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Tuesday, December 02, 2014

Phillip Hughes amongst other things

Vale Phillip Hughes.

I don't want to sound disrespectful, considering the circumstances of his demise, but I do want to try and put things in perspective, even if it is just for my benefit. I seem to hear a lot about the tragedy that is his death, how he was struck on the head by a rising delivery which brought about his untimely death during a first class match. There seems to be no end of tributes for the sportsman, with audiences at every A-League match applauding at the 63rd minute of games (the number of runs Hughes was on when he was struck), to footballers dedicating goals and walking onto the pitch with cricket bats, to even the little memorial which I snapped at the greyhound race meeting at Wentworth Park on Saturday evening (29/11). (I should add, I was there for a Blood Bowl tournament that was being played in the offices at the back of the main stand, but that's another story for another blog.) I even read that his one day shirt number is being retired, that his final innings reads "not out" in the scoresheet rather than "retired hurt", and that the Brisbane test, scheduled for this week, has been moved to accommodate players attending the funeral, and the first test against India will be the Adelaide match next week.  


But there are plenty of things that I really want to put into perspective, which I feel have been neglected by the Australian media. The last time I saw such an avalanche of media coverage, was for the death of former prime minister Gough Whitlam a few months ago. Gough, it could be argued, was Australia's finest prime minister, and did a lot in his time in office. Hughes wasn't even in the Australian side, but was pressing for re-selection. Anyway...
  • Phil Hughes isn't the only cricketer who has died as a result at being struck by a cricket ball. A quick google search using the phrase “cricketers that died during games” should result in the first link (when I started writing this on Nov 30) to an item with a poorly worded bi-line (and written in bad English as well) that lists a few other cricketers that have died after being struck by a ball, with possibly the earliest instance being recorded in 1870, which, by the way, was an English gent by the name of George Summers. Just a couple of days ago, an umpire died in a cricket match in Israel (which adds testimony to the universal appeal of the game) after being struck by a ball. (I should point out, yesterday's edition of the SMH had four pages dedicated to Phil Hughes. The Israeli umpire got a paragraph. So, was his death less tragic? Was he getting similar coverage in the Middle Eastern media?) The above list gets expanded on in an English article which includes players dying of heart-attacks as well. I even went further to find a really bizarre cricket death back which was reported on in November 1933, where a young wicket-keeper in India was impaled by a spinning cricket stump and died of his injury. And then there's this instance of a cricketer being struck by lightning during a game in Australia and dying.
  • Phil Hughes isn't the only sports-person to have died as a result of participating in sport. Two big sporting names instantly spring to mind - Ayrton Senna and Peter Brock, and it isn't that hard to find others from different sporting codes. That link just leads to the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Jockeys have died falling from horses in races in this country this year. Yachtsmen participating in the annual Sydney to Hobart race have drowned in past events. True, one would expect more fatalities in sports like motor racing or boxing, but the truth of the matter is, all sport has a degree of risk to one's health, you play it at your own risk, and that risk can be, well, fatal. Players can die from a variety of things on the pitch, indoors, in the air, in the sky, or even at the hands of the spectators themselves. These things can happen. Yes, the last thing that Phil Hughes was probably thinking of when he was batting was being mortally wounded by a bouncer, but I can also say the last thing George Summers, the Israeli umpire, the young Indian player, etc. were thinking of before they died as well was that they would be slain as a direct result of playing in or officiating a cricket match.
  • Phil Hughes death isn't the most tragic thing to ever happen in sport. There was a comment made on a sports show I was watching on Sunday night that prompted me to do this little bit of searching. A little brainstorming and I can easily come up with a few sporting stories which are a lot more tragic than Phil Hughes' death.

    1. Andres Escobar. In the 1994 World Cup, the Colombian footballer inexplicably put the ball into the wrong net during a match against hosts USA, who went on to win the match 2-1. A few days after Colombia's elimination from the tournament (they finished last in their group), Andres and a few mates decide to go out for a few drinks. The end result being that the footballer gets shot six times at a nightclub and dies. Naturally, all this is linked to the drug cartels.
    2. The Death Match. Escape to Victory eat your heart out. In August 1942, a football match between a local side in Kiev, and a German military side, was played, with the locals humiliating the occupiers with a 5-3 victory. Rumours abound to what actually happened to the players after the match, with members of the team allegedly being shot by the SS, imprisoned in concentration camps, or even being arrested after the war for collaborating with the Germans.
    3. Disaster in Munich. In February 1958, Manchester United, on their way home after playing a match against Red Star Belgrade, landed in Munich to refuel. In poor weather, their plane crashed on their third attempt at taking off, with 21 people dying, including eight players of the squad at the time and three members of the coaching staff. 
    4. Phar Lap. Need I say more about the champion racehorse that dies in mysterious circumstances in the United States after a race?
  • Weren't there more important things happening in the world on November 27? Renowned author P D James died, there were heavy floods on the Gaza strip, a suicide bomber killed 5 in Kabul, a roadside bomb killed 40 in Nigeria, the Hong Kong protests continued with police and demonstrators clashing and 11 more arrests, the Greek labour unions declared a general strike, France hit a record high for unemployment figures, the European Union passed a (symbolic) motion for the break-up of Google, fighting in the Sudan claimed at least 133 lives, Kim Jong-Un appointed his sister Kim Yo Jong to a ministerial position, Australian surfer Stephanie Gilmour won her 6th women's world surfing title and of course, there was also the on-going Ebola crisis as well.
  • And finally, what about the player who bowled the lethal delivery? I look through the Monday edition of the SMH and see no mention of Sean Abbott, the player who is going to have to live with this for the rest of his life. I look on the ABC on-line news page and see just one link to an article about how he is faring. In my FB feeds, I have seen just one post dedicated to the bowler. One wonders if he'll ever set foot on a cricket pitch ever again.
An article in Monday's SMH suggested that anyone who questions “the appropriateness of the immense public outcry” is missing the point, that Hughes' death was “an awful public awakening” knocking “the innocence out of cricket”. WTF? I suggest to the author, that perhaps he should look at the front page of that edition of the newspaper, where the lead story is about two children who found the decomposed remains of an infant at Maroubra Beach on Sunday. That, to me, is a hell of a bigger public awakening, is undoubtedly more awful and has wider implications. As for innocence being knocked out of cricket, I suggest to same author that he should google “Bodyline”. If anything, cricketing innocence died in that test series of 1932/33, not on the pitch in November 2014...

