Blame Emma Quayle for this one - "Oh Cyril"

 Emma Quayle, AFL writer for the age specialising in coverage of the national drafts, has brought to my attention the fact that it is Squirrel Rioli's 100th AFL game this Friday night against Essendon. Bringing delight certainly to Hawthorn fans, and hopefully to many other football lovers around the country, Cyril has a unique skill set that not many other players in the league could hope to replicate. With that (and the carrot of a wonderful prize for the best entry) in mind I have penned my ode to Cyril with the help of those great rockers Australian (Rules Football) Crawl. I give you "Oh Cyril";

Update: I may just have won the competition...

Going anti-clockwise, autographs from Cyril Rioli 33, Ben McEvoy 5, Brad Ebert 5, Trent Cotchin 9 and Patrick Vezspremi 13

 
"Drafted way late,
debuted '08
this Hawk's a high flyer.
Collingwood,
it's understood,
wished they had picked higher.
He leaps up and,
on shoulders stands,
his marks you admire.
With a little shunt,
kicks a drop punt,
that goes through post high and then we sing;

Oh Cyril, I would give anything just to play like him.
Oh Cyril, I would give anything just to play like him.

The taggers all,
will scream "no more!",
he runs 'til they tire.
With poise and guile,
and a cheeky smile,
he's gonna get by ya.
When tackling,
he is the king,
he lays the giants low.
He waits to pounce,
then takes a bounce,
and sets up another goal, I say;

Oh Cyril, I would give anything just to play like him.
Oh Cyril, I would give anything just to play like him.

Don't sign for the the Roos,
I don't wanna hear about it.
Don't sign for the the Blues,
I just don't wanna hear about it..."

What the puck? The dummies guide to the Stanley Cup finals.

Australian Rules Football was invented to keep cricketers fit. Cricket was invented from the Dutch term for Hockey, met de (krik ket)sen. And Hockey? Well, if you believe my all time favourite player former NHL super star Brett Hull, hockey was invented to stop men talking about their feelings. And while that may or may not be true, the fastest sport in the world deserves more than a passing mention as the puck is about to drop on the 2012 Stanley Cup finals. So please ladies and gents, sit back and enjoy my light hearted preview of the greatest show on ice that doesn't involve Disney characters as the Los Angeles Kings prepare to do battle with the New Jersey Devils...

The Sacramento Los Angeles Lakers, um, Clippers, um, Kings?

If you are unfamiliar with the sport of ice hockey, as people in the small, insignificant market of Los Angeles are, you could be forgiven for not knowing who the Kings were. So we can't fault the poor sub-editors at the tiny little operation known as the NBC confusing one ice hockey team in California for a basketball team in California some 400 miles away, can we?

Oops.

But can we really blame them? Where Cameron Diaz is a regular at Lakers games, we have Alyssa Milano live tweeting Kings games. Where Jack Nicholson fist pumps when Kobe drains a clutch jump shot in the final minute, James Gandolfini stands and applauds when "Brad Doty" breaks up another odd man rush. And even when the Kings contrive to make the finals for the first time since some guy called Gretzky single handedly took them there in 1993, you can rest assured basketball was the top highlight on Sportscenter, presumably because some guy dunked the ball. It's not exactly fair is it?

Fortunately the good people in the Kings' social media department got on board and set the record straight and now, with not only Beiber but Beckham in frequent attendance, maybe the Kings will get their due because this is a scarily good hockey team and will start the finals as favourites.

THE DEVILS!!!

You may, however, be a little more familiar with these guys.

It isn't why you should be though. Unlike their Californian counterparts, cup finals are no mysery to the Devils as this will be their 5th visit in less than twenty years already having achieved the ultimate success three times. The name Lou Lamoriello is legendary in hockey circles with the veteran General Manager once again putting together a team that steamrollered through more fancied opponents in the Eastern conference. Where the Kings are scary good, the Devils are scary competent. That is a mighty complement in a lightning fast game where mistakes can make all the difference and it is an asset that will have New Jersey right there until the end.

California, know how to party...

