Cheque Book Loyalty

ClubDes has opened its doors again this week after a brief hiatus away in the very unlike Las Vegas town of RotoVegas. I’ve never been to Las Vegas but unless it’s full of Asians and hories and stinks of arse then I reckon I’m safe in assuming the two are quite unalike.

It’s called Rotovegas because it pulls the tourists, has the bright lights, has the shows etc. It really should be called RotoAnus though, on account that it smells like one and you'll be paying top tourist dollar through yours at every attraction you visit. They really should give a discount to those that can rock up with a NZ passport I reckon because $50 for a three second tumble in a ball of bubble wrap is a bit cheeky. Even if you do add a bucket of tepid water to lube it all up, quite frankly I’ve had more fun flushing whilst I sat on the shitter.

Still, there’s always the joy of handling your extended family’s washing whilst on a shared holiday to look forward to. There’s nothing quite like a spot of ‘compare the gusset stains’ as you hang everything on the line each morning. I couldn’t help but notice as I did, that my brother in law Bruiser single handily keeps the Asian sweat shop industry running with his excessive label bashing; Calvin Klein grundies, Nike bike shorts and adidas outer shorts. And that was just one days washing!

But then I can understand why he layers up like he does. It’s all down to a traumatic event he had whilst wearing the stubbies that were compulsory PE attire back in our college days. It was no coincidence that those that decided on the dress code back then were a bunch of homoerotic men who called themselves the Board of Trustees and all of whom longed to see all young men clad in thigh revealing, ball hugging short shorts. These shorts were unnaturally high cut and gave new meaning to the term ‘the cut lunch’.

Many of us didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud the day Bruisers left plum broke free of the flimsy mesh netting and came to rest on the polished hardwood floor. The young Bruiser was advanced stage of physical development for a boy of his age and whilst we longed for the day our manbags resembled walnuts in a sock, his were coconuts on a tree. They still are he assures me, just a little less milk than there used to be. I’m happy to take his word for it.

There’s nothing better than a game of backyard cricket to bring the family together whilst on holiday, that is until some Captain Hard Out prick bowls a few beamers and stuffs it up for everyone. Personally, I bring a test match attitude to the crease in such fixtures and give nothing away until I’ve reached an epic hundred or the game has ended due to boredom, which ever comes first.

I enjoy playing the game but I stopped watching cricket or rather specifically New Zealand play cricket, several years ago. If you want to see delusion in action, than look no further than the way cricket is marketed to the masses in this country. Cricket in New Zealand relies solely on the past reputation of guys who played 20 – 30 years ago to get the support it does. Martin Crowe was the last really good player we had and even though he played on one leg with no hair for the last few seasons, was still a cut above fully fit players. It was about this time that tossers like Adam Parore started believing that they were really, really, really ridiculously good looking, not to mention good at cricket and it’s about then that the bullshit started and I turned off.

Cricket these days is a lottery, plain and simple. Countries play each other so often no one keeps count. The result should be decided at the toss prior to play and everyone can save themselves the eight hours in between. NZ would benefit from this because we might win more games than we actually do and it would have the added bonus of removing the one certainty in world cricket today: everyone will get their personal best figures whilst playing NZ.

So no surprise to see Shane Bond took the money and ran like he did this past week. I wasn’t surprised but that doesn’t make it right, but then I remember a time when ‘loyalty’ meant more than a crumpled bit of cardboard that if stamped 27 times means you get a free coffee. Loyalty is watching the next four seasons of Lost, no matter how ridiculous it gets, because you took the time to watch the first three. What else are you going to do when it’s on anyway? Have a wank?

Bond is it doing it for the money which is the way of the world isn’t it? Fair enough, but I say he’s a prick for doing so, albeit a rich one now and by walking away from your country you kick in the pink bits every coach, volunteer, supporter and administrator who gave up their time in helping you get where you are today. There payback was watching you do the bizzo for the national team so unless you’re cutting them in on your dirty money than you are what you are, you prick.

I live in hope that if he every turns up in RotoAnus they fleece him for everything he’s got.