There's Blood on the Dance Floor

No, this is not another endless blog about Michael Jackson and just how much he’s touched me over the years.

It didn’t take long for the bad taste jokes to kick in did it? Not long after news broke of his death people were saying it was because he’d chocked on some 12 year old nuts*.

But no, this is not a piss take of the albino brown boy who had a penchant for black uniforms with red armbands, nor is it a tribute because millions of others with a far better knowledge of his music and his life have written just about everything there is to say about the guy.

And there have been some beautiful, powerful tributes. Understandably there’s been a lot of hysteria too; people crying in the streets, mass vigils and well known actors turning in some of their best dramatic performances to date. There’s also been a lot of money making going on at the expense of a dead man and that – if I may revert to jive talk just for a moment – that shit is whack.

It didn’t take long for the Counterfeiters to crank up their inkjets and home made printing presses did it? I dare say Jackson’s corpse wouldn’t have even gone cold before the ‘The King is Dead’ silhouette tee shirts were being flogged off on Sunset Boulevard, or the copious amounts of negligible genuine Jackson memorable was being listed on the eBay’s and Trade Me’s of the world.

Of course the grieving lap this shit up. They’ll buy the tee shirts and the flags and the commemorative hanks as if it some how helps them express their grief just that little bit more than the next guy. Sad to say it doesn’t, in fact it only does serve one and only one purpose; to make the parasitic non fans richer.

And sales of Jackson music have gone through the roof too. Understandably everyone is seeing and hearing his music played on all the means of media everywhere and that brings back memories. But you know what? The man might be gone but his music will live on and whether you buy the CD now or later is not really going to make much difference is it?

One could argue that a real fan would already own the music and all this flurry of iTune activity and CD buying rather forlornly only achieves one real purpose; it lines the pockets of the record companies who will continue to sell Jackson tunes at top price so long as fans in mourning continue to be duped into paying it.

The irony is that Jackson was in some real financial difficulty and had been for some time. The world tour he was preparing for was just as much a money making exercise as it was a come back tour. If the physical preparations for that tour are in some way culpable for Jackson’s need to take pain killers and ultimate his death, then those fans who are so readily paying for the mans gift now really should have done so five years ago, because he really could have done with the money then.

Yep, there’s blood on the dance floor alright and it’s also on the hands of the so called ‘fans’.

Jacko's all the rage on iTunes

* Full artistic credit where credit’s due; this gem was produced by my old Vietnam buddy T Bag Borlase. Nice one.

Two Phoned Mutha Ucka.

I’ve made a decision this week that I’m not proud of. I’ve crossed a line that I firmly drew in the sand and the emotional pain it’s causing me is almost causing me to feel the need to stab my wife 216 times. Almost, but not quite.

Have you checked out this guy Clayton Weatherston? I know everybody deserves their day in court but some geezers just don’t help themselves. The dude looks like a nut job and all he’s missing is the homespun to prove it.

And hey, I’m no criminal psychologist but I’ve read enough books on serial killers and all round nice guys to know that when you slice and dice someone 216 times then that shit is personal. As the saying goes it’s not manslaughter without the laughter and something tells me that this guy is a lizzer. Big time.

Anyhoo, I’ve taken to using the cell phone work gave me about a year ago which doesn’t quite put me in the same league as Weatherston but it does officially make me a two phone carrying mutha ucka. Oh the shame of it. Up till now I’d never even taken it out of the box because I have strict beliefs on this kind of thing.

Not as in the ‘oral is moral’ kind of beliefs but hey, that’s not one I don’t have too much of an issue with. No I’ve always believed there is a time for work and a time for life and as I’m not paid to work 24 / 7 I’ve never been prepared to be available 24 / 7 because switching the thing on is like waving an attractive girl in front of a psycho Economics lecturer.

Listing your cell phone number somewhere at work or on your business card is like writing your home number and something fruity on the toilet wall; you’re going to get calls and although some of them might just be phoning to ask if your anatomically correct artistic depiction is a scale drawing, some will inevitably want to talk shop.

Have you ever been with someone when they’ve gotten a work call out of hours? And how often has that person then had to say to the caller something along the lines of ‘I’m not actually in the office can I call you tomorrow…’? Often I bet and I’ve always wondered a) If you can’t help the caller why even be available to take the call and b) what kind of sad bugger makes business calls when no one is actually at their place of business?

And it’s for that very reason I have never used the work phone, never listed the number anywhere or made myself remotely available after hours. But why do so many feel the need to be on call even when we’re not? How many of us have life changing jobs where life and death decisions often need to be made out of hours?

Oh and there is the small matter of the provider being Telescum and don’t even get me started on them buggers.

However last week I did some work away from the office and regretfully I had to give out my personal mobile number to those that I did actually need to talk to. Needless to say I felt as comfortable dishing out my personal number to work colleagues as I did the time we went on patrol near the Cambodian border back in ’68 after all having the shits the day before.

If there is one thing Charlie can smell in the jungle its fear, particularly if it’s running behind your knee thanks to the Number 5 you ordered off the menu and ironically we spent the whole six hours crapping ourselves thinking that at any moment Charlie would get a whiff of us crapping ourselves.