It's the summer of 2011 and Philadelphia Flyers General Manager Paul Holmgren has a problem. He has re-signed two key young players of the team that went to the cup finals in 2010 but struggled to deceive the next season with allegations of late night boozy partying coming to the fore. Of course it hasn't helped that his starting goalies have proven as adept at preventing goals as a hybrid of Zac Dawson, Ryan Schoenmakers and Cale Hooker. So in a desperate attempt to light a fire under his team, he trades captain and heart and soul player Mike Richards to Los Angeles, and lethal scoring weapon Jeff Carter to Columbus. This gives him the salary cap relief to sign star goalie Ilya Bryzgalov to a monster ten year deal that will pay him a cool fifty million dollars.

It starts off well, Richards plays for a Los Angeles side that concede very few goals but score even fewer. Carter throws a tantrum upon his arrival at a terrible Columbus team and promptly spends half his games injured and the other half indifferent. Philadelphia start the season strongly with the play of young talent Claude Giroux ensuring the former star attractions are not missed.

And then something happens to cause consternation. First, their solution to the goalie problem starts philosophising about the cosmos on national TV. Then he becomes a human seive as the Devils eliminate the Flyers in the quarter finals.

But the heartache doesn't end there.

Realising that their star acquisition would rather be anywhere else than in Columbus, the Blue Jackets trade Carter in the hope of getting some return on investment. With his indifferent play and large salary, teams are not kicking the doors down with offers. But one team has a pressing need for goals in order to make the playoffs and are willing to take that risk.

Naturally, that team is Los Angeles.

So to re-cap, the Los Angeles Kings decided it was a good idea to re-unite (NSFW warning) the two good time party boys who couldn't get the job done in Philadelphia due to their apparent boozy ways, and to re-unite them in California no less. Hollywood. The beaches. The babes. The nightclubs. As expected, it was a disaster.

For Philadelphia, of course. For L.A.? Notsomuch.

Ilya Kovalchoke? Not anymore.
Ilya Kovalchuk was rich but Ilya Kovalchuk was not happy. The high scoring Russian winger had just signed a contract worth One Hundred Million dollars over fifteen years but after playing on an awful Atlanta team his whole career, suddenly and dramatically the New Jersey team he signed for were no longer competitive. In situations like these, media experts begin to wonder if the common denominator is not the quality of his team but the quality of his play.

It wasn't as absurd as it sounded. What was the point of being the most consistent goalscorer in the NHL over ten seasons if your style of play meant the opposition scored twice that number while you were out on the ice?

His team-mates said all the right things in his defence. Consummate professional. Great guy in the locker room. Is willing to change his style, to help his comrades, to do anything to win. The heart and desire of Russian players had long been questioned by the xenophobic contingent of the Canadian hockey media so much so that when two Soviet players of the Nashville Predators were caught drinking at 4am the night before they were due to play, it became a national outrage.

Not that Ilya Kovalchuk cared. He was too busy putting into place a new style of play that came from a season's worth of drills from the famed Devils coaching staff. He cut off passing and shooting lanes. He harassed defenceman into bad turnovers with the puck. He even fought for the honour of of his team-mates laid out by a dirty hit. But most of all, he kept on scoring.

Now, Ilya Kovalchuk is rich and he is happy. I won't be calling him Ilya Kovalchoke anymore. If the Devils win the cup he may just become Ilya Kovalclutch.

Banjaxed by Flapjacks - Pancake Penner.
It was an awful time to be Dustin Penner. The marquee trade deadline acquisition less than one season ago was playing on a poor Kings team that couldn't score to save themselves. It was largely because he couldn't score to save himself. Usually when you are contributing in other ways by blocking shots, throwing hits and creating chances for your team-mates such things can be overlooked. When you turn up to training camp overweight and out of shape however, you get cut a little less slack.

Then when you injure your back eating pancakes, things just get ugly.

At the time I gave Penner great credit for his honesty and for accepting that although he was already a laughing stock, that didn't mean he couldn't see the funny side and joke about it either. It didn't get easier for him. His wife left him, he was left out of the lineup on many an occasion and the rumour mill had him being dealt for a bag of pucks and a 9th round draft pick in draft that no longer goes 9 rounds.