Yes, it's tragic when a young life, and one with such potential, is terminated way too early. Please do not get me wrong on this matter. I just question why there is/was so much media attention placed upon it. Young people die every day on this planet, probably quite a few in more tragic circumstances, and a lot of them will barely rate a mention (if at all) in a newspaper, blog or a post on FB/twitter. Phil Hughes was fatally injured on live TV, with possibly thousands of people watching, and his demise has been felt by a nation that takes a lot of pride in it's sporting heroes.

Hmm, I think I have just answered my own question. It makes sense, but I don't agree with it. I'm going to leave it at that.

So, whilst all this was happening, last week, what did I get up? Last Monday (24/11) I took a chance with the weather and decided to go for a long walk. The walk went for roughly 6 kms, with the starting point in Kincumber and the finish in Davistown. It was an enjoyable walk, and I took around 460 shots, though ended up having to delete 80 of them for one reason or another. It was a warm day, and yes, I did take pre-cautions, wearing a long sleeved top, a hat and putting on sunscreen as well. I also drank plenty of water. I hadn't done the full walk before, generally stopping at some point along the way as the walking trail meandered around the Kincumber Broadwater before turning back. This time, I continued until I reached the Illoura Reserve at Davistown, where I stayed for forty minutes or so before catching a bus back to Erina Fair for a late lunch and some grocery shopping.

Kincumber Broadwater, along with one of the memorials I photographed for the Monument Australia website, a dedication to local Central Coast shipbuilders.

It was worth it. The walk wasn't that demanding (very flat for the entire journey) but I sweated all the same, and I didn't over exert my ankles and calves. Along the way, I managed to capture a few shots of some memorials for the Monument Australia website (Kincumber and Davistown, and the previous Monday, 17/11, I added one for Ettalong as well) and get some good ones of the area as well as some wildlife. The highlight being a series of shots I took of a family of wood swallows that had taken up residence in a mooring post in the channel.

Unfortunately, couldn't get all four of them together.
I also came to the conclusion that I really need to get a new camera, as I missed some good shots of a pair of juvenile butcher birds in a bush regeneration area, as well as not being able to capture a juvenile brush turkey that I spotted along the way, and missing some landscape shots as well. I've looked into this, finding one that I feel will suit my needs, and it isn't going to cost me an absolute fortune either. Shopping around pays off. Even with a discount for being a Mariners' member, one company's website couldn't match a discount site that was offering it for $200 less.

Even though I've only had my current camera for roughly two years, I've gotten over 45,000 shots with it. Probably the best $120 I've spent in a long time.

Whilst I'm on the subject, I took in some entries for the Gosford Small Art Prize on Nov 22. The theme for this exhibition/contest is “The Spirit of the Central Coast”, and I feel I entered the right three pictures. One was of the Mariners' Brass Band, and two were shots of recognisable spots, Avoca Beach and Nora Head. The pictures themselves couldn't be that big, with the entire project, including frame, being a maximum of 20 cm x 20 cm. The exhibition starts this week and runs for three weeks.

I've also done some work on Feudball 2. It had been two months since I last sat down to do any sort of work on it, and I was able to tidy up some chapters and advance the current one (19) a few more pages. The first eighteen have been completed, chapters 30 and 31 have as well as the epilogue, whilst 27 – 29 and 33 have got material written for it. Word count? 118,235. In comparison, the second draft of Feudball 1 had 174,507. I really do need to get back to it, but I had another idea for a game which took up the best part of a week whilst I worked on it until I ran out of steam. (Needless to say, this has happened a lot over the years, but I felt it was such a good idea that I really should put as much down on paper before I forgot all about it.)

Well, I feel I've probably said all that I wanted to say in this post. Thursday will be my Mental Health Support Group's annual Xmas get-together. I hope it'll be a lot cooler on the day than it is today. Ciao!

All images by Geoff G Turner (c) 2014.

All links correct as of time of post - 2 Dec 2014. 

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Queensland excursion

To think, this time last week I was in bed asleep, recovering some lost snooze time after having completed a marathon train/bus trip from Brisbane. I can, without hesitation, say that if you pay for the cheap seats, don't expect quality. The seats were hard, and it was bloody hard to get comfy and doze off (though due to the nature of the seats parts of my body managed to do so, which, mindful of past experiences, prompted me to re-position myself on a few occasions). I had even brought a pillow, ear plugs and some Valerian pills to help me nod off, but sleep was hard to come by on the trip up, and even harder on the trip back. In comparison, the bus seats were comfier, and I actually fell asleep without too much effort, but only for an hour or so. There were varying reasons to keep me awake. On the way up, some inconsiderate sod across the aisle, who kept on talking, drinking then snoring into the wee hours of the night. On the way back, having just managed to doze off, another inconsiderate sod who decided to sit on the arm rest, where my hand was, during the wee small hours of the morning, then make himself comfortable for an hour or so at my expense. It wasn't even his seat. An hour after that I gave up trying to get back to sleep, and listened to my MP3 player whilst looking at the shadows outside pass by in the night. (When the train reached Wyong, around the time dawn was breaking, I was quite relieved and got myself ready to get off at Gosford.) Of course, every time the train stopped, every time somebody got aboard (especially an entire family on the trip up, who proceeded to talk amongst themselves at 1am in the morning), every time a crew member walked down the aisle, I was awake, despite the earplugs and the Valerian. If I got any sleep whatsoever, I don't remember it. (What I do remember was crashing on a bed for four hours after I arrived at my uncle's place, and an hour or so after I got back home to Gosford.)

For the trip to Queensland and back, I paid a grand total of $48.49 in fares, and that's including the bus trip to and from Gosford station, and $24.79 of it was for the XPT service to and from Brisbane, though the return journey was broken up into two parts – bus from Brisbane to Casino, then XPT from Casino to Gosford. The pensioner travel vouchers came in very handy indeed, saving me just over $100. Very conveniently, the day that I commenced my travel back, public transport fares in Qld were reduced in price, something I hadn't experienced living in NSW. (There's more, but I'll go into that later.)