Cellphones would have been a definite no no in the bush, even if you had the thing on vibrate because it would have rattled against something else and that would have made noise and if there’s one thing Charlie can hear in the jungle its noise. We were so careful with noise control that if you took a swig from your canteen you deep throated the whole damn lot because a half full vessel makes noise as you move. Ten minutes later we’d fill it again with urine, preferably your own, because an empty canteen when bumped makes noise.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and that’s why I’ve started using my work phone. Now I carry one in each pocket and it looks like I'm playing pocket billards the whole damn time. So call me sometime, even if it’s just to tell me you like the drawing I left in the first cubicle of the men’s.

And yes, it is to scale.

Back in Black - But Still Average

Any poor bugger who tuned into the final minutes of the All Whites vs Iraq this morning could be forgiven for thinking that we’d just qualified for the semis of the Confederations Cup.

Our lads were partying like it was 1999, only it wasn’t and sadly for us, we hadn’t.

Yes, the nil all bore draw had meant the All Whites had picked up their first competitive point – not plural – in a FIFA senior men's competition, but it also heralded their exit from a tournament that will live long in the memory for all the wrong reasons.

Humiliated first up by a Spanish side that could have put ten past us if it wasn’t for some atrocious officiating and poor finishing on their part set the tone. Yes it was always going to be a huge mismatch but no one, not even the Spanish, expected such a cake walk. This is international football after all.

Another amateurish showing against the average Saffas meant that the game against Iraq was effectively, barring a miracle and major turnabout in form, a dead rubber. Saddam’s mob are only ranked five places ahead of little ol’ NZ in the FIFA world rankings which makes a scoreless draw even the more disappointing.

Not to the players though, obviously. It’s a sad day when the last match of your tournament ends in a goalless draw and you celebrate like you have won the cup! The world was watching this morning - well maybe just a few Iraqis tuning in from the caves of Afghanistan – and we made fools of ourselves. Again.

I can't help but compare the performance at this tourney of the men to that of the Under 17 girls at theirs early this year. That really was amateurs verse professionals, but did they lose credibility in their performances? Far from it.

Don’t be fooled what the NZFA says about this tournament preparing the team for the World Cup qualifiers. Their abysmal performance at the Confederations Cup has wound the credibility clock back 15 years. This is why Oceania will never get direct entry into the World Cup.

There is however one silver lining to this particular cloud; I was able to use the All Whites as a perfect example for my ten year olds in how not to defend.

Oh and did anybody else notice that the two 'best' results of this last fortnight (against the Eyeties and the Iraqis) were achieved whilst the team wore black, not white?

Might be something in that.

Black Is The New All White

The New Zealand football team is suffering from an identity crisis. Nobody at the NZFA can quite decided if the team should wear white, or the iconic black that the rest of the world instantly identifies as being a New Zealand sports team.

A few days ago the team donned all black and nearly upset the world champions Italy, (who rather ironically wore white on the night) only narrowly losing, on the score sheet at least, 3 – 4. Those of us that feel the team should always be clad in the achromatic rejoiced, not just because the score looked so good on paper, but because such a good performance was had whilst the lads were wearing the national colour; black. Not white.

Imagine our surprise then this morning to see that when lining up against the best team in the world presently, Spain, the NZFA reverted to white again. Admittedly it made for easy distinction between the two, aesthetically speaking, but the difference in skill was even easier to spot. Even if Sky TV didn't list who was who on screen like they do it would not difficult to figure out; we were down four goals in less than 25 minutes. It was like 1982 all over again.

That year was the one and only time NZ has ever qualified for the World Cup finals and it’s where the name ‘The All Whites’ was born. It was a gimmick thought up by the then manager John Adshead, an Englishman, to whip up some national support in a rugby mad country for the run into finals qualification. He figured a play on words might stick the same way ‘All Blacks’ always had with the national rugby team. It did and thus the nation got behind 11 predominantly ex pat Englishman in tight white tees and even tighter, shorter white shorts. One thing is for sure, nothing makes a pornstache stand out more on a part time Eighties footballer than a tightey whitey ensemble.

Off then to Spain, where the NZ contingent showed a lot of guts in their World Cup finals pool games and not just because their tops were skin tight. Ultimately though they were boys in a mans world - figuratively speaking - and were thrashed by everyone including the Scots. They returned home to a heroes welcome and the song the team had recorded before they left still riding high in the singles charts. Thankfully that little number soon died a natural death and so should have this ‘All Whites’ nonsense.

But like everything sporting in this country we like to hold onto and play on sentimentally. It’s the reason why we go into mourning every time a better prepared, better financed and bigger talent pool of a country beats us at rugby, the game we dominated for so long. And it’s the reason why a few fossils at the NZFA seem determined to miss out on the huge marketing potential that is the all black strip.

Every boy and girl in this country is raised on iconic images of glory that involved athletes dressed in black. The silver fern that adores such jerseys was always, well, silver and you don’t need to cut your ear off to know that silver looks better on black than it does on white. Other sporting codes know that, the NZFA seems oblivious to it.