In the background, however, Pancakes Penner accepted he had hit rock bottom and started working harder than ever. Devoid of confidence he at least could fall back on the fact that he had been a good player before, a key part of the Anaheim Ducks one and only cup winning team. So he got fit, got back in the lineup, started doing those little things that hockey players should do when the puck is not bouncing their way. He was able to do this because his Los Angeles Kings team-mates never once gave up on him and kept looking out for him the whole time because they knew he was hurting and they hated to see it.

The playoffs started. He scored a couple of timely goals. He used his big frame to protect the puck, keeping possession for the Kings and creating scoring chances for his team-mates. Then something wonderful happened. Something he worked hard for and deserved.

As Bruce MacAvaney would say, redemption was "delicious" for Pancake Penner.


The Wash, who wins the Cup and why.
It's not the cup finals that everyone wanted, the Kings and Devils struggle for attention in their own markets let alone on a national level. There is no doubt however that the two teams that are in the finals have comfortably proven themselves as the best two in the league.

The other good news is that they are pleasures to watch. New Jersey have long been derided for their defence-first, clog the neutral zone, borderline legal clutch and grab tactics that have also been the blueprint for championship wins. Those Devils are gone.

These Devils can be likened to an AFL side that plays with a perfectly executed press, getting the puck in deep to the attacking zone and then trying to regain possession and keep it in that zone like crazed terriers employing what is called a ferocious "forechecking" system. You can liken it to winning the tackle count laid inside the 50m arc; their forward pressure is only matched by their skill. Turn the puck over and players like Kovalchuk, Zach Parise and Travis Zajac will make you pay.

And yet, these Kings don't make those sort of mistakes and if they do, they have a goalie who will likely bail them out. Jonathon Quick is exactly as his surname describes; athletic and agile with incredible reflexes and completely on top of his game. It's hard to believe the Kings will have an edge in netminding when the Devils boast the winningest goalie in the history of the NHL, a man who has been stellar in backstopping them to three championships. At forty years of age, Marty Brodeur has shown signs of slowing but is having a late career renaissance that has had hockey scribes out with the superlatives once more. It's going to be a great battle to watch.

The Devils will also believe they have home ice advantage and yet, against Los Angeles this season all teams have had home ice disadvantage. The Kings are a perfect 8-0 away from home this season, a feat made all the more impressive by the fact the home team in hockey gets two huge advantages aside from playing in their own arena. Firstly, an away player is made to put his stick down first during a faceoff, the equivalent of a rugby scrum if you will. It's an enormous advantage to the home player who can likely anticipate how to block his opponent's stick and win possession of the puck for their team. Secondly, at most stoppages in play it is the away team who must choose which unit of five players they will deploy first, giving the home team an opportunity to select a group of five players that may cause a mismatch on the ice.

Neither issue has been a problem for the Kings. Why? Because they have three faceoff specialists in Anze Kopitar, Mike Richards and Jarrett Stoll who are so adept at the skill that they will likely gain possession of the puck first despite the disadvantage. This does not bode well for a New Jersey team who have been horrible in the faceoff circle this postseason, dead last in the statistic.

As for the issue of creating mismatches? When every Kings player has not only held their own but also contributed on the scoresheet it makes it almost impossible to steal a march on them. Although New Jersey likely have the deepest set of forwards the Kings will have faced in these playoffs I'm not certain it will matter if L.A. can, as is likely, keep the puck away from them for large periods.

My light-hearted look has taken a more serious tone. The Devils will have enough talent to win at least a couple of games off the Kings and if L.A. contrive to let the nerves of a first championship run get to them then New Jersey could defnitely win it all. But I don't see it happening. It's destiny for the Kings. They are the best team in the league and it is their time. I'll take them in six games with only one thing that can possibly stop them.

I picked Vancouver to win last year. It only turned out so well.

Yellow and Black!

I'll wear it. It's all my fault. It was innocent enough too, a throwaway comment that was more of a backhanded compliment than a malicious put down, but it was there nonetheless. It was the 4th of March and game day in the German footballing capital of Dortmund and it was something the likes of which I've never seen. So I tweeted:

Ninety Thousand rabid nutters making a sea of yellow and black. I mean I can even imagine what it would be like if Richmond ever got good...

So I'm sorry Hawks fans but yesterday was my karmic comeuppance. The worst thing is what I was trying to say is that like Dortmund, Richmond have a wonderful, passionate supporter base just waiting for a premiership contending team they can get fully behind. From what I saw yesterday, it may only be so far away.

