily, occasionally clenching his fist in a gesture that wouldn't frighten a nervous butterfly. But you have to admire the grace and good humour with which Timmy has endured "Henmania", the annual disease that sees the famous centre court transformed into The Last Night of the Proms.

More so this year, you suspect, after Henman's great run to the semis of the French Open. With that form, and Jonny's curse-lifting kick, surely this is Henman's year.

Which would mean, as Rugby World Cup holders, European soccer kings and defending Wimbledon champions, there would only be one major hoodoo left.

After wiping New Zealand 3-0, the English are looking forward to next year's Ashes with confidence. Given Australia's inevitable decline, it will almost certainly be competitive. But should England earn the right to the urn, I'll be putting the St George flag back in the cupboard.

As you'd expect from the name, Yobbo has a list of classic sledges.

A personal favourite was from about 15 years ago. My football team, Tooronga-Malvern Combine Panthers (Go 'Biners), were playing nearby Murrumbeena. It was a typically miserable, wet, muddy, windy and freezing Saturday afternoon at Dunlop Street.

The sort of day god created so that fat, slow, uncoordinated try-hards could join in after they'd tucked their jumper into their underpants.

At one point there was a mad scrabble for the ball and the umpire blew for a bounce. About ten players arose from the thick, stinking, sticky ooze that is Merry Creek cricket-pitch mud in Winter.

Not surprisingly, the last up was a fat, slow, uncoordinated try-hard with elevated underpants. Very fat, as it happened. Like a Wildebeeste in a Nat Geo documentary, he struggled from the mire. Well quagged, he was.

Their Captain: "Great stuff, Chocco. Well in. Top work. Gutsy. You're the only one who wanted the ball."

Our Captain: "Fuck me. There was no room for anyone else."

Chocco spent the next ten minutes trying to belt our skipper. Until he got sent off.

Sledge accomplished.

Comments

[Brett Pee]

The Poms are too timid to go in for all that sledging- Aussies are proud to relate that WE introduced this charming act into English 'sport'. They needed a shock to the system- get them out of their damned comfort zone and upset a few of their Lords. I dish out most of the sledging on the Footie pitch-being in the 'thick' of the action, i have to cop a load myself- Hell, it's water off a Hippo's back to me.

Clive Woodward instilled a strong sense of belief and a winning culture in Pom rugby- but that now looks to have been a short term policy, several players were at their peak and 100% at the top of their game at the world cup- they sneaked past us, but it looks like 'sir' Clive has a massive task of building from scratch- can he achieve it.

Tim Henman will no more win Wimbledon than Worsfold giving me a call and saying " Brett, we need a strong physical presence, come & join the squad." Henman is too old and too mentally soft. In fact, i'll swim the Tasman if he wins it. Losing is part of his make up- he's been doing it too long.

So the next Ashes will be competitive eh? I, personally, do not see their batters putting enough runs on the board to worry us unduly. Vaughn USED to worry me, but he'll be lucky to scrape 100 runs in the series as Skip- he can't hack it and the stats prove it. Strauss is worried by a round the wicket attack- looks very vulnerable and we'll work him out. Trescothick will stand stock still at the crease- spinners on please. Flintoff- bring on a slowie or a part time trundler to see him off. I'm only worried about Butcher, but he can't do it on his own. Tony-rest easy on that Ashes score.

[Scott Wickstein]

I must admit what I've seen of England so far doesn't make me worry too much about the Ashes.

That is a TOP sledge!

[yobbo]

Scarborough vs Leederville this year, Florance walks out to bat, all 120kg of him. First slip: "Christ mate, is that a bat in your hand or a chicken drumstick?"

[Tony.T]

Footy pitch?!? What sort of talk is that? And I never rest easy until the trophy is in the cabinet.

Scott, sledging is good for you.

Florance, Yob? Hardly you're 120kg kind of blokes name.

You played against Leederville? I used to play against Leederville when I played for Karrinyup.

[Brett Pee]

"footy pitch" is slang i picked up living in Bunbury - they speak kinda strange in those parts!!

[Brett Pee]

ps.. And seeing as i now weigh in at 110 kg i'll probably keep my gob shut on that sledging above!!!

[Tony.T]

Take the heat out of it. Sledge yourself first.

[Brett Pee]

Tony, check out :-

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/sport/articles/11661582?source=Evening%20Standard

Seems that the Poms are losing more than just one dayers !!!

[Brett Pee]

BUT...The only time i've had my height measured, when i finished 'studying' in London, i was 6 feet 6 and 3/4 inches. Christ knows what that is in metres. But it does not make me a fat slob....yet, it's hidden well!!

[Tony.T]

True, Brett. It makes you a BIG fat slob.

[Brett Pee]

In my last outing, having 'removed' 2 blokes from midfield who were getting in my way, their trainer/phisio called me a big, fat, ugly poofta. This was most unfair.....i'm not a poofta. And their 2 blokes were not really hurt badly, i just kinda put them to sleep.