But then, I don't/won't fly mainly for reasons psychological, that and there's also an opportunity to see some of this great big island of mine. Sure, a plane's quicker you'd say, but I'd rather see things from the ground, seeing it's rare that I actually get the nerve to venture out from my comfort zone of my suburb and my little monk's cell. Some of it I had seen before, on trips north to see people in Taree and Port Macquarie, but a lot of it I hadn't. The break in the trip on the way back allowed me to have a short stroll in the NSW town of Casino and take a couple of snapshots. (There's no casino in Casino I should add, but in the 300 metre walk from the train station to the nearest fast food joint, I passed five churches and four assisted living facilities for the elderly. The immediate impression that I got of the place was that it was planned.) It was a pity most of the trips were made at night-time, but that was the only way it could've been done, for the sake of connections. I must admit, the countryside between Gloucester and Wingham was beautiful to observe, so green and lush. I recall making a list in my diary of all the bird-life I could see from the carriage – including low-flying birds of prey. Unfortunate that I couldn't take pictures (or video) because of the reflections from the glass, the fading light and, of course, the movement of the train. The bus ride at 7am in the morning from Rosewood station (the end of the electric line from Brisbane) to Gatton was also quite good because it went through a number of smaller townships and a university campus before depositing me at the station. Same again – couldn't take pictures because of the reflections.

Gatton from the train station.

But I took pictures whilst I was there. In and around Gatton, at my uncle's place at Lake Clarendon, and in Brisbane whilst I had time to kill (and there was a bit in-between trains and buses). On my stroll around the Qld capital, and site of the upcoming G20 summit, I discovered quite a few things, the highlight being the botanical gardens which had a lot of fauna in amongst the flora, and not just birds. There were quite a few water dragons, and in one of the ponds, I spotted a turtle. That was another thing – Brisbane was actually quite green. Plenty of trees, little parks here and there, definitely more pleasant to be in than Sydney. Some areas had been targeted by “Yarn Bombers”, or as I like to refer to them as, “Commando Knitters”, which was quite nice, and there were outdoor sculptures as well at various spots. But the police presence, both on the ground and in the air, was noticeable. Uniformed officers walked around in groups of three or four. 

A little color didn't hurt this old cannon.
 
Photography aside, was it worth it? Yes. 28 hours (give or take an hour) on trains and buses to get there and back, to put up with all the inconveniences , was well and truly worth it. I was able to keep my anxiety demons at bay for most of the trip (but nearly lost control thanks to a random charity worker in down-town Brisbane on the Monday morning when I was heading back) and for the most part had a good time. After all, it's not very often someone in my family turns 90, and not very often I'd get a chance to actually get there for the festivities. It's also not very often that I get to see relatives on my mother's side of the family, and there were many there that I had not met before. One even lives just up the road at Doyalson, not far from my sister. A cousin (or was she an aunt – I can't remember), widowed, with two grown-up daughters, one of which owns and runs racehorses and the other in the west of Sydney. There were two female cousins that I hadn't seen in at least ten years. One I didn't recognise initially until people started calling her by name.

So, comparisons between Brisbane and Sydney public transport? Arriving at Roma Street early in the AM on Friday Oct 31, I couldn't get over how clean the place was. Not hospital grade clean, but far cleaner than your average City Rail station. Travelling along the rail line showed that it wasn't just the only station that was kept tidy. Some had murals on their walls, others some greenery. Stations and trains hadn't been hit too bad with graffiti, though the windows on the carriages were scratched to pieces with carvings. Staff were pleasant. The train driver on one service (Ipswich to Rosewood) gave a commentary on what the locations were noted for.

The trains were single layered, unlike the double-decker ones I'm used to. You couldn't eat or drink on them (fines applied – but like people who have a drink tucked inside a brown paper bag on City Rail services it didn't seem to worry them) but they did have quiet carriages (again, some people, especially on the 5am service going to Rosewood, just didn't respect them) and some even had Wi-Fi. A shame that I didn't get a carriage that was prepared in such a fashion.

The biggest thing though – trains ran on time. I'm not used to that at all! Every day one takes a City Rail train they expect to be delayed for one reason or another. If the train is meant to turn up at 5am, it's there. No delays. If you miss it, tough. It made connections far easier, as the buses I caught were on time as well. No excursion ticket for pensioners (well, if there is one, I wasn't aware of it) and the ticket machines weren't that hard to use – touch screens instead of push buttons. (But then, ticketing machines ain't that hard to use in the first place. People just make it out that way.)

Would I go back? Sure. There was a lot of Brisbane I didn't see. Had I turned right instead of left at the exit of the Roma Street transit hub (and there was a food court of sorts upstairs – very convenient that) I would've walked straight down to Suncorp Stadium. I honestly didn't realise it was that close to the CBD until I was on the train coming in. I didn't even get across the river to have a look at South Bank, where the World Expo was in 1988, the last time that I had actually set foot in the city. Come to think of it, the last time that I actually set foot in the state.

There was one thing though I didn't get used to. No daylight savings. I felt for the entire time that I was there my body clock was out of synch. Thankfully the mobile phone updated automatically. I didn't bother changing the time on the laptop.

So, I got back early in the AM on Tuesday Nov 4, and after broadcasting to the world on FB that I was safe and sound back home (and catching up with the news and other things), I promptly fell asleep. When I woke around lunch time, I started to watch all the stuff I had recorded off the TV whilst I was away. Promptly fell asleep again during Alarm for Cobra 11, but was woken back up by the mobile phone. I had forgotten that I had tried to call one of my mates over the weekend. I even managed to get him to come up for the Mariners match on Sunday against Perth, which was quite hard to watch because the home side was not playing too well. In fact, we were quite happy to get out of the stadium once the match was over. Not very often you hear the home side booed off the field here. (A 0-1 defeat, the only goal coming from a superbly taken free-kick. As usual, the home side didn't take their opportunities and were lucky that they weren't beaten by a greater margin.) I didn't even bother about the Melbourne Cup, fell asleep again, then got woken up by another call. The dental clinic at Ourimbah. Can I come in tomorrow at 11.30am? Sure. (I had missed the previous appointment a couple of weeks prior because I dawdled getting out of the house, then realised that I had left the mobile phone behind. It's something that I really hate doing. If I make an appointment like that I feel very inclined to keep them. The fact that I didn't keep the last one made me quite angry with myself and very frustrated.)