A few years ago the NZFA changed its name and branding so that the term ‘soccer’ was replaced with ‘football’. It almost seemed as if the FA was coming of age and many hoped that the change to black would come with the new found maturity. It didn’t and instead the NZFA invested in a junior programme that it calls Small Whites. Smart play on words that.

About this time Nike came on board and what a laugh they’ve had at our expense. Ever since The Swoosh has adorned the breast the All Whites have worn white, gray, blue, black and a red and blue change number supposedly represented the union jack in the corner of our flag. I think it represented that Nike had finally found a use for it’s off cuts. Mercifully it was hardly ever worn in anger.

Instead of following the NZ Rugby Unions example by writing into their contract with adidas that the All Blacks strip was never to change, the NZFA have seemingly taken whatever Nike are prepared to churn out. Only recently has it started to entertain the fact that the players and the fans might like to see their team in the colour of the ninja. Even Ricky Herbert, the current national coach and survivor of the 82 experience favours the all black approach. The rest of the foot balling world, who only ever refers to the national team as the ‘All Whites’ when needing to use up air time during a five nil thrashing could not care less. So who are we afraid of offending?

Let us hope that the NZFA soon see the light. No other country plays in black. Not even Ze Germans and they're partial to a little black in their uniforms. It’s a distinctive, intimidating colour and it’s what foot balling youngsters in this country would aspire to wear were they given the chance. There is no reason why the team can’t still be referred to as the “All Whites’ were they to wear black. Now that would be a real play on words.

A million other countries play in white, which it should be remembered is the colour of surrender. Maybe that’s why we wore it against the Spanish this morning.

The Joe Karam Show Begins...

Joe Karam is finally a free man, acquitted of the crimes he was imprisoned for some 13 years ago.

So too is a fella by the name of David Bain but the way the decision was captured you'd be forgiven for thinking it was the cheeky darky Karam who has spent most of those 15 years behind bars and not the palungi Bain. TV cameras were allowed in when the verdict was read on Friday and rather than focusing on David - at least on TV3 anyway - they were focused on Karam, who rather humorously spilt water all over himself in excitement.

An impromptu press conference held on the steps of the Christchurch High Court was just the start of The Joe Karam Show. Understandably the six foot Bain, he of the huge ears, was too distraught with relief to speak, so Joe did all the talking. You would think that after 13 years of wrongful imprisonment Big D might have something to say, but no. JK on the other hand had lots to say and man can that guy talk.

He continued the sermon with Harae Mai John Campbell. Now the top shelf had been flowing since 5pm so Joe waxed on about several things, mostly himself, none of which really made much sense. In his defence though he did say at one stage that "this is all about David really" but no one seemed to notice so on he waxed. Only when Harae Mai John interviewed the two QCs did we finally get a full understanding of just how hard the team had to work to get where they were that Friday night.

Karam meanwhile, just in camera, stumbled off into the background and almost fell through the hotel rooms closed ranch slider. He had already made his first 'Hurricane' reference whilst being interviewed by Marvelous JC but you can bet it wasn't his first that night. It's a reference he likes to make often - that the case of David Bain is the same as that of Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter, a black man who was falsely imprisoned for a triple murder he never committed 1966.

Bob Dylan wrote a song about the case and a movie was made starring Denzil Washington. Karam must have liked the movie because he once flew Carter over to meet Bain whilst he was still in jail. Carter is undoubtedly an inspiring individual but the case of a man imprisoned because of the colour of his skin is slightly different to the case of David Bain. No word yet if Washington will play Karam in the movie of David Bain.

Now I should officially go no record as confessing that I have always believed Bain knocked off his family. I've read both books - including Karams - and being someone who likes to know the facts of such things I was convinced by what I had read that the man in the naff homespuns was convicted fairly. It took 13 years for those facts to be challenged and revealed to be in some cases far from factual which unfortunately does throw the Crowns case into doubt. Fridays verdict doesn't necessarily prove that Bain was wrongly imprisoned because he was innocent, more that the case against him was not good enough to prove he was guilty. Funnily enough many people feel the same about Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter.

Still, despite the acquittals, Bain still can't seem to shake controversy. Two jurors not only embraced him after the verdicts on Friday, but later that evening appeared at the 'Camp David' after party. Incidentally the 'Camp' reference refers to the American Presidential retreat of the same name and not the fact that Bain and Karam appear to be close. Very close. Now that would be camp.

The actions of the jurors, however niave, captures in a nutshell what most of us suspected regarding the retrial; that Bain had a huge amount of sympathy amongst a generation that didn't really know much more about the fella than Joe Karam's Hurricane references and the images of him in those homespuns. That was going to count for more in a retrail than any debate over the size of a bloody footprint.

But you can put your money on one thing; the Joe Karam showing is just cranking up. I suspect the first book on the acquittal will be either be by him or about him. I wouldn't be surprised if it was a combination of the two. Bain meanwhile is a free man and good luck to him.

Shit is going to get really interesting though if one day he knocks off Joe and his family...