30June2005

If you thought you were going to get a résumé of the All Blacks/Lions game last Saturday then you will be disappointed. I really feel the need to write about golf. The Lions and Sir Clive can wait. I have to tell you of the inspirational effect that Michael Campbell’s great win in the US Open had on me personally. In a word it was cathartic. That’s the process of feeling repressed emotion by association with the cause. In short an emotional release.

I’d watched Campbell play those last dramatic holes. Great tee shots. Into the rough. Out again and on to the fairway. Then on to the green. A firm putt. Down. Birdie. And into the lead. Pretty much like my game except when I get into the rough it usually takes me another seven shots and mountains of divots before I get my putter out of the bag. So it was as I sat there seeing the smiling lad from Titahi Bay with skill, determination and humility, triumphant on the final green as the US Open Golf Champion. I was inspired. If Campbell can do it so could I. The fact that I’d been practicing for 30 years without success to perfect my swing, pitch the ball high to the green, sink 40 metre putts was lost on me. Fired up with this Michael Campbell “Cambo” attitude last Thursday I got out my clubs, packed up a pocket full of $2.00 balls I’d bought years ago in Taupo and headed for the golf course.

One of the important requisites for a good game of golf is your playing companions. The better they are the better your golf is. Everyone seems to lift everyone else. I had been fortunate to have been bracketed with three golfers of more than moderate skills. I sensed from the outset that none of them was relishing a long day’s 18 holes with me as a companion. I was definitely what mathematicians would call the lowest common denominator. The chances mathematically were that I would bring them all down to my level. There is a term in golf known as the Albatross. Usually that’s the term used when a golfer sinks a putt 3 under the regulation strokes for a hole. I knew by the look on their faces as we began that day that before they had even teed off they had all scored an Albatross. Me. Not in the hole. But around their necks.

The first nine holes gave proof to the mathematical theory. Three strokes over what should have been a regulation four. A drive went all of 30 metres. Twice into a ditch. Dropout for a penalty of one. And then came the last nine holes. Catharsis. I could feel this sudden emotional release that flowed from somewhere in the back of my head into my arms and from there it was transmitted to the golf club. The ball soared. Up up up away all of 180 metres. Just like Campbell. There were no TV cameras, I was on my way. Down one over par. Next hole. The same effect. Long arching drive only half the distance Michael of Titahi Bay would have achieved but I was still in bounds. I searched in my bag for the next club. Something called a pitching wedge. I had never used it before but I knew it was a pitching wedge. It had a large “P” engraved on the sole of the club. Addressed the ball. Slow back swing. Campbell perfect arch. The ball ends up just short of the hole. The putt lips around. Sits there centremeters away. Plop. Down for a four. A par. “Go Cambo” I hear the non existent gallery shout. Where are the TV cameras? I sensed my partners were no longer regarding me as their Albatross. Same success over the next few holes. Two over par. One over par and then the final hole. My thoughts turned to how Campbell played the last hole. The only difference was my hole was a Par 3. I take out my trusty 3 wood. I know Cambo would have used a 9 iron but I wanted to be certain. The trophy was in my grasp. Tee up the ball. I find one without a slice in it. It’s a Callaway. Same as Michael Campbell used. This is a good omen. Slowly back again. Crack. The Callaway soars upwards and onwards and as if guided by some divine force lands five metres from the hole. The divine force is with me. Mild applause from my gallery of three. Nonchalantly I line up my putt. A gentle stroke. In the hole. It’s what we golfers call a birdie. I’m overcome by the emotion of the moment. I pull my cap over my face. Tears well up in my eyes. I’ve done it. First birdie ever.

In the club house at the prize giving half and hour later I am presented with my trophy. A glowing sliver tin of SPC Fruit Salad in natural syrup. Complete with a honey glazed fruit bread recipe on the back label. Now I know how Cambo felt as he kissed the US Open trophy. I was tempted to do the same to my tin of fruit salad. But modesty and oral hygiene prevented me. But oh the catharsis.

23June2005

Centuries ago Michaelangelo Buonarroti lay on his back for months painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. This wasn’t your modern day mode of painting of a ceiling. Paint tray on the floor. A mix of colours from Kapiti blue, Punakaiki brown or Rangitikei grey. Slopping them on overhead with a roller on a long pole. No. Michaelangelo lay there for months drawing the figures of angels, arch-angels, saints and even a few sinners. Whilst angels and saints mightn’t be your thing, nor sinners for that matter, you can’t help but wonder at the mastery of the artist. Today centuries later tourists queue to admire his skill.

