Batmania.

There are many things I love about my hometown, Melbourne; not least of which is the number of statues, plaques and monuments dotted around the area dedicated to Batman. (Something I'm not sure even Gotham itself can claim.) Sure, sure, they may not be in honour of the Dark Knight, but rather the farmer, businessman and early settler in the region, John Batman, but knowing that doesn't lessen the pleasure in seeing a plaque marking Batman's Hill.


Cool! Whoever may have been the inspiration, the first time I saw the above plaque I read the name as bat•man, not bat•mun. But then, I have tendency to refer to the historical figure as bat•man as well; if only to even out the effect of my Dad, who persists in pronouncing the superhero as bat•mun, though I've corrected him many times.

And imagine getting to start your commute each morning from Batman Station! For a lucky group of commuters in North Coburg, that's exactly what they do.


Cool! Sure, the station itself is no Grand Central Station, but as long as a train can roll through it it doesn't need to be. And the gangs of suspicious youths loitering around only add to the mystique. You actually half expect Batman to swoop down at any moment to sort them all out and demand to know where the Joker's lair is located. I'll tell you where it definitely won't be: Batman Park, Northcote, that's where.


Cool! Although maybe the Joker should set himself up there. It's the one place the cops would never think to look!

And just imagine one of the proposed names for Melbourne, Batmania, (à la Tasmania), had actually made the final cut! Should have. I mean, what's Lord Melbourne really done for the world? Batman on the other hand, well, how many times does a man need to save the world to get a city named after him? Keep up the good fight, Bats. If there's any justice in the world, you'll get the recognition you deserve one day. Until then, hopefully having an avenue named in your honour will do. :)

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2009.

November 9, 2009 marked the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Around the world, people paused to reflect not only on the evil of which man is capable, but how hope and freedom will always conquer tyranny in the end.

But in Templestowe, an outer north-eastern suburb of Melbourne famed for its "latte lifestyle", the anniversary on the minds of most people was a far more recent one: the fall of Bart. Though almost a full year had passed since Ahab brought the perennial champion crashing to the ground, the shockwaves could still be felt by the locals as they sat drinking their lattes in one of the suburb's innumerable cafes.

Bart had ruled as king for so long that few could imagine the title belonging to anyone else. Since the very first Toss he'd sat securely upon his throne as wave after wave of challengers hurled themselves against his fortress walls. The one interruption to his rule came in 2004 when Benn usurped the throne while the King was away touring other lands. Upon his return Bart swiftly reclaimed the title, of course, and there in his iron fist it seemed destined to remain. If madness is repeating the same task expecting a different outcome, then surely all those who turned up year after year to stand against Bart were mad dog bent up sideways barking fruitcake scented mad?

Well, possibly, but they could also have been students of history; for history has shown us that even the most formidable wall cannot stand forever.

And so it was with Bart.

Invincible though he seemed, the years finally took their toll and a crack appeared in his defences. A crack may be small, but a crack can grow. And as it grows, a crack can become a way in. And in 2008, it was Ahab who found a way in, bursting through to victory as the great wall collapsed around him. The impossible became possible and History was written.

But as Ahab's Slurpee cup came crashing to the ground the question everyone was asking was could he do it again? Had he won, or had Bart simply lost? It was a good question – if a little mean-spirited – but one that today remains unanswered. For on the eve of the 2009 Toss, citing personal reasons that required his attention, Bart pulled out of the competition.

Disappointed yet understanding, Bart's fellow competitors wished him a speedy resolution and the hope of seeing him back on the pitch next year. And not to question the sincerity of the response, but you'd have to think a few of the tossers were quietly pleased. For many Bart's absence was without doubt their best chance to claim a title of their own. Sure, a victory won without contesting Bart might not have the glorious refulgence of one that did, but a title is a title – a testament that all who rose against you were defeated – and for most, that's enough.

As the great day dawned there was another late withdrawal from the competition. After checking his symptoms with Dr Wikipedia, Cobbies diagnosed himself with a 'cluster headache' and went back to bed. A rare but debilitating neurological condition, cluster headaches commonly afflict those working long hours in stressful jobs while maintaining a diet rich in tobacco and alcohol. An important health message for us all there, I think. However close to death Cobbies may have been, he would have wanted the tossers to go on, and so go on they did.