Mind you, no AFL club's support can hold a candle to what I experienced over there. When we first watched Dortmund play an away match in the amazing Olympiastadion in Berlin we were told that thirty thousand Dortmund supporters had made the trek North to watch their beloved top-of-the-ladder side play a team placed 17th in the table.

Collingwood have a very special fan base, but thirty thousand of them are not getting on a train to go watch Greater Western Sydney play anytime soon.

The view from the "Jesse Owens Allee". This photo doesn't do the sea of fans justice.

And that would only ring true if it were the mere thirty thousand who went. I think they exaggerated the claim somewhat. It appeared to me to be closer to forty thousand.

This one, however, just might.

In any event, the experience of eighty thousand supporters in a veritable football cathedral all singing and dancing and only so fussed with the final result is something I won't ever forget. There is nothing, nothing in Australian sport that could ever compare with it. This is not to deride Aussie Rules Footy or Cricket or whichever sport is the poison of your choice, Australian sport has its own uniqueness that cannot be found elsewhere. It's just that this was something else entirely.

Does your team have its own Monopoly game? Can you see the AFL releasing its own drinking game?

But there is one thing us Aussie neanderthals can teach our cultured European brethren. The chant of "Wir wird Deutscher Meisters! (We are German Champions) Bey Vey Bey Borussia!" is wonderfully spine tingling when heard the first time, a little tired by the 176th rendition. So my tribute to Borussia Dortmund football club is to give them a real song and as every footy fan knows, Richmond have the best club song in the AFL, so here is my tribute to them as well. Apologies in advance...

Signal Iduna Park, Dortmund's home ground. Less a football stadium, more a place of worship.

"Oh we're from Dortmund land

we're fighting für ja and we're Dortmund fans

in rotten weather you will see us shiverin'

guards on both our shins

if scores are tied then nevermind

sometimes we score and win oh we're from Dortmund land

we never give up 'til the final whistle blows

like the kaisers of old,

we're damn bloody cold but we're from Dortmund

YELLOW AND BLACK

oh we're from Dortmund land" 

Borussia Dortmund FC. Deutscher Meisters 2010-11 and 2011-12.

When they can see the Light, but Choose not to.

A day to test the temperament of even the most faithful of cricket fans.

It started so well too. The poster boy for bespectacled cricketers everywhere enhanced his already widely respected reputation with another wonderful display of counter-attacking cricket. Australians are largely unanimous in their belief that Dan Vettori would have saved us some serious selection heartache when it came to picking a spinner since Warnie gave it away. I beg to differ. I'm glad that Vettori plays for New Zealand for had he been born on these shores, this test match would already be out of our hands and a boring victory would be on the cards instead of the prospect of an entertaining test match. The only disappointment was in his cruel denial of a century, even if he did it to himself. His captaincy then turned an intriguing over before lunch into two.

Dave Warner, your day will come. Yes, we've knocked blokes for poor shot selection, forcing the issue on balls that weren't there to be hit. But Dave, I've seen you belt that one to the rope before with pure contempt. Don't be afraid to do it next time.

When Phil Hughes was undone by some good bowling and fielding, our South African heroes Uzzie and Punter went about recovering the situation. They were doing very well until the first delivery after tea. I remember the analogy a junior coach proffered me as to running between the wickets.

"It's a bit like driving a car. You'll make poor decisions at times, but strangely enough if you stick with a bad decision instead of changing your mind halfway through, you'll be right more often than not".

It has served my cricket career well, more often than not. Had Williamson not hit the stumps, we wouldn't even be debating which batsman had erred. As it was, Punter failed to acknowledge the give way sign, Uzzie correctly responded as sending Ponting back would have been suicide, and almost made it despite starting flat footed. It happens. We love dishing out blame and as such, I feel Ponting probably erred a little more. We've all been there though, it's a sickening feeling to have run out or to have been run out by your mate, and Punter went about rectifying the situation the best way possible, by continuing to make runs.

This brought us to incident number one that made my blood pressure rise. Michael Clarke, who was looking terrific, got caught in two minds as to play or leave, and played on to a nothing delivery. Bad luck mate. Except that old mate Rauf Mauf, an umpire I actually have a lot of time for, decided it might have been a no-ball. Better have a look.