So, impromptu dental appointment. Teeth get a thorough cleaning – 90 minutes worth. Then I hopped back on the train, and headed up to Tuggerah to see the guys at the comic book store. They were in a bad mood. They had major problems with a regular who was utilising the workshop area out back to store vending machines. Despite assurances that it was a temporary thing, more started turning up, to the point where one could hardly even move in the workshop let alone work in it, as I found out. (Practically all of them did go on Sunday though, which made the boys quite happy.)

Thursday, Mental Health Support Group meeting. Wasn't a bad one, though I did over indulge on the mini chocolate muffins and the mud cake during the afternoon tea break, which made me feel quilt guilty, seeing I'm trying to cut down on sugar not increase the intake. (The previous weekend didn't help, as I over indulged on sweets, soft drinks and alcohol. But that's another story altogether, seeing it went on late into the night and a lot of things were talked about.) Decided that I'd do my shopping after it, which was a good idea seeing my fridge and cupboard was bare.

Friday, pay day. Everything done online early, including a chat with my American Skype friend. I decided it was a good day to do the laundry, go have lunch, and get some pictures printed up. I also bought DVDs. I shouldn't of, but series two of Vikings and Ripper Street were out and I couldn't resist. I've finished the latter, and up to the last disk of the former.

Saturday turned out to be a day of rest. I sorted pictures in-between sessions of Civ 5. (In fact, I was writing this whilst finishing the game off. I didn't win, as my research had suffered whilst I was at war for the better part of three hundred years.) Most of Sunday was too, until it was time to go to the football. Monday, well, a lunch-time excursion up to The Entrance, but the weather wasn't that good to take too many pictures. Come to think of it, the weather hasn't gotten any better today, nor was it any better last Sunday. It rained some time this afternoon, probably whilst I napped, and it feels more like winter than spring currently. Of course, the poor weather plays havoc with the digital TV reception so I can't listen to the news.

A grey old day at The Entrance.

I came back home to discover (eventually) that the units had indeed sold. I don't know what the owners got for them, but I'm pretty certain it wasn't what they were originally asking for them. (What they were asking for them could've gotten someone a rather nice place further up the coast with four bedrooms and a swimming pool.)

As for the troublesome neighbour in number two, well, he's still here, but he's a lot quieter now. In the week before I went away there was some serious drama, which resulted in the real estate coming around. He had informed everybody that he was going to have a party, with a tent, a pig on a spit, and at least forty people turning up. (Those that know where I live, will no doubt know it's kinda hard to fit ten people anywhere here let alone forty.)

That wasn't the worst of it. A couple of days prior to the scheduled party on Oct 25, he had a few “guests” over. I use the term “guests” lightly, as they sounded and looked like people he had just met at the pub. Two of them, a pair of teenage girls, turned out to be the main source of trouble as it later conspired they were indeed runaways, and they were being looked for by the police. I doubt that they were even sixteen. They made themselves right at home, to the point of coming back the next day, letting themselves into the house (how one can only guess), having a shower and doing their laundry as well. The gent was a little surprised to find them inside the unit when he got home, presumedly from work. (He works for one of the disabled factories around here.) Later that night he informs me, whilst I was enjoying a PC game in my bedroom, that he had been to the police and to call them if they turn back up. I believe it was the police who did turn back up around 10.30pm that night. (That irritated me. My bedroom, it's after 9pm, and he stops by the open window to talk to me like he's a mate? Sheesh.)

So, the day before the scheduled party, the real estate turn up, wanting an explanation, seeing they can't track him down because his phone's been disconnected. (I wonder why? He muses.) So I tell them everything, right up to his little Sunday morning personal conversations on the phone where everybody in that half of the street could've heard him. Needless to say, the party was cancelled. The real estate called his case managers, and that was the end of that.

Since then, no problems. He seems quite docile now, almost pleasant.

Anyway, next thing on the agenda is to pick some pictures for another art competition. Entries are due on Nov 23rd. It's a local competition, with a summer theme, which will be displayed on shop windows throughout Gosford and at a gallery in North Gosford. Can submit up to three entries, but the size of the piece is limited to 20cm by 20cm. There's another one as well, which closes in March next year, which is purely about bird photography, which I really have to enter as well.

Speaking of competitions, no such luck with any of my photographic entries in the competitions. I was actually quite disappointed that my crab shot didn't sell. I guess that people don't like them as much as they like birds and forest scenes. However, a poem that I entered in one competition did get a commendation, and a cheque arrived in the mail. It was enough to cover the XPT train fare to Brisbane and back.

Anything else? No, I think this entry has gone on for long enough. I could offer a paragraph on Australia's woeful test series against Pakistan in the UAE, or the Wanderers historic victory in the Asian club competition, or even how an anti-halal campaign on social media is affecting dairy producers in Australia, but dinner is cooking, and I would really like to post this and watch the rest of Vikings series two. My eyes are also telling me that I have been looking at this screen for way too long today and I really need to turn it off and look at something else.

Ciao!

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Much ado about something

Well, what can I say? It's a miserable day outside. In fact, it's been a miserable week. I've hardly left the house over the last three days. The rain started coming down Monday night, continued on and off yesterday and whilst I can currently see a patch of blue sky outside, it's been mostly grey, with a few damp spells. Hardly enticing me to do anything except park my backside on the comfy chair, put on some music (Jethro Tull seems to be good for a day like today) and rattle off another blog entry in an effort to at least do something constructive today.

Tomorrow, well, different story. I have a ticket to see Bill Bailey at the Opera House, as part of the Just for Laughs festival. I bought it way back in July and have been looking forward to it for a couple of reasons – a) Because it's Bill Bailey, and b) I haven't ever been to a show at the Opera House. I have been to the Opera House before, but that was possibly thirty years ago. I don't recall much of the visit – a vague recollection of a display in the foyer, but that's about it.

I might also have a date as well, but that's a different story altogether. I don't think I'll go on too much about that until (if) it actually happens.