Kicking things off for 2009 was Post. His dream to hold all three Templetitles at once remained unfilled, and Toss King had proved most elusive of all. But at one time or another he'd beaten all in this field besides the two rookies, and he knew his time was now.


Brow furrowed, he pounded down the pitch and sent his cup arcing into the air with a snarl. While not his strongest toss, it still travelled a good distance, coming to rest a couple of metres short of the far side of the court. Would it be enough? Only time would tell.

In recognition of the increasing lady contingent competing at the Toss, a women's league was established and a new title, Toss Queen, joined Toss King and The Jack in the Tossing monarchy. The first lady up to stake her claim was Kate (with cheer squad in tow).


When she appeared to hesitate, Davet offered some advice from the stands. "Don't think, Kate," he called out, "just do." It sounded good in theory, but when Kate stepped down the pitch she larked her cup straight up in to the air! It crashed down onto the brick path several metres away, setting a very beatable mark for those to come. I guess that's what happens when you listen to advice from the only competitor to ever toss backwards.

Speaking of which, to better his effort of 2008, Davet needed only to stand at the tossing line and drop his cup at his feet. As he stepped onto the pitch, Kate offered some advice of her own. "Davet, you know how normally you don't think, you do? Maybe this time try thinking?"


And try he did, as Davet sent his cup sailing not only in the right direction but a good distance as well, thumping down a metre or two behind Post and putting Davet in contention for The Jack. Davet thought back to last year and breathed a sigh of relief.

Next to the line – to the surprise of all – was Kirst. Though she'd grown up around Slurpees and knew her way around a cup, she'd never competed in the Annual Toss. But this year, perhaps at the urging of her fiancée Nick, she pulled on the icy gloves and showed us what we'd been missing.


Employing the lateral sweep first used by Bart back in 2007, the southpaw sent her cup flying fast and low over the court, crashing down just short of the centre circle. It would have been an impressive toss for a veteran, but such a result on debut marks Kirst as a force to watch.

Though never a strong performer at the Toss, Glamma's fans were hoping he could find some of the form he's had on display at the Birdbath Cup over the last two years.


And things looked good as he sent his cup hurtling skyward with a perfectly executed dash and toss. Flying straight as a die, the only thing his cup lacked was the power to travel in to the lead and it hit the ground a metre or so behind Davet. Perhaps a solid pre-season next year will see his standing improve?

At her last appearance at the Slurpee Toss, Bambi had set a personal best with a thumping toss. This year she hoped to go one better, but she'd need to beat Kirst's mark to do so and that didn't look an easy task.


Storming down the pitch in her customary bare feet, she roosted her cup into the air, and sent it crashing down just short of Kirst! So close, yet so far away.

All are welcome at the Toss, but particularly so when they come with the enthusiasm of Nick. Though having never tossed a cup in competition, he was obviously a keen student of the game and full of theories on how best to approach his maiden toss.


And his theories converted well to practice, as with a smooth swing he sent his cup flying over the court and thumping down a foot or so behind Davet. No plasticware for Nick, but a very promising debut nonetheless.

The penultimate toss of 2009 belonged to maiden tosser Pip. Recently introduced to the sport by Davet, it appeared he'd given her some instruction as well. For just like his effort last year, Pip bounded down the pitch and swung into action but forgot to let go!


Her cup flew from her hand and into the ground, where it spun off a good distance to her left. Well, she at least avoided the ignominy of sending it backwards, I guess? And though Pip may have walked away with nothing but the Plastic Straw, her enthusiasm was commendable and we hope to see her back next year for another try.

And finally, the moment all had been waiting for. Up stepped the Toss King and Holder of the Soggy Biscuit, Ahab. Poised and confident he eased down the pitch and launched a textbook toss into the air.