What got me thinking of all this artistic expertise was the latest contribution that we New Zealanders have made to the Venice Biennale. This is supposedly the world’s top contemporary art show. I don’t know whether you’ve seen our entry. The exhibition’s commissioner Greg Burke says this “to try and describe what the work is about is a very difficult thing to do because it works on so many different levels. There’s so much content. What we can say is that there are so many references to world events and other things through text.” Well this sounded to me as though another latter day Michaelangelo had sprung up in our midst. Unfortunately not so. Let me describe the artwork. It consists of 5 autonomous purification units with doors naturally hanging off their hinges behind wire fences and attached to pulleys that move and start spewing out words, music, drumming, bells and computer generated sounds. And if this is all too much for you to comprehend in another room are blown up black and white postcards of our lakes with units etched across them like power pylons. Hell. Remember a year or so ago we sent a porta-loo braying like a donkey to this exhibition. This year we’ve really excelled ourselves. Five porta-loos renamed as purification units. The wire cage surrounding all this junk bears the sign “Notice. All visitors must report to the site office upon arrival.” In essence the whole work is probably not all that different to a Ministry of Works site in the Hundalees in the 1980’s. But without the bush and mountain backdrop. The notice by the way is not original. It’s obviously been pinched from a building site.

Editorial in “The Dominion” suggested that this exhibition was a joke. A joke on you and me the taxpayer as we stumped up the equivalent of fifty hip replacements, two heart bypasses and ten corneal grafts to send this load of junk to Venice. Well I’m not alone in my view. Bruce Otting of Khandallah wrote eloquently to the editor. “This sort of “attention grabbing art” might challenge the status quo. But it will be forgotten in five minutes. Unlike traditional time warp oils and other art produced by skilled artists who have perfected their techniques over years “et al” (the crowd who produced the porta-loos and the purifications units) has thrown together a heap of elephant dung, a few toilet bowls and telephone booth and calls it art.” Hear hear.

But hang on the chairman of Creative New Zealand, Peter Biggs, reports on his way to Venice to attend the opening of the exhibition thus “the flight out of Heathrow is full. Plane loads of curators, critics, collectors and the media. It’s the world cup of the contemporary art world. I get to Venice. Visit the New Zealand pavilion. On exhibit “the Fundamental Practice” (the name of our artwork) is being put together. It’s powerful and austere.” This made me think of a Maori front row – powerful and austere - thank God we didn’t send them to Venice. Biggs continues. “It’s a collection of wire fences, computers, dalek – like moving sheds, images and sound recordings exploring fundamentalism. This is seriously relevant to the world today in terms of religion, politics and culture.” Whew - … All we needed now was Winston smiling out behind the wire fence with the porta-loos in the background.

A final word from Greg Burke our commissioner in Venice. “Word on the street is New Zealand is hot.” Well it’s not Greg. It’s quite cool at the moment. Indeed very cool. Coronet Peak opened last week. The earliest opening for years. “But there’s more excitement. Opening night party sponsored by 42 below Vodka. The venue has room for 300 but 1,000 turned up. The queue stretched out into the street. The party is pumping.” You and I know that they weren’t queuing for art. The crowd couldn’t wait to get in to a porta-loo. The last word from Greg Burke. “Are we a hit in Venice? Absolutely.” And after the party well I wouldn’t mind betting everyone ended up like Michaelangelo. On their backs. Artful.

16June2005

“The defendant with intent to cause such injury to another person by means of a dangerous instrument to wit a phone: and the defendant possessed a dangerous or deadly instrument with intent to use it unlawfully against another.” This was the citation entered in the charge sheet issued by a policewoman in New York’s 001 Precinct against Russell Crowe actor of no fixed abode. This act was according to law a second degree assault. And a fourth degree criminal possession of a weapon – a telephone.

The whole world now knows what gave rise to this citation. Russell Crowe was in New York and he was righteously frustrated at not being able to call his wife in Australia. He went down to the foyer of his hotel with his room phone and threw it. The phone. I’ve got a lot of sympathy with Russell. I’ve tried to ring Australia on many occasions only to be greeted with a computer response “due to overloading your call cannot be connected. Try again later.” Russell probably got the same treatment. Well it was 4:20am in the morning. He’d been trying to call for hours. Same message. “Try again later …”. How would you have reacted. I don’t blame him. What he did not know was that in New York a phone is regarded as a fourth degree weapon. A phone is in the same category as flick knives, stun guns, hand grenades, nail scissors or corkscrews. But was this all really a publicity stunt that backfired?