No plans for Friday, which may mean a trip up the road to the comic book shop, and take the laptop with me in an effort to do something else constructive. I dawdled on Monday and Tuesday to type up my Blood Bowl blog, interrupting the process with meal breaks, X-Files, and X-Com: Enemy Within, a game which has easily hooked me. (Big fan of the earlier games, and eventually got around to downloading Enemy Unknown and Enemy Within earlier this year. Have already completed it, and the X-Files just inspired me to up the difficulty level and play again.)

Saturday, well, Mariners are playing Wellington at home, so no guesses where I'll be. I caught their first match of the season last week, a tough encounter with Newcastle, which resulted in a 1-0 victory, with the winning goal scored in injury time by Mitchell Duke. The more impressive win came last night, when they thrashed their FFA Cup opponents the Palm Beach Sharks 5-0, four of those goals coming in the last twenty minutes of the game, and all four of them being scored by substitute Matt Sim, who come off the bench after 71 minutes, and scored with his first touch of the ball. Of the goals, the last of them was probably the best, where he had to get past two defenders, then put it past the goalkeeper to finish off the game. Not having Pay TV, I was able to listen to the match on radio, thanks to the local community radio station.

And I upgraded my membership from Blue to Gold, and now have a seat about three metres away from the player's entrance, just to the left of halfway. A great spot to view the match. The only problems being the a) lateness of getting my membership, and b) not getting all of the contents of my membership pack. I was annoyed (and by overhearing people in the queues and in the stands, I wasn't the only one), by the fact that the membership only turned up on the Friday before the first match last Saturday. (The envelope the ticket arrived in, along with the two free passes, was also ripped, and it's a wonder I got my membership at all.) However, hundreds of people didn't get their passes at all, and had to queue at two locations to have tickets issued to them, and get their seat allocations. 

My new vantage point at Central Coast Stadium.

Worst still was trying to get the rest of the membership pack. I walked in when gates opened at 4pm to find the queue for the missing parts (and the extras people ordered) almost snaking back to the front gate. So I decided to go to my seat instead, and grab a cider along the way. I went back at half-time, but again the queue was lengthy, and gave up, hoping that I can pick it up next match.

The criticism I overheard in the stands was agreeable to me. I think I ordered my membership way back in June, three, possibly four months before the season kicks off. They've had all this time to fix up the memberships and get them out, yet left them right up until the week of the first match, and sent them out with parts missing (namely the season fixture card). Not very professional, is it?

Continuing with soccer, my team had a bowls day on the same day as the Mariners' opening match. I decided to do both, getting up around 7am, getting on the 8.11am train to Sydney, then changing at Strathfield like I have done so many times before to get picked up at Westmead. It was a warm day, and the cider went down nicely with the BBQ lunch at Rosehill Bowls Club. The bowls, well, my efforts were erratic, but it was good fun, and a nice way to end the season. At 2pm, I got a lift back to Westmead, got back to Strathfield just in time to grab the next train back to the coast, and walked to Central Coast Stadium with fifteen minutes to spare.

We discovered on the day that bowls was harder than it looks.
 That, and there was a lot of drinking involved.

Sunday I went for a stroll down to the art gallery to a) see my entry and b) watch a couple of documentaries which were being shown as part of the Art Works! Exhibition. The first of the pair was The Anonymous People, which was about the 23.5 million Americans in long-term recovery from alcohol, drugs and other addictions. The second was Beyond the Medical Model, which highlighted how much the medical model had been written into law, exploring it through a number of individual's personal recovery stories. The mini film festival, I should add, also raised funds for my local MH support group, through a gold coin collection at the door.

As for my entry, last time I checked it was hanging proudly on the wall, entry number 112 out of 140. I went and viewed it on the opening day of the exhibition (along with all the other entries), and checked out the entrants in the Gosford Art Prize as well. Needless to say, I didn't win a prize, but fingers crossed that my entry sells before the exhibition ends this Sunday (Oct 19).

 There's my entry! Doesn't it look nice! :)

Then there was the Blood Bowl tournament I went to over the long weekend. But I don't need to go about that, seeing there are two detailed blog entries about it on my RPG and BB blog. In short, I finished fourth, and could've won the event in the last round, but was beaten by the winner.

Finally, I have a new neighbour. He moved in a couple of weeks ago, and, well, it didn't take long to find out that he has a mental disability (five minutes I think). My only problem with him, which I think is the same problem the gent in number four has with him, is that he seems to spend a hell of a lot of time on the phone. You may think that's nobody else's business but his, but when he's standing out the front of his unit, talking for hours at a time, and non-stop, for everybody else in the block (and anybody who just happened to be walking by) to hear, well, then it does become our business, especially when on Sunday morning it became bloody obvious that he was calling up an adult chat line. (I heard the recorded menu message.) We don't need to hear the sordid details, and what he says to try and impress the ladies, telling one of them that he owned a nightclub in Gosford and has millions in the bank. (Not bad for a gent who has the mental capacity of a someone half his age, whose parents moved him in, and who still gets visits from whom I assume are his case managers.) It was funny to listen to, but rather pathetic at the same time. He was standing so close to my open front door I not only heard him, but the lass at the other end replying as well. He was prepared to buy her an air ticket, pick her up at the airport, and take her out for dinner, etc. I'm thinking if the girl on the other end could just see what he looks like and where he lives... He even gave out his mobile number, and the exact length of his appendage! At that point, I think I had heard enough, and slammed the door, hoping that he would take the hint and take his phone somewhere else, preferably to the rear of his unit so I couldn't hear him. He didn't. (My American Skype buddy later joked that he needs to get a computer so that he could do it all online.) To drown him out, I turned on the radio and had lunch, before wandering down to the mini film festival.

Oh, and the units haven't sold. The deal fell through, and the owners have been rather unimpressed with the gent that was tasked to sell the property, so they sacked him. Turns out the owners had found a buyer, but the agent harassed him just a bit too much, which resulted in the dismissal.

Which makes me wonder if they're ever going to sell these units. Whatever the case, I'll be here for a while longer it seems. Ciao!

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Grand final aftermath

I don't intend to make this too long a post.

My football season is over, but the new A-League season is a little over three weeks away. Looking forward to it? Of course I am! I purchased my season ticket(s) months ago. Just have to wait for them to turn up in the mail.