Gliding straight and steady in a graceful arc, his cup came to rest just short of the gutter on the far side of the court, landing Ahab in first place. It also landed him in the record books again, this time as the only person other than Bart to successfully defend his title. And though his cup may not have travelled down into Bart's domain on the lower court, it really was a magnificent toss. In fact, let's see that in Instant Replay:


That's how you do it, kids. The now two-time King and current Keeper of the FNOath really should be pushing to resurrect the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition because, I'll tell you, on current form the triple Templetitle would be his.

Below left: Ahab leaving a spangled trail of glory. Below right: Ahab, 2009 Slurpee Toss King.


We'll see you (and hopefully Bart, ready to go head to head against Ahab) back here next year!

The Final Results (official).
MENS: 1. Ahab (Toss King); 2. Post (The Jack); 3. Nick; 4. Davet; 5. Glamma.
WOMENS: 1. Kirst (Toss Queen); 2. Bambi; 3. Kate; 4. Pip (Plastic Straw).

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

The Annual Christmas Stolp 2009.

Aaah, Christmas. Snow on the ground, a roaring fire in the hearth, a glow on our faces and in our hearts as we gather around the piano, drinking eggnog and singing Yuletide carols.

Except for us in the southern hemisphere, of course. [Insert screech of needle being dragged across record.] Down here the traditional images of Christmas are suffocated in the stifling heat and burnt to a crisp 'neath the blazing Australian sun. The icy contents of a Slurpee cup and the frosty glances exchanged by the competitors in the Annual Slurpee Toss is about as cold as it gets.

And so it was with surprise that as the stolpers gathered outside the Templestowe Fish Balloon they looked up to see brooding grey clouds scudding their way across the late morning sky. Surprise, and some relief. After all, if you can step out and stretch your legs without the fear of melting in a pool of sweat or combusting in a ball of flame, then all the better.


This year saw a triple debut with Nick, Pip and Harper swelling the ranks and joining in the traditional Christmas fun with a smile and a laugh. Bart and Cobbies, two of the five pillars of stolping, were absent and sorely missed, but we're sure to see them back next year.

So stick around now for the Slurpee Toss and we'll see you in '10!

Incidentally, on that, is it just me saying 'oh-ten' for the shortened form of 2010, or are others doing it as well? I've become so used to the leading 'o' throughout the aughts that I'm finding it hard to leave behind. Tacking 09 or whatever onto the end of something quite clearly said 'year', Kevin07, for example, but 10 just seems confusing. Kevin10. What? Anyway, I wonder if my great aunt had this problem back in the early 1900s? Probably not as she was only nine at the time, but she may have heard her parents talking about it? If only I'd thought to ask when she was still with us. Continue resting in peace, Dotta. We still miss you and your endless games of chess with cups of tea and sponge finger biscuits.

UPDATE
Oddly enough, I posted this and switched to the Twitter, where I noticed a friend type 2010 as '010. Hardly seems worth it, really. It's still four key presses. Not like you're saving any time, or really any space. I guess he's just having trouble letting go as well.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.

offki.

Myki, Melbourne's trouble-plaugued new ticketing system, is like a newborn elephant right now. A clumsy hulking mass, lumbering around, crashing into things and desperately trying to stay up on its weak and shaky legs. And everyone's standing around pointing and laughing at the flailing beast, which is fair enough, as Kamco or the state government or whoever has brought this on themselves. What a circus. But it's so large and easy a target that I found myself wanting to be generous and give them a break.

That was until I headed out this morning with my shiny new myki and tried to use the freakin' thing.

I was one of the lucky many who got mailed a concession card, even though I hadn't asked for one. On to the phone and I was assured by a recorded message that everything was fine with the card; it actually was full-fare and there'd been a computer error when printing the letters. Computers. Ha. When will we learn?