I believe the correct term these days is LOLWUT?

I mean honestly, that is farcical. You cannot decide that just because a batsman has been dismissed that you want to look at the replay. Not unless you are going to do that for ALL deliveries that might have been a no-ball. Which umpires clearly do not. If they did, those who hate the advent of technology and how it slows down the game really would have a drum to beat on. So what is the solution?

For me, it is simple. The umpires either call no-balls themselves, or they have that responsibility taken away from them.

Think on it, if the third umpire had a camera to look at the front foot of every bowler (clearly they do), it would be a relatively quick process to say into the central umpires earpiece "Stick your arm out for that one mate".

No confusion, no farcical scenes, and justice for both sides. And whisper it quietly, if umpires didn't have to check the feet of blokes bowling at 150 clicks an hour, maybe, just maybe umpiring standards would improve.

Is that idea so far fetched? I doubt it.

This was the time I had hoped to have come down from off my soapbox, and to enjoy the rest of the cricket. More fool me. There was a time cricket was played on uncovered pitches. A time before full face shield batting helmets. A time before floodlights. They still played with a dark red ball. And yet, a machine was telling the umpires it was too dark to play.

To be fair to the umpires, when they were interviewed by Alistair Nicholson of ABC Grandstand radio who was happy to put the hard questions to them, they were contrite, articulate and even a little embarrassed. "I feel for the spectators who have come to see cricket" said Asad Rauf. "We cannot judge the light by ourselves, the ICC gives us our benchmarks and we don't get to choose based on our perception on what is more dark or less dark" said Aleem Dar (another excellent umpire). "The red ball is harder to see in these conditions than the white ball"; Rauf, talking truth, again. "You could call the conditions dangerous, by what is outlined by the ICC, yes"; Dar, when questioned on the matter.

It isn't their fault. They admitted as much! Shame the ICC, choosing not to play cricket when the alternative option is available. I love test cricket so much but with the disgust of the crowd ringing so palpably on the TV and radio's speakers, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd choose to watch it from my loungechair rather than the ground from now on. The price will be right for the cricket I am not guaranteed to see.

But the ICC don't care. All they care is that their coffers are full whichever way they get it. And they usually get it from 20/20 cricket. And it usually comes from the BCCI and the IPL. So whatever they say is likely to be what goes.

Is this pure cynicism from me, or is test cricket dying a slow death? Go to a match, look at the empty stands, as early as the first day when a nation other than England is not playing.

It really hurts me to type that, but I'm afraid that it's true. I've had not so much a debate, but a conversation with a disinterested sports fan about this very issue. He has been trying to tell me for a while that Cricket is losing its appeal and its lustre. After today I am struggling to come up with a counter argument. Don't kid yourself that the authorities don't know the problems, they merely choose to ignore them. They can see the light, they merely choose not to. That's the most disheartening thing of all.

May the rest of the test match overshadow such negative thoughts. It's certainly set up to give a positive result.

Just because Bali Ha'i may call you, please don't call her Bali High...

* A word of warning, if you don't understand the reference in the pun then please look it up. If you care not to expand your mind even that much then this blog post is likely not for you.

What's in a name?

I cannot deny that I've never understood blind patriotism. To me it smacks of people desperate to prove that they love their country or city more than their fellow man. It also smacks of giving them the opportunity to decry those of another nationality or culture as something beneath them. "Un-Australian" is the term in this country I believe. Whatever that is. I would've liked to have believed that Australians by their nature are an inclusive people, that allow other people to be free to live whichever way they choose just as long as they are respectful of their fellow Australians and the laws we abide by. Sadly I sometimes find the opposite to be true, and opportunities for exclusion based on race or ethnicity abound. That it is happening right at this moment, and moreover that is calculated and it is callous, has me quite upset. I mean, what did the Balinese people ever, ever do to us?

I'm deathly serious, with no pun nor disrespect intended. What have the people of Bali ever done to any Australian other than be a welcoming and gracious host? If you don't believe me then please, at least give me an opportunity to explain myself. A little word exercise if you will. Can you repeat after me; "The Javanese Bombings".

"Abu Bakar Bashir, mastermind of the Javanese bombings".