As for my season, well, it ended in a disappointing fashion, with a 0-1 defeat at the hands of the minor premiers, Auburn Black, a side that we didn't beat this season, but came close a couple of times. The winner, for me personally, was a tough one to take. It was close to half-time, and a forward had just managed to elude one of the defenders, and got into space in the penalty area. I came forward, thought that I had my run timed nicely to thwart him, even got a hand to the ball, but he still got past me, as did the ball. Prior to that I had hardly been troubled, with only one save (on target) for me to make, and it was one that I got down on my hands and knees for. (In the second half I was busier, with two shots on target, one saved low to my left with my legs, and the other fired right at my head which I parried with both hands. I did have to clear another with my feet.)

Ray Marshall Reserve, South Granville, Field 1. 
The best pitch we played on all year, and a good afternoon for a game of football. 

I think I touched the ball maybe ten times all game. But again, the sheer tension of being in the thick of it. The corners, the free kicks, the loose balls... Ready to pounce at a moment's notice when something comes your way.

So I now have another runner-up medal to go with my champions' medal from 2012. (The other football runner-up medal was earned in 1981, in the Tamworth junior comp. Ironically, three grand finals, and all three times I was in goals.) We wanted to win for our manager, who's moving to Tasmania next year, and one of the senior players, my mate Rod (who got me back into playing soccer back in 2011). Try as we might, it wasn't to be. Sure, we could use a number of excuses for our loss. We had played on Tuesday night. They had two weeks off. But the end result was that we weren't quite good enough on the day.

I suppose better a 0-1 defeat in regular time than a loss in a penalty shoot-out.

A surprise for me after the match though. The outgoing manager presented me with the match ball for all the effort I put in on and off the pitch. It was promptly signed by the team, with the manager writing "You are the ultimate team player. Thanks mate." I nearly cried when I read that after I got home. The ball now sits on top of the video cabinet in the lounge room.  

We do plan an end of season get together. As to what format it'll take, I don't know as yet. It would be good to see the rest of the side once more before the end of the year.

Anyway, what else can I add? Not much, except to say that I have been reading more of Killing for Company, only to find that serial killer Dennis Nilsen was an extremely complex person. His notes and poetry reveal a person in torment, killing, as the title of the book suggests, for the company. Some times he wasn't even aware he had killed someone until he woke up the next morning. Other times he recalls the murder in vivid detail. One of his victims he had even strangled with the cord of a pair of headphones.

His surprise, most of the time, was that he wasn't caught sooner. Had he not chosen to flush pieces of flesh down the lavatory, clogging up the pipes, he could've added any number of victims to his tally. Of the fifteen he did kill, only two had ever been reported missing, one being a Canadian tourist, the other unfortunately shared the same name with dozens of others on the missing persons list.

It's interesting to note, four other men survived being attacked by him. The police were called on two occasions, but no charges were laid. One was even revived by Nilsen.

On a more positive note, I sent off entries for the NSW Schizophrenia Fellowship's annual art (and poetry) competition. I submitted a poem and a photograph, easily done seeing I didn't have to have the photograph framed. I also e-mailed off an expression of interest form for the NSW CAG Recovery in Art Exhibition. This one, along with the Art Works! Exhibition in October, will need framed prints.

So I'd better get them done. Ciao!

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Soccer, Sugarman and Serial Killers

Wednesday 10th

I slept in today. It was a late night, due to my brain and body still being awake after a nerve-wracking semi-final. (More on that soon enough.) Buoyed by our victory (and what a win it was), I actually walked home from Gosford station (for the second time in two nights I should add), quite pleased with myself. I was up for a while posting pictures and videos on FB, then browsed for a bit, downloaded some stuff, before finally being tired enough to hit the hay. I think I first woke up about 8.30am, but forced myself to go back to sleep. Next thing I know it's 12.30pm.

So, what do I do? Shower, grab my current book, and go have a celebratory lunch at the pub across the road, along with a cider as well. (It also settled my desire for a chicken parmigiana with beer battered chips.) And now I'm back here, having updated the news page on my website, listening to Rodriguez and rattling off this blog entry.

Who's Rodriguez you may ask? The best way to find out is to watch a documentary titled Searching for Sugar Man, (Sugarman being the first track on his Cold Fact album). This obscure US artist, born in Detroit, who recorded two albums before being dropped by his record label, and was labelled better than Bob Dylan, had very little success in the States, but was huge, in of all places, South Africa, where his music struck a chord in apartheid country. Rumours had spread about his apparent demise, that he had committed suicide on stage, either by self-immolation or by shooting himself. When his daughter got in contact with a couple of ardent fans via their website, it ultimately resulted in the reclusive performer to take time off work (he was a building restorer), and tour the country about two decades after being dropped by his record label. It's an amazing story, and his music is quite pleasant, with some really intelligent lyrics, and is perfect for a train ride or an overcast afternoon at home.

To the semi-final. With two Saturdays in a row, having being washed out, we arrived at Webbe Avenue in Auburn last Saturday, with the weather yet again inclement. I had been awake from 7.30am that morning, getting to Gosford Station an hour or so later to catch the bus to Hornsby. (It was trackwork affecting the lines I would be traveling on for the third week in a row. This time, all the way to Hornsby, and some lines between Hornsby and Strathfield.) I can't do much on the bus, except listen to music and stare out the window, seeing I get bad headaches when I try to read. (Even trying to read maps can be quite painful.) The bus got me to Hornsby just in time to catch a train which was stopping at Westmead (and I mean just – the doors were closing), which meant taking the long way around, via Chatswood and the Sydney Harbor Bridge (which isn't that bad). However, at North Sydney, the train terminated (honestly, it sounded like it was going to break down at any moment), and we were switched to another service. Once the train got moving, things were fine, but the weather by this time had changed for the worse, and it really started to pour down when I passed through Strathfield, prompting thoughts of “we're not playing in this”.

Yup, I was right, we weren't playing in that.