So, I left home early this morning to make sure I had plenty of time to add credit to my card before using it. There's only one top-up machine at my station and it's on the outbound platform 2, so I pedalled over and checked my watch. Plenty of time. I placed my myki where instructed, worked my way through all the options and was told to insert my debit card, done, and remove it, done. Remove the card, please. I have. Remove the card, please. I HAVE? Hello? Re-insert/withdraw. No change. Cancel. Try again. Same result. Cancel. Try again with different card. Same result. Toooooooot! What? Argh, my train! Cancel, cancel, cancel, back on my bike, over the tracks for a Metcard, please use a smaller denomination note, what? argh! come on! remember to validate your ticket before you travel, I know, I know! give me the ticket!! beep, beep, beep and I'm away. Phew. Enough time is never enough time.

Got to Southern Cross and saw a myki blueshirt standing around the upper concourse exit, handing out brochures. I went over and asked where the nearest top-up machine was. He looked around and ummed, before going over to ask his supervisor. She told me there wasn't a top-up machine up here and that I had to go to the "myki discovery centre" on the other side on the station. Surprised (and not surprised), I headed off and discovered one on the other side of the newsagent booth she was standing next to. Sigh. Possibly she meant, "There are no working machines up here," because this one didn't work either. Same problem. So I kept walking down to the discovery centre, only to discover it doesn't open until 9am. Which was 40 minutes away. Sigh.


At lunch time I made my way back to myki central and explained my problem to the two ladies at the counter. Because nothing could ever be wrong with the machine, they concluded the problem was with me. "You can't put myki into the debit card slot," one of them told me with a smile. "That won't work." I assured them I had placed myki where I was instructed to and anyway could they put credit onto my card now? They couldn't, of course, because the myki discovery centre doesn't have a top-up machine in it. I mean, why would it? What do they have in there? Well, there are some card readers so they can demonstrate how to touch on and off with your card; they just can't get your card working in the first place.

Although it turns out, they can! "Would you escort the gentlemen," said the elder woman to the younger, "up to the machine and assist him with his card?" Why certainly. Out she came from behind her desk and off we trekked, back to the upper level where I was led by an expert hand through all the same steps… for the same result. "Oh," the woman said in surprise. "Um, the EFTPOS connection between the machines and the bank must be down. Everywhere. Maybe try again later?" Sigh.

I did try again later, the next day, and the machine stubbornly persisted in requesting I remove my debit card after I'd already removed it, so I gave up and bought a new Monthly Metcard. I'm hoping, John Rees-style, that by the time it expires this myki mess will be sorted out. I guess we'll see.

Myki. It's your key. To something. We're just not sure what. Try your house, maybe? And let us know how you go. Thanks.

UPDATE
Walked past the lone myki top-up machine at Melbourne's busiest station today, and guess what I saw?


I'm sure there wasn't anything wrong with the machine. Just a routine maintenance call to, I don't know, empty the coin bin or something? Although the man was still at it an hour later when I walked past again, so who knows? Probably some idiot got their myki stuck in the credit card slot or something? I hear that happens a lot. Sigh. The man wasn't there at the end of the day, so I guess the machine's all back to normal. So, you know. Yeah.

Random Lyric from The Song I Was Listening To.

Around eight years ago I woke up one morning and decided the waiting had gone on long enough. It was time to enquire of Kate as to whether she'd be good enough to take my hand in marriage. Naturally, such an enquiry couldn't be made by just, you know, asking her. No, it had to be unnecessarily complicated, and so I sat down and carefully devised a complicated plan.

The first step was to post her an anonymous invitation to participate in what would be known as The Journey. Should she accept, via an email address included with the invitation, she would then be required to unravel a series of clues that led to various locations around Melbourne where instructions would be found on how to locate one of five Waymarkers. When collected, the five markers would need to be arranged in a particular way to reveal the proposal of marriage.

What sort of a woman, you might ask, would do anything other than throw a creepy anonymous invitation directly into the bin? And wouldn't Kate just assume it had come from me anyway? Well, besides the fact that I'm inherently not creepy and surely she'd never think such a thing, I had one big factor working in my favour. A friend of ours had recently concluded a wide-ranging, clue-based scavenger hunt that she'd set in motion with anonymous invitations. I thought it likely that if Kate would assume it was anyone, she'd assume it was our friend and not me.

And so I had my plan. It was bold, it was ambitious, it was doomed.