"Imam Samudra, Huda Bin Abdul Haq, and the smiling assassin Amrozi, the Javanese bombers" (executed for their crimes may I add).

Sure, the bombings happened in Bali, but if we are to go around with this misnomer then suddenly we would have to start considering 9/11 as "The great American aviation disaster of 2001". How offensive would that be to the victims and their families? And yet we are comfortable to call them the "Bali bombings" when in reality, apart from the second highest number of casualties being Balinese, they are absolutely anything but.

This is not a matter of semantics. The vast, vast majority of the Balinese population are extremely peaceful and benevolent people. They study the Hindu faith, the major tenet being the worship and idolisation of the human body and life cycle. Not that I wish for faith to enter the equation, to mark the bombings as anything but the act of despicable people as opposed to "Muslim terrorists" is misleading and wrong, but the facts remain. For fear of what karma may bring, the beautiful Balinese would not hurt a fly.

And they did not perpetrate the Javanese bombings, that happened to occur in Bali.

Why do I care so much? I'm not sure. I guess I don't want the happy memories of our honeymoon besmirched by the garbage that is freely flowing on the radio, on TV, and on the web as I type. It's odd because as Kristel will tell you, I often have problems with large volumes of people. The honeymoon was no exception, I found myself wishing the other tourists of varying nationalities would shut the hell up so I could listen to what the wonderful locals had to say.

"The only attraction to Bali is cheap beer and knock off clothes," I hear those who have never been to Bali opine, "it's just a paradise for bogans". Funny, there weren't too many to be found on the pristine beaches of Seminyak. None to be found in the spectacular mountains of Ubud. In fact, and as I was warned, you find nary a "Westerner" (whatever the hell that is) there, and though I was also told it was likely to be an intimidating experience, I did not find this to be the case. Far from it.

In fact I had a good chat with one of the locals. We had a lot in common as it turned out.

In any case, the events of the last week or so and moreover, the reaction of much of the Australian media to it, have really cut me deep. I know that a fourteen year old boy was offered drugs there. I know that Dean Laidley and his family were attacked in a nightclub, and I believe him when he says it was unprovoked. And I know that it has come to light that a young woman drank a poisonous methanolic cocktail on one of the islands there. But I feel we need another lesson in facts and how they can be distorted to tell any sort of story they want to tell. You see...

"The Bali bombings occurred in Kuta".

"Dean Laidley, and his family, were assaulted in Kuta".

"The young boy was offered drugs, and caught buying them, in Kuta".

Kuta. The place where any travel agent worth their salt will give you the most warning about. The place I genuinely only lasted half an hour in the middle of the day before absolutely needing to get out of there. The first place in Bali to be inhabited by tourists hence the part of the island with lovely "Western" attractions such as night clubs open all hours, cheap prostitutes (until they take what they're really after, your wallet) and drugs. We sure did bring Western civilisation to Bali. Go us.

I'm not saying that because you go to Kuta you deserve to be bashed, casually offered or even hassled for the purchase of drugs, or heaven forbid killed in a bomb blast. Of course you should be allowed to go there and drink your cocktail at 3am no matter your level of intoxication without fear for your safety or that of your friends.

What I am saying, all throughout this post, is the point I hope to make is that bad people can do bad things to good people. Balinese. Javanese. Lebanese. Saudi Arabian. American. Australian. If you choose to hold grudges over a majority of good people for the actions of a few bad, if you choose not to visit the perfectly safe parts of Bali because of the scaremongering so many are fostering, if you choose to keep your mind shut when opening it would lead you to a whole new world of happy experiences, it is then that I truly, truly pity you.

But don't take my word for it. Revisit the bombings and ask the survivors' friends and family if they are deterred from going back to Bali. Are they what, they now make that trip every year! To not do so would be a victory for those that committed the atrocity. And read Dean Laidley's final words on the matter that even the Herald Sun could not suppress at the bottom of their article.

Those of the Hindu faith also believe in Karma, that every action will have its intrinsic consequence. I wish I was so strong in my faith, as strong as the Balinese. I have stated my belief that bad people do bad things to good people, sometimes for no good reason at all. Whoever coined the phrase is right. Karma, unfortunately, really is a bitch.

Whitey.