And I was right. I was picked up at Westmead by the manager and his 2IC (like I usually am every week) at 11.15am, ferried to the venue, where the team huddled under an awning trying to change as two other games were taking place, despite the poor conditions. Our opponents were there as well, and tried to pull a swifty on us by “conveniently” forgetting their team-sheet. They had a player still serving a suspension. (They had also lost competition points late in the season by fielding an under-age player in a game where they apparently won 8-0. Doesn't matter if you're playing under 16's, but this is an over 35's competition.) At 12.15pm, with the game due to kick-off, the referee inspected the pitch, and duly informed us that he was calling a halt to the game.

Right on cue, the rain stopped, the sun had come out, and it turned into a nice afternoon. It was a chance to take a few team shots, and have a few Jim Beam and colas. (Remembering the advice given to me at the dental appointment, water followed the bourbon down so that the sugar didn't linger in my mouth.) We were frustrated with the fact that despite our game being cancelled, two more games went ahead on two neighbouring fields, one of them being marked and puddles swept clear as we cracked open our first can.

Time for a team photo though. Yours truly is in the grey at the front.

Seeing it was the Auburn side's home field, we had a chance to chat with a few players that we had faced during the season. They were hoping that we would win the semi-final, seeing that they really didn't want to face Guildford. (I won't say what exactly they thought of them, but it wasn't nice, and it seemed to be a common feeling amongst players from other teams that we had spoken to this year.) One of our players got bogged in the carpark as we were about to leave, which meant a half-hour of pushing and shoving so we could get him clear. Even the locals lended a hand or two.

So, we had to play the game last night. A second game under lights this season. (Strangely enough, my previous game in goals this season was also under lights, on my birthday.) It was my second trip to Sydney in two days, having scheduled a Blood Bowl league game for Monday evening, and, to make a day of it, I decided to go see a movie as well. (I ended up seeing a delightful mockumentary at the Dendy in Newtown called What we do in the shadows. More on that later. As for the Blood Bowl match, it was a victory, and you can read the match report on the other blog when I get around to posting it.)

Anyway, 4pm train, arriving at Westmead around 5.40pm. I found a takeaway that was still open, grabbed a snack, and had time to eat it before my ride turned up. The venue this time was just up the road from Saturday's abandoned match, at Progress Park. Our field, though rough, and chewed up, was in far better condition than a lot of fields that we had played on during the season. There were plenty of people around and we had a few spectators for the match, which included one or two players from the Auburn side that was already in the grand final. (Their match was played on August 30 on one of the grounds that didn't get closed due to the weather.)

Progress Park Auburn, Field 2.

And, predictably, our opponents tried once again to get their suspended player onto the field, even recruiting a club official to argue the toss. It didn't work, as one from our club had turned up as well, and with modern technology the way it is, he had access to the data from the district competition, and the player was still unable to play, being suspended until the 16th, which meant he couldn't play in the grand final even if they did make it. (Our 2IC even got two e-mails about it prior to the game. The first with the player's name uncrossed, which resulted in a “What's this?” phone call to the sender. The subsequent one had the player's name crossed out.)

So, with the referee who adjudicated our grand final back in 2012 in charge of the match, it was game on. A couple of free-kicks put me on the spot early. One went straight around the wall and into my chest, the other shaved the upright. I was quite peeved when they did score. They had come straight down the middle, and I was left to take on two opponents, which was never going to end good for me. The second one came from a drive down the left, and though he was being hounded by a defender, and I had the near post covered, he still put it past both of us into the far corner.

My end in the first half.

So, 0-2 down, about twenty minutes in, and, as luck would have it, I didn't have much to do for the rest of the half, as the defence tightened up. We got one back, from a penalty, though the keeper almost saved it. (It looked, from my end, that our striker had taken a dive, but he insisted that he had been clipped.) At half-time, we may have been behind, but we were getting on top of them. I think I touched the ball maybe four, or five times. I even took a goalkick and had to catch a header played back from one my team-mates, but that was about it. Most of their efforts went well wide and wasn't tested for the rest of the half.

Second half was a battle of wills. Again, I wasn't that busy, most of their shots going wide and high. I was called on to make three saves, the most important one being a header from close range, which I parried with my left hand as I saw it late. (I heard a collective exclamation mark from the bench when that happened.) One of the defenders cleared it. Then there was one from a drive down the left, which had me falling on the ball as he got too close to the goals. I even got a little tap with the boot for my trouble. The third hit me in the left leg as I was going down, but it wouldn't have counted, seeing the linesman had called offside. But hey, I wasn't taking any chances.

We left it late. Really late. We had chances during the second half, one was spectacularly saved by the keeper, pushed over the bar. But, in the 79th minute, it finally came, again almost saved by the keeper but squeezed in on his right side post. One minute later, with both sides dead on their feet, the winner came, a brilliant header that was never going to miss. I ran halfway up the pitch yelling my head off in excitement.

The two minutes of injury time felt like five. I was secretly willing the referee to call time. He kept on looking at his watch as the game continued. We nearly managed to get a fourth, with one of our forwards getting round the keeper, but his shot at the open goal went agonizingly wide. It was extremely relieving when the ref finally did call time. My hands were shaking for about ten minutes after the game. For a little while I was standing around wondering what had happened. My team-mates may have been physically exhausted after that game, but I was mentally drained. I hadn't been over worked in goals, but there were a lot of tense moments. I didn't get much of a chance to drink my celebratory bourbon as a couple of players had offered me lift back to Hornsby, which made my trip back home somewhat quicker. I had originally planned to get a taxi home, but I was on such a high I decided to walk home again seeing it was such a mild night.

And now there's a grand final to be played this Saturday. It didn't look like that back in May when we were struggling to get points.

I think I'll continue this tomorrow.

Thursday 11th

Nice day today, so I decided to grab the notebook and head off to the comic book shop up at Tuggerah. With lunch, hearing about the latest dramas with the store (and there are a few, the biggest being the fact that an entire shipment, due to some technicality in paperwork, traveled around the US for a bit and returned to the company's warehouse in Mississippi... ) and before one realises it it's 2pm. I needed a second session to write this, seeing I got started on a game of Civ 5 yesterday around 5.30pm, and, well, it was too good to stop.

I'm back listening to Rodriguez. It's a good day for it – breezy and mellow. (Besides, there is only so much of the store's dance music that I can actually listen to.)

