My butt there’’ s nothin ’ on.

’Sure, there ’ s Test cricket on the telly and golf in Malaysia, and the V8s were on at Bathurst recently.

The Wallabies are flying all over the world like the weirdos they are. And there’’ s rugby league Test matches on Saturday in New Zealand, women and young boys, and you’’ ll take a seat and see them for sure since it’’ s all respectable.


And if you’’ re in Sydney town Sunday there’’ s a rowing regatta of sorts on the Harbour that ’ s like our Oxford vs Cambridge, Sydney vs Melbourne, and if you’’ re in the smoke you’’d get along to take a look, something about it, for sure.

Actually, when I state there’’ s nothin ’ on there ’ s stacks on. It ’ s wall-to-wall sport.


The ‘ huge’ sports – the crickets and footies – – keep draining ‘‘ material ‘. Even the AFL has a ‘‘ draft integrate’, whatever that is, it’’ s kept that footy league humming, the very best nationwide sports compensation in the land.

And yet it seems like there’’ s nothin on since we ’ re because amusing season in between the footy season and cricket season when a number of sports poke their heads above the higher dustbin of public lethargy and shower in their time in the sun.

Horse racing resembles this. Given it’’ s on all the time. Any day of the year otherwise it ’ s wallpaper. As one race surfaces another one starts. Poker devices work like this. Ka-jung, ka-jung, ka-jung.

You can stroll into any bar in the land and bank on the very first in Pukekohe to the last in Turffontein.

I’’ ve bank on trotters in Norway working on ice. And understand this: Nordic type, like Scando noir motion pictures, is strange.

So yes –– there’’ s rather a great deal of things to bank on, throughout the year.


But the Springs is betting’’ s time. Since of betting, well horse racing ’ s. Which exists.

.  Chautauqua

The Everest( yeah, the one from the Opera House advertisements) (AAP Image/Julian Smith)

Regardless! Melbourne’’ s Spring Carnival is a splitting season for the horse hound and hound-ette, and getting to Moonee Valley for the Cox Plate or Flemington for Derby Day or the Cup need to be on every sport’’ s hounds to do list.


Even if you ’ re not into horses, the celebrations are excellent. And if Australians can’’ t get on the beverage and bank on horses and spill beer down loud ties they purchased in the op store then the terrorists have actually won.

It’’ s absurdity naturally’, however it ’ s our absurdity. It ’ s an event of life, and it beats the alternative every day of the mother-lovin’ ’ week.


Which brings us to this absurdity over the barrier draw for The Everest being beamed onto the sails of the Opera House.

How about that for a beast mash of stoopid?

I’’ m not gon na select a side –– I can see both viewpoints: left and right, Toff and Unwashed, Hippie of Newtown versus Grouse Aussie Sporto.

I started being cool with it. Went to being rather un-cool with it. Now I’’ m still un-cool with it, after a style.

I believe marketing on the Opera House is bad. Promoting huge sports occasions –– of which the Everest you can argue is one –– I’’ m great with.


You understand that tune ‘‘ Torn’? I’’ m torn.

. Since of our dear leaders, #ppppp> But I ’ m leaning towards it being bad. The premier, the prime minister, and the male who pulls their strings: Alan Jones.

Beaming the barrier draw onto the sails, I’’d have actually been sweet with. And I reckon the higher left-leaning light-shiners would’’ ve been reasonably sweet with it too.

Well, they’’d have actually whined about it. Had they simply beamed it up. Or not beamed it up. That’’ s what we ’d have actually chosen. Due to the fact that: democracy.


But I broke it– and 300,000 individuals signed a petition versus it – – since Alan bloody Jones bullied the Opera House woman – – who was simply doing her task – – and after that hectored the Premier to pull her into line.

This is The Jones Way.

Then the premier capitulated to the barking little parrot with the obviously all-nodding, all-powerful cabal of voting greybeards.

And the prime minister –– completely wannabe-Bob-Hawke vote-for-me-I’’ m-a-daggy-dad mode –– stated he couldn’’ t see what the hassle was, the sails are the best signboard in the land.


And hence kick-started a prodigious poo-fight.

Because individuals believed: those sails need to not be for sale.

They are our sales.

They’’ re helpful for promo.

But to promote betting?

Yeah. Nah.

Oh, it’’ s promoting a horse race? Be reasonable dinkum. Due to the fact that of betting, horse racing exists.

And lots of people –– me consisted of –– turned versus the horse race’’ s barrier draw being beamed onto the sails of the Opera House, individuals’’ s home.

.  Alan Jones and Michael Cheika chew the fat

Alan Jones in likeable rugby mode.( AAP Image/Dan Himbrechts)

. Due To The Fact That Alan Jones must not have the power to impact our democracy, #ppppp>.We wear ’ t choose him, and yet he wields power of our lives due to the fact that he can’bully and twist political leaders to his will.


And that needs to not be.


Now! As I stated I was at very first cool with it being beamed onto the sails,as I would be any World Cups they may play here, or any other world occasions. That Opera House looks breaking throughout Livid. Light programs are great.


But Alan Jones is bad. Old Cash For Comment will inform youhe ’ s holding authority to account, doing it for the little individuals. He ’ s about his own interests, which consist of horses. He ’ s into horses, and the racing of them.


Which is cool– race away, Parrot guy.

But he shouldn – ’ t be utilizing his radio program as a lectern to bully weak leaders and ward off democracy.


We have a nation that has guidelines of engagement, and thePremier has actually kowtowed to Jones, and the Everest draw increased on the sails, and the prime minister backed the premier (you question what he ’d have actually stated were it Labor ’ s concept).


And naturally he wasn ’ t going’to state anything versus Alan Jones. He instantly went on his program, a set of jolly old pals.


And here we are, individuals, divided, once again, this time as the age-less fight in between toffs and hippies, the latter forming an unholy and brief alliance with the higher rump of the beer-drinking, spade-a-bloody-shovel-calling Australian sporto public.


And all since the Parrot is a bully, the premier ’ s a softcock and the prime minister ’ s a daggy huge dork.


Scratch that– there ’ s lots of sport on.


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