In all my careful planning, I'd failed to count on the cleverness of my quarry. Though she accepted the invitation, she never accepted my desire to pull strings from the shadows, and before long she successfully hacked into the email account I'd set up and discovered who I was. In a nice touch, before logging out she left a little present in my Inbox: an email from "myself" saying only, "I know who you are."

The next time I logged in, I discovered the game was up. Furious that my plan had come undone, I put the proposal on hold indefinitely. Partly to give myself time to come up with a new scheme, but mostly just to punish her for spoiling my surprise. So perhaps she wasn't so smart after all?

Anyway, all of this was brought to mind recently when my "old mate" Guy Shield proposed to his girlfriend in a similar piece-the-parts-together way. Where mine had been primarily word-based though, he used illustration. Which of course he would, given how exceptionally talented an illustrator he is. Pop on over to his post for the story.


Although, it's quite possible you've heard the story already. Because the Internet went a little nuts with this one. First, the illustration weblog Drawn, got onto it, and soon the Twitterverse followed, as thousands of people retweeted each other into oblivion. Scores of other links followed, including prominent Adobe identity, John Nack, and just when things seem to have settled down, someone called Joanna Goddard sent Guy's Google Analytics graph spiking into the stratosphere all over again. All thoroughly deserved, of course, as it really was a brilliant proposal. And not even the reminder of my own failed scheme can spoil the pleasure of his tale.

Congratulations to you and Liz, Guy. Enjoy your 15 minutes of fame, and your lifetime of wedded bliss as well.

UPDATE
Guy's been "practising his hand-created type" again...

UPDATE 2
What's the point in being an internet phenomenon if you can't get FREE STUFF out of it? And now, thanks to some wedding website called 'The Knot', Guy's got the chance to win a FREE trip to Hawaii! If you enjoyed his story, pop on over to The Knot's 'Best Proposal Competition' and throw him a vote. If he wins, he's promised to pick up a lei for everyone who does.

UPDATE 3
He hasn't actually promised to pick up a lei for everyone who votes for him. I just made that up. Good idea, though. Completely impractical, but then that's the way it goes with love, hey?

Happy approximate birthday Jesus, A.D. 2009.

What do you get the God who's got everything? And could create whatever it was for himself even if he didn't? Well, I got him a photo of the girls dressed up in a nativity setting. Like any parent, he likes the homemade gifts. Much more personal than just a voucher.


Nice, hey? There's a church in Brunswick that does this each year as an alternative to the shopping centre Santa variety. The Angel Harper wasn't that into it, as you might be able to tell, but Winter could've posed for a portfolio's worth of shots.

Almost as good was this drawing of, Winter told us, an angel, that she drew after we got home.


And then, the other day she came up to me with her little sketchbook, and showed me the two drawings she'd just done.


The first, if you can't tell, is "baby Jesus sleeping which is why his eyes are crosses". Perched as he is on the head of a rearing sheep, I'm impressed that he's able to stay asleep. As distractions go, it's one level up from lowing cattle, you'd think. The second drawing is "baby Jesus sleeping which is why his eyes are crosses under a twinkle twinkle star". Lovely.

So, Merry Christmas, everyone. What with young kids, work, joining a gym (Hell freezing over), and so-called micro-blogging on Twitter scratching the itch to write juuuuust enough, it's been a lean year on the Path. I feel like I've been saying that a lot lately, starting to sound like an excuse. Maybe I'd better change tack and just say I've got no time for blogging because I've got a life and actual real proper important things to do and stuff? Just for a change?

Whatever the case, there are a few posts in the pipe, including another amazing year at the Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss. So stay tuned, and see you in 2010.

Winter time, Part 2.

I decided to head into the city last week to take Big W up on their crazy offer of $20 iTunes vouchers for $10! Yes, I will have some free money, thank you! Always up for an adventure, especially when a trip on the train is involved, Winter said she'd like to come along too. Fine with me! Let's go.

