Mark Planamente
NormA List: The Cheats
November 21st 2009 00:02
France's petit cheat Thierry Henry, in the tradition of stinking French liars and cowards, has done for France what Napoleon could never do. That is, he has booked his country a berth in the World Cup with his very own hand ball. Now, let us cast our mind over the edge of the pier and have a look into the murky waters of memory and see if we can't catch out a few more cheats.
Ben Johnson, the sprinter, not the author
It was Seoul 1988 and an illiterate African-Canadian was running in a straight line - making sure he didn't cheat by stepping out of his lane - when he crossed the line, 100 meters from where he had started from, ahead of all other African-Americans. What nobody knew at the time was that, in crossing the line, Johnson had earned the wrath of the English-speaking world, headed by well-spoken hermaphrodite Carl Lewis. In terms of gold medals, the hypocrisy in handing Johnson his arse in a sling was a gold medal-performance worthy of the Olympic stagers. Never again would Johnson utter the words for which he became famous but nobody could understand: "I can't read Shakespeare."
Ian Healy, the wicket-keeper, not the golf-commentator
It didn't take long for Queensland's favourite son of a bitch to announce himself on the world stage. He was taking a TAFE course in media liasons and carried a microphone and amplifier on his sizeable persona wherever he knew he would be squatting for a while. It was one of the great sights in the game to see Healy taking a shit behind the batsman. In this manner, Healy, known for his dry mouth and dry eyes, would whet the appetite of the blow flies. From there, the unfortunate sub-continental rug-head or curry-muncher wouldn't stand a chance. Naturally drawn to the smell, Indians and Pakis can't resist the smell of the shit and are immediately put off their game. Not to mention their dinner.
Patrick Kendall, the fieldsman, not the batsman
After half a season of excellence in suburban cricket, Patrick Kendall was named captain of the representative side which was to play the filthy cheats and maggots of the weak-as-piss opposition. Sent in to bat by himself, Kendall struggled to pick up the ball as it left the bowler's hand from the outset. The nagging accuracy of their attack didn't help matters. Dismissed for a paltry sum, he returned to the pavillion to build a case for bribing the umpires and the difficulty of seeing the ball in the trees. Unable to gather together a sufficient amount of money, Kendall chased down a cover drive later in the field and, sliding into the fence after the ball had hit said fence, collected the ball and threw it back to the stumps. The batsman ran three and Kendall was condemned by that blind old man for not giving the signal that the ball had hit the fence. The whole thing reeks of hypocrisy. That blind old man was seeing another woman behind his wife's back.
Now, the point is that given enough time and money, cheating is an acceptable part of sport and society. Far from being condemned, our cheats shoukd be commended for their honesty. Because, honestly, cheating is what makes us different to the animals. Applaud cheats. Except if they're French. Those animals surrendered their right to be part of the human race when they rolled over on testing nuclear weapons in the Pacific.
Ben Johnson, the sprinter, not the author
It was Seoul 1988 and an illiterate African-Canadian was running in a straight line - making sure he didn't cheat by stepping out of his lane - when he crossed the line, 100 meters from where he had started from, ahead of all other African-Americans. What nobody knew at the time was that, in crossing the line, Johnson had earned the wrath of the English-speaking world, headed by well-spoken hermaphrodite Carl Lewis. In terms of gold medals, the hypocrisy in handing Johnson his arse in a sling was a gold medal-performance worthy of the Olympic stagers. Never again would Johnson utter the words for which he became famous but nobody could understand: "I can't read Shakespeare."
"Which way is Hell?"
Ian Healy, the wicket-keeper, not the golf-commentator
It didn't take long for Queensland's favourite son of a bitch to announce himself on the world stage. He was taking a TAFE course in media liasons and carried a microphone and amplifier on his sizeable persona wherever he knew he would be squatting for a while. It was one of the great sights in the game to see Healy taking a shit behind the batsman. In this manner, Healy, known for his dry mouth and dry eyes, would whet the appetite of the blow flies. From there, the unfortunate sub-continental rug-head or curry-muncher wouldn't stand a chance. Naturally drawn to the smell, Indians and Pakis can't resist the smell of the shit and are immediately put off their game. Not to mention their dinner.
"Put your hands together for me."
Patrick Kendall, the fieldsman, not the batsman
After half a season of excellence in suburban cricket, Patrick Kendall was named captain of the representative side which was to play the filthy cheats and maggots of the weak-as-piss opposition. Sent in to bat by himself, Kendall struggled to pick up the ball as it left the bowler's hand from the outset. The nagging accuracy of their attack didn't help matters. Dismissed for a paltry sum, he returned to the pavillion to build a case for bribing the umpires and the difficulty of seeing the ball in the trees. Unable to gather together a sufficient amount of money, Kendall chased down a cover drive later in the field and, sliding into the fence after the ball had hit said fence, collected the ball and threw it back to the stumps. The batsman ran three and Kendall was condemned by that blind old man for not giving the signal that the ball had hit the fence. The whole thing reeks of hypocrisy. That blind old man was seeing another woman behind his wife's back.
"What's a little run between mortal enemies."
Now, the point is that given enough time and money, cheating is an acceptable part of sport and society. Far from being condemned, our cheats shoukd be commended for their honesty. Because, honestly, cheating is what makes us different to the animals. Applaud cheats. Except if they're French. Those animals surrendered their right to be part of the human race when they rolled over on testing nuclear weapons in the Pacific.
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