So, where was I? Oh, yeah, victory on Tuesday night. I walked home. I wished I had my big camera with me instead of the pocket one. One the way home I came face-to-face with a possum. The pics I took have him looking like some grey blob in the tree. However, whilst waiting for my train at Gosford station to head down to Sydney, I was surprised to see a bush turkey strolling around platform two. Thankfully, some of the pictures came out, as did the video footage. The bugger was even game enough to jump onto the tracks. (Not the first time I've seen them in the centre of Gosford. One had even taken up residence in the park outside the train station a few years back.)


Off soccer, onto films. On Monday, having scheduled a Blood Bowl for 6pm, I decided to go via Newtown, where one of the Dendy cinemas is located. I watched a rather delightful New Zealand flick about a group of vampires sharing a house in suburban Wellington. It was hilarious. It was a mockumentary, exploring the day-to-day tribulations of being undead. For starters, there was the house meeting about the chores, then the problems of going out on the town to socialise. (There was a funny scene with three of the vampires sitting at the back of a public transport bus on their way into town.) Of course, they just can't go into a nightclub, they have to be invited, a problem which was solved later when their newest recruit knew one of the bouncers at a club. One of the trio had a thrall, who did everything from wash the blood off the driveway before dawn to find victims for the group and the location of a night-time dentist. Then there were problems with hitting arteries, encounters with werewolves, a vampire hunter breaks into the house, and trouble with an ex-girlfriend at a big undead society ball. (She was often referred to as 'The Beast'.)

Must add, Peter Jackson's computer effects people worked on this (apparently most of their work was unpaid), assisting with some of the more visual trickery, like the mirror jokes (watch out for the pacman one), the bat fight, and the werewolf transformations. It's also one of those movies that you have to sit through the credits to watch the little extras, like the one right at the end. But it's all worth it. If you like other black humour horror films like Black Sheep or Shaun of the Dead, or enjoyed TV shows like Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, or Bullet in the Face, then you'll get a kick out of What we do in the shadows.

Of course, attending a movie at the cinema means that you have to sit through previews and advertising. There were two ads that I watched prior to the film, one of them I had seen before and neither of them making any sense. There have been a series of tourism ads screening in Australia recently, mostly seen on TV, that, in my opinion, you wouldn't really know it was a tourism ad until it said so at the end of the ad, including one that used Nick Cave's The Red Right Hand as it's background music, which I thought was highly inappropriate for a tourism ad, considering what the song was about. (It reminded me of major TV network in Australia once using The Police's Every Breath You Take for their network promo. It didn't last long, obviously somebody in management realized that the song was about a stalker.) The one that I saw on Monday featured a starlet with glitter on her face singing a rather strained version of INXS' Never Tear Us Apart, with an astronaut falling to earth, then wandering around the streets. What was it promoting? The city of Adelaide.

The other one was even stranger. A man stands on top of a building. The same man sits in a cafe. The man takes a running jump and leaps off the building. The man in the cafe leans across the table to kiss the girl sitting opposite him. Things start flying around. Then the punchline – it's advertising a popular brand of clothing with a very distinguishable logo.

Huh? I understand the idea of advertising is to promote a product, but what does the jumping off a tall building and kissing a woman have to do with a freaking shirt??? The Adelaide one could've been for any city. In what was a stark contrast, there was another ad for visiting the Northern Territory. This one was good. It was series of short clips of the sights in the territory, enticing people to come and visit. If I was enticed by any of the three advertisements, it was that one, seeing it wasn't trying to create some fantastic storyline, or install subliminal imagery, it was saying “Hey, come and have a look at this – a big rock, wild animals, good food, you'll have a ball!”

Perhaps I'm getting too old, and I'm missing the point of advertising for the sake of not really advertising anything. It's like beer ads that has the gent riding elephants, dancing with showgirls, etc. literally having the time of his life when guaranteed 99.99999% of the people who drink the product will be just sitting at a bar, or at home, or at someone's place, getting drunk and being nowhere near any exotic locations or involved in any James Bond-esque action.

I think I'll stop there, before I go on about using aliens to promote the value of good insurance, or using meerkats to, say, what were they advertising again?

Now briefly to something that I do understand – serial killers. Having finished reading a couple of books on peacekeeping operations around the world (mostly related to events from 1970 to 2000) I switched to true crime, and started reading this book on serial killer Dennis Nilsen, written by Brian Masters (who also wrote an interesting one on Rosemary West) called Killing for Company. I'm four chapters into the book, and already I've learned a lot about the convicted killer of fifteen men, like, for example, that he had enlisted in the army after leaving school, rose to the rank of NCO, served in Europe and the Middle East, and was in the catering corps. His mother was Scottish, his father Norwegian, a soldier stationed in the area after being evacuated from Norway as the Germans took control of the country in 1940. He was one of three kids, but his mother divorced his father after the war, and re-married, having four more.

No surprise that he was a moody child, not athletically inclined, and not very sociable. Growing up, he had two major influences, his grandfather, and an uncle. The former being one of the few people that he got along with, spending a lot of time with him when he wasn't out fishing. The other help create his world view, installing radical beliefs on the socialism, politics, and class structure in him, whilst introducing him to music as well. When he joined the army, things changed. He had found his place in life, and his sexual orientation as well. He even related a story about being abducted in Aden (Yemen) whilst returning to the barracks, being dumped in a taxi-cab's boot, but somehow managing to get free and kill his attacker. Of course, it's debatable if that story was true.

The ironic thing, as the killer himself points out in the book, is that he had been a hard-working civil servant most of his life, serving in the army, as a probationary police officer, and in a government employment service, but the thing he's remembered for is murdering fifteen men. He was fond of animals, used nurse abandoned baby birds until they could survive on their own, and owned a dog named Bleep. When police came knocking on his door on 9 February 1983 about the human remains being found in the drains outside his flat, he was asked “Where's the rest of the body?” to which he casually replied “In two plastic bags in the wardrobe next door.”

I have to keep reading it.

Finally, in closing, last post I said that the block of units that I had been living in had recently sold. Well, that isn't the case. Apparently the deal fell through. I still think that they're asking too much for a block of units that need a lot of work done on them. A new coat of paint for starters, perhaps getting rid of the pile of woodchips on the lawn...

Should be another post next week about my grand final. Ciao!

All images (c) 2014 Geoff G Turner.