The Australians have been trying for years to get phone throwing as a recognised event in the Olympics. At the Sydney Olympics they tried introducing it as a demonstration sport. Thousands of Aussies went out into George Street in Sydney, up around Kings Cross and down around the Opera House throwing phones. Commuters in trains crossing the Harbour Bridge were encouraged to throw phones out the window. They all became expert at it. But it was all to no avail. The International Olympic Committee was unimpressed. They decided synchronized swimming had more visual appeal. But don’t ever underestimate an Aussie. Enter new Australian Russell Crowe. “If we can get phone throwing back on to the international headlines we might just get it in as an event at the Olympic Games in Beijing.” Well that’s what Russell did. “I just wanted to help this great country become even greater. I mean four certain golds in the coxless phones, the paired phones, the quad phones and the phone eights in China in 2006 would do wonders for our medal tally. And really I didn’t see the concierge standing there. After all it was 4:20am. Most people have their eyes wide shut at that time. And what’s more I was wearing sunglasses. Well that’s what I’ll be telling my lawyers to plead in mitigation when I come before the court. And by the way throw in jetlag, loneliness and an adrenalin surge for good measure. Ostensibly I’m here in this city to promote my new film “Cinderella Man”. It’s the story of a lonely, jetlagged, adrenalin inspired phone throwing Australian who turns into a pumpkin not at midnight but at 4:20am in the morning. You’ll have to see it. It’s hilarious. I certainly hope all this publicity hasn’t done our chances of getting phone throwing into the games any harm. Aussies are relying on me.

Well as I said it was a stunt that had sadly misfired. Seeing Russell on the arm of a lady arresting officer NYPD12876 wearing his sunglasses and zipped jacket, a blue clover leaf and bulldog on the left breast, my heart went out to him. The “Sun in London” was cruelly calling him “Prattus Maximus”. A reference to his Academy award winning role in “the Gladiator”. But Russell is a complete campaigner right to the very end. Whilst being fingerprinted and photographed and charged he then spent the next six hours in custody giving out autographs and promoting a petition to have phone throwing included in the next Olympics. I would suggest you don’t hurry to judge him. After all he who is without spin let him cast the first phone.

09June2005

News last week announcing that a Massey University Evolutionary Biologist Professor David Lambert and his team had, after five years of research, found a 140 kilo new species of Moa, which to quote Professor Lambert is equal to “one and a bit Jonah Lomu’s.” Professor Lambert had used ancient DNA from moa bones to unravel the mystery. “We’ve found fourteen types of the bird.” “How did you do it?” “Well it’s involved a lot of research. We took bones from museums from around the country, drilled small holes in them and extracted DNA shavings. It’s a little more than amazing. There they were fourteen types of moa. One and a bit times bigger than Jonah Lomu.”

The news initially sent a ripple of fear through the British and Irish Lions rugby camp. Sir Clive Woodward in New Plymouth was asked to comment on this find. “We don’t actually believe this finding. One moa equaling one Jonah Lomu yes. But fourteen no. We know after the World Cup in South Africa the England team after seeing Lomu trample under foot the pride of English rugby became acutely aware of moas. But we don’t believe that there are fourteen Jonah Lomu’s lurking in the bush. It’s all a ploy to scare us. We could have tried the same exercise. I’m surprised that myself and my PR man Alistair Campbell didn’t think of it first. I could have asked for an evolutionary biologist – and we’ve got plenty of them – to get me a few shavings from the horn of a unicorn to prove that we had a species of unicorn one and a half times bigger than our former captain the great Martin Johnston. How would your front row go now packing down against three giant unicorns. Horns and all.?” Sorry Sir Clive, the unicorn never existed. It’s mythical animal. “Well I could say the same about your moa. Have you ever seen one?” Well I had to admit I hadn’t. I’d seen a stuffed one but I didn’t want to reveal that to Sir Clive. I know what his response would have been. “Well do you know of anyone else who has seen a moa?” “Well there were those guys down the coast a few years ago who found a moa’s footprint.” “I heard about that” replied Sir Clive. “Same chaps who found a Moriori’s jandal on the Rainbow Ski Field Road. It was all a hoax. I’m seriously wondering whether the moa ever existed. Those bones that keep turning up. Most of the recent discoveries are in pits on isolated beach sites. Their findings seem to coincide with the arrival of Kentucky Fried Chicken in the country about thirty years ago. I’d like to see some research into the DNA of KFC bones. Look a 25 piece pack with fries and coleslaw will produce a lot of bones. If you lump them all together they could well exceed one and half Jonah Lomu’s.” I had to agree. After all last Saturday at Twickenham Jonah Lomu and fourteen moas got beaten. “Whilst I respect scientific research” said Sir Clive, “at the same time you can go too far. If unicorns are a myth then moas fall into the same category. Then there’s Leprechauns. But we’ve got Irish in this team. Don’t go trying to tell them that Leprechauns are a myth or you could start a shenanigans so big it would make Jonah look like one of the seven dwarves.” I agreed. Probably best to leave moas, unicorns and leprechauns with the fairies at the bottom of the garden.