The world of sport is one full of cliches, fairy-tales and just as many disasters. The last few months have been pretty hard on the big burly, barrell-chested Queenslander, Matthew Hayden. When champions of any sport are nearing the setting sun of their careers, many times the long shadows cast darkness onto them. Such was the case for Matthew Lawrence Hayden, stuck in a form rut that had every airmchair expert, over-paid ex-player and media charlatan baying for his scalp. It struck me as the height of stupidity. Dominate your sport for years and when you have a rough patch, bam, the blubbering angry mob is at your door, demanding your sacking, resignation or worse, your omission from the national team.

It didn’t bode well for the man they call Haydos when the chairman of idioits-I mean selectors let us all know that he wasn’t going to keep his place in the One Day side. I knew from that moment that the summer would take on a more sombre note. Summer means a lot to many people; the beach, barbeques, and so on. To me, one of the most enjoyable things to do when the heat is stifling, is to relax on the couch with a nice cold VB, watching the cricket. Our opening batsmen who dominated the fuck out of the rest of the world for so long – Langer/Hayden and Gilchrist/Hayden – in both forms of the game are now all retired, back to their families, living comfortable in the knowledge that they gave everything to their captains, their teammates, their coach and their country.

farewell haydos!

It is fitting that such an affable bloke such as Haydos would look almost excited to have retired, and the tears he shed the other night will eventually turn into smiles as he realises how much the cricketing world will miss him – how much the Australian team will miss his impact. So many of his team-mates, past and present, talk of the effect his presence in the team and on the field had. Justin Langer, when feeling beseiged, loved having him there to smash the opening bowlers back into their places, offering him that big brother protection he needed. The great Glenn McGrath talks of how the loss of Haydos will have something of a destructive effect on the team, from the boot strapper to the coach. Such was the aura around the great man.

I will sorely miss his walking down the pitch, confidently challenging the norm. His aggressive style of play would sometimes bring him undone, however he never once shied away from the fact that he strived from being daring, and challenged. His 181 not out against the Kiwis back in ‘07 was one of the many highlights for my memory.

Seeing the brute of a man walk out to the crease with his little mate Alfie, and also with Gilly, always made me feel confident we would get off to a good start. His record run scoring with these guys is what set us up for victory and instilled great fear into the opposition. Sadly, now, I see the other nations no longer fearing us without our strongest enforcer. I also see myself not enjoying the cricket season as much. It’s been hard losing so many icons, growing up watching them. I can only hope that the next generation of our batsmen can be as affable as Haydos, genuine as McGrath, freakish as Gilly, focussed as Langer and a wee bit of Warney’s bravado.

It’s back!

That great game of ours, Australian Rules Football, is BACK! You know the one, its the one that creates idols out of brainless morons. The one that allows the lowest form of humanity to show its face on a weekly basis, with the antics of said brainless morons being scrutinised and publicised to the nth degree. You know, the sport that gets millions upon millions injected into it by state and federal governments, only to squander it all on lavish trips for its self-serving and over officious management. I mean sure, it would be great to spend some of that tax surplus on more hospital beds, police and public transport. But, without footy, there will be less of a need for hospital beds, police and public transport. But enough of the hate. I can’t hate the game, just large chunks of its population both on and off the field.

Despite all that stuff, it took me mere minutes of watching my beloved Magpies in action to be ‘back in it’. By it I mean the highly strung, nail-biting, obscenity shouting animal antics. It really does bring out the whole gamut of emotions. From utter elation at a fantastic piece of play, to complete and utter desperation and deflation as the clock ticks towards a loss. But it was to be a feeling of excitement and eager enthusiasm that was the result of the two-hour feast on Saturday. The mighty Pies flexed some younger, fresher and far hungrier muscles than their pitiful counterparts who were only good when the Pies lost focus.

I foresee great and wonderful things for this team. And if the Foxtel iQ here has anything to say, with four shows being recorded weekly, I am sure to get enough footy opinions to be a right pain in the ass next time I have a few beers with my mates. The fact that half of the ‘experts’ couldn’t string two coherent sentences together without umm-ing, ahh-ing or yeah, nah-ing, is testament to the level of brain power needed. Suits me! I have had my fit of the gentlemenly game of cricket, bring on the excitement of footy.

My ladder for end of 2008 is as follows, with no consideration to logic, common sense or reality:

1. Collingwood – Yep. One-eyed and proud of it.
2. Geelong – 2008 Grand Final to be the best in 100 years. Pies win by 2 late goals to Rocca and Pendles. Norm Smith to Rhyce Shaw, atoning for sins of previous GFs.
3. Hawthorn – Best Melbourne team after the Pies. Buddy to be franchise player of the next decade.
4. West Coast – Pure class, despite off-field problems.
5. St Kilda – Their flying start to the year will falter come round 12 when Gehrig will devolve further to caveman.
6. Doggies – Enough games at the dome for the great toothed one to kick them to finals.
7. Essendon – Fast. Fucking hate them.
8. Adelaide – Hate them with a passion

The rest mean nothing but I reckon spoon will be shared amongst Blues and Demons. Tigers just ahead of them due to a draw with a North side that promises so much so often yet rarely delivers. I think I should put down that crack pipe.

Oh and the future is BLACK AND WHITE!