Once we'd picked up the vouchers, we held hands and wandered the streets and lanes of the city. We moved among the masses of people and wondered where they were all heading. We explored all manner of shops and their colourful wares, from multilevel department stores to hole-in-the-wall boutiques. We travelled up and down the Funny Stairs (escalators) wherever they were found. And we travelled up and down the Funny Stairs. Wherever they were found. And up and down. Up, down, up, down, up, down. Alright, Winter, are you hungry? How about some food? Yes!

We bought some cheese and ham croissants and sat on a bench outside the State Library to eat them. We made up life stories for the statues around us and how they got to be there. We took photos of our shoes, the grass, and the crazy man getting lost in a flurry of pigeons and seagulls as he tried to feed them. We walked down alleyways and looking at the bright and colourful graffiti, trying to decide which design we'd most like to have on our bedroom walls. And then, when Winter's legs began to tire, we headed down to Melbourne Central Station and jumped on a train for home, mum and Harper.

As afternoons go, it was one of my finest.

Attention Platform 1: Connex has been cancelled.

As the doors beeped and closed on Connex's time in Melbourne, it was indeed fitting that the last train they sent out into the night was a bus.

Connex spokesman John Rees earns my admiration for acknowledging the irony, while suggesting – with what sounds like a mixture of defiance and exhaustion – that "for anyone who wants to look at the more positive aspect of it, it shows we are doing a lot of track work at the moment.'' Upbeat to the end, and with no apologies for any inconvenience caused. Good on him.

I really have no idea whether Metro Melbourne will be the transport provider of which we've always dreamed, or just another set of stickers on the same sardine tins we know so well, but I'm going to take a leaf out of John Rees' book and look to the future with positive eyes. Welcome Metro. May our timetables be in alignment, and may our journeys together be ever swift and smooth. Amen.

UPDATE:
Well, first day on the job for Metro, and they were cancelling trains before I was barely out of bed. That's fair enough, no surprises there. Can't expect overnight miracles. When I inevitably hear the reuniformed PR spokespeople diplomatically reminding us of the network they inherited, I'll understand completely. What I don't understand is why they've have continued Connex's irritating habit of tacking a marketing slogan onto the end of their travel alert text messages:

"Metro, for everyone, everyday"

Well, everyone, everyday, except the people hoping to catch that train. Best make alternate arrangements, people, maybe a tram or a bus, or you're going to be late for work. I'm on your side, Metro Melbourne! You don't need to throw up smokescreens, or glamour me with some meaningless, weaselly, focus-grouped positioning statement. Just do what you say you're going to do as best you can, and we'll be fine.

They Are Risen, Indeed.

So, I was buying some bread from Brumby’s today, and guess what I saw on-shelf?


Stopping the clock a full 167 days out from Good Friday, without doubt the earliest Hot Cross Bun sighting of all time! At the very least, it kicks the buns out of my previous best, which by comparison was a mere 97 days.

I mean, unless there’s been a change in standard store procedure and Hot Cross Buns are now a year-round product? Well, would make sense, wouldn’t it? Who doesn't want tasty spiced fruit bun with a hard bit on top goodness 24/7/365? We can get choccy eggs whenever we want 'em, so why not HCBs? And we can repackage them as Easter Buns at Easter time so they'll still have special seasonal significance, and everyone's happy! Win/win.

Happy Easter.

2009 Fish Balloon Birdbath Cup.

In the lead up to the 2009 Birdbath Cup, all talk centred around the likelihood of two-time Keeper of the FNOath, Post, claiming his third title in a row. Any why wouldn't it? The champ's emphatic victories of the previous two years left little doubt as to the likely outcome, and in the absence of an obvious challenger, a threepeat®™ (Riles & Co. Used under licence. All rights reserved.) seemed all but certain.

Bart's name had been put forward – by himself – as a clear and present danger, but his form of recent years just didn't back him up. A more realistic threat came in the form of Ahab. He'd always possessed a thundering kick, but a remarkable pre-season that had seen him drop a staggering 44kgs from his frame meant he was lean, mean and keen to get out on the bricks and start booting bottles around. Provided there were no dog shows to attend that weekend, of course.

