David EdwardsAn Unkindness of Footballers
May 24th 2009 10:46
The thousands of emails that flooded my inbox, almost beyond the point of recognition, made this post a necessity. And while this topic has piqued my interest considerably, I am aware of the ethical implications a partisan blog might have upon my readership. So it is solely for this reason that I have allowed the waves of discontent to quieten before offering my own take on the greatest rugby league off-field incident of the 21st Century. Now that the puritans, the fiends, the Germaine Greers and the Rebecca Wilsons of our world have all chomped heartily into the bit, it is time for SportingMind to offer a bit of clarity and poise to an issue that has escalated quicker than a Phuket bar mat prank.
Let us not forget the context. It was a chilly night in Christchurch. The Cronulla Sharks had just had a scratchy pre-season hit out against an under strength New Zealand Warriors outfit. Nevertheless, a win – nay, a road-trip win – calls for a few beverages. Matthew Johns was regaling a career’s worth of anecdotes to locals while his less articulate team-mates stood next to him, smirking, hoping to catch some of the leftover adoration and translate that into naughty late-night shenanigans.
Sure, this scene is no different to what happens on your average white collar stop-over in Singapore. For many years Australian businessmen, drunk on in-flight Johnnie Walker and their own sense of entitlement, have enjoyed the benefits of anonymity in a foreign town. Investment bankers homo-erotically high-fiving each other mid act, Maverick and Goose-style, as they defile someone’s (usually a pillar of the Singaporese community) daughter.
But demonisation has begun. No longer is there a positive public perception of the Rugby League Player. He is no longer an adorably grizzled veteran with a wife and three kids, who drives a Holden and battles a reasonably serious drinking problem. He, the modern League Player, is a highly sexed and hairless fiend, who drives a Mercedes with vanity plates and dresses exclusively in tight t-shirts with Spanish phrases on the front. He will, invariably, have a diamond earring in place and an 11 O’clock curfew, which he intends to break. The overwhelming synthesis of duty-free cologne and pheromones is something the best cougars can detect from 50 yards.
The argument made by many is this: Women throw themselves at footballers, so what’s the big deal? If these women are to make their bed, shouldn’t they lie in it? Well, no. Not unless they are previously aware that their bed will be surrounded by the most voracious, depraved and insecure footballers. Footballers who are convinced their latent homosexuality is masked by their totally hetero 12:1 gang-bang ratio. Then they can lie in it - in any position they like.
Footballers feel the need to conform. To stand out from the pack makes one a target for criticism; individuality is frowned upon. Indeed, as Socrates once said, “there is no ‘I’ in team”. And when the desire to conform is stronger than the desire to abide by common law, then we have a problem.
Why can’t footballers engage in typical team-building exercises? Like those at a typical workplace: mundane and sexless “icebreakers” devised and sanctioned by lame HR executives with no sense of irony. No, they must march out into the local village and not return until they have cornered a “willing participant”, subjected her to libidinal extremes and returned to the team hotel to be ready the next morning for a pool session. This is what binds mateship.
SportingMind is an unabashed Matthew Johns fan. SportingMind also believes the game of league has suffered enough over the past 15 years to last a lifetime. Let it not be destroyed by a poorly organised gang-bang.
-SportingMind
Let us not forget the context. It was a chilly night in Christchurch. The Cronulla Sharks had just had a scratchy pre-season hit out against an under strength New Zealand Warriors outfit. Nevertheless, a win – nay, a road-trip win – calls for a few beverages. Matthew Johns was regaling a career’s worth of anecdotes to locals while his less articulate team-mates stood next to him, smirking, hoping to catch some of the leftover adoration and translate that into naughty late-night shenanigans.
Sure, this scene is no different to what happens on your average white collar stop-over in Singapore. For many years Australian businessmen, drunk on in-flight Johnnie Walker and their own sense of entitlement, have enjoyed the benefits of anonymity in a foreign town. Investment bankers homo-erotically high-fiving each other mid act, Maverick and Goose-style, as they defile someone’s (usually a pillar of the Singaporese community) daughter.
But demonisation has begun. No longer is there a positive public perception of the Rugby League Player. He is no longer an adorably grizzled veteran with a wife and three kids, who drives a Holden and battles a reasonably serious drinking problem. He, the modern League Player, is a highly sexed and hairless fiend, who drives a Mercedes with vanity plates and dresses exclusively in tight t-shirts with Spanish phrases on the front. He will, invariably, have a diamond earring in place and an 11 O’clock curfew, which he intends to break. The overwhelming synthesis of duty-free cologne and pheromones is something the best cougars can detect from 50 yards.
The argument made by many is this: Women throw themselves at footballers, so what’s the big deal? If these women are to make their bed, shouldn’t they lie in it? Well, no. Not unless they are previously aware that their bed will be surrounded by the most voracious, depraved and insecure footballers. Footballers who are convinced their latent homosexuality is masked by their totally hetero 12:1 gang-bang ratio. Then they can lie in it - in any position they like.
Footballers feel the need to conform. To stand out from the pack makes one a target for criticism; individuality is frowned upon. Indeed, as Socrates once said, “there is no ‘I’ in team”. And when the desire to conform is stronger than the desire to abide by common law, then we have a problem.
Why can’t footballers engage in typical team-building exercises? Like those at a typical workplace: mundane and sexless “icebreakers” devised and sanctioned by lame HR executives with no sense of irony. No, they must march out into the local village and not return until they have cornered a “willing participant”, subjected her to libidinal extremes and returned to the team hotel to be ready the next morning for a pool session. This is what binds mateship.
SportingMind is an unabashed Matthew Johns fan. SportingMind also believes the game of league has suffered enough over the past 15 years to last a lifetime. Let it not be destroyed by a poorly organised gang-bang.
-SportingMind
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