As the great day finally arrived, the expectation hit fever pitch. As first order of the day, a ceremony was held to bestow perpetual tournament naming rights on long-time FNOccer supporter, the Templestowe Fish Balloon. Once the formalities were complete, the competitors indulged in a generous spread of deep-fried Fish Balloon fare, and none left hungry or disappointed.


The first round of the 2009 draw saw Ahab and Davet set to clash in a Qualification match, before Bart and JJ Glamma would lock horns in the First semi-final, the winner of which would get an express ticket to the Grand Final. Round 2 would see the winner of the Qualifier run into the Defending Champion in the Second semi-final, and Round 3 would cap it all off as the two Semi-final winners met in the Fish Balloon Grand Final. Make sense? Good!

Let the bottle drop!

ROUND 1
Qualification: Ahab v Davet
As you would expect when two athletes step into the same space to battle over a bottle, FNOccer matches are often fiery affairs. But when Ahab and Davet lined up for their pre-drop press shot, each threw an arm around the other and grinned away in an expression of good-natured sportsmanship much applauded by the crowd.


When the bottle dropped, however, Davet's smile was promptly turned on its dial as Ahab lived up to his rating as a tournament threat and blasted home five unanswered goals.


Davet steadied though, and dragged himself onto the board with two of his own, but the marauding Ahab shrugged them off and slammed home another pair to finish his opponent off 7-2. A very convincing display.

First semi-final: Bart v Glamma
The First semi-final pit brother against brother, or as Bart quipped during the pre-match press conference, "cough v hangover", as each made early excuses for possible form.


Glamma drew first blood once out on the bricks, and then held the lead all the way to match point where, trailing by two, it looked like Bart would be bundled out early once again. Preparing to serve for his life, Bart took a deep breath, focussed his bleary eyes...


...and unleashed a storm! Recalling his golden displays of yesteryear, the prancing veteran slammed home three aces in a row, thumping the score to 7-6 in his favour, and turning the match on its head. Glamma wasn't giving up either though, and the brothers exchanged goal for goal all the way to 9-10, when a reckless over the shoulder hold by Bart sent Glamma to the penalty line. Glamma elected to kick from the one-point line, but he missed and the game was back on. Bart, getting desperate, was blazing away, but like William Wallace on the blood-drenched battlefields of ancient Scotland, Glamma held, held, held...


...and finally, with a deft touch, slid home his record-setting eleventh goal of the match to win by two. Epic!

ROUND 2
Second semi-final: Ahab v Post
Ahab's devastating takedown of Davet led several commentators to suggest the Keeper had cause for concern.


But you don't win back-to-back Birdbath Cups by listening to the opinions of others, and right from the drop the champ came out strong, knocking Ahab off balance with a 'don't argue' in the centre circle, and then knocking the first score onto the board.


But it was there his score stayed as Ahab grabbed the game by the throat and slammed home five goals in a row for the second time that day. It takes more than a five-goal onslaught to rattle Post, however, and muttering something about being "no' left-handed" he responded by piling on five straight goals of his own! It felt, to be honest, a little like watching a cat playing with a mouse.

And so, with the champ perched on match point, Ahab needed something big. His next serve went scorching across the bricks, but it was narrowly deflected by Post's foot and went scuttling over to the lamppost, coming to rest just off the bricks. Ahab moved in and pumped the bottle through the air, past the champ's feet and... under the bench for three!


Clearly surprised, Post turned slowly as his brain worked feverishly to process what had just occurred. Ahab... on five... first kick... from off the bricks... scores three... makes eight... which is one past seven and two past me... he's won! Ahab's won!


Dreams crushed, Post sealed the deal with a somewhat reluctant handshake. And who can blame him? In the post-match press conference, the jackals of the free press asked if he was disappointed to fail in his claim for a third straight title? The hardest part, he replied, had been calling his wife after the defeat and hearing his three-year-old daughter in the background asking, "Mum, did Dad lost?" He hadn't let himself down, he explained, he'd let his little girl down. That's special, isn't it? There's always next year, little one.

ROUND 3
Fish Balloon Grand Final: Ahab v JJ Glamma
Unlike previous years, the 2009 Fish Balloon Grand Final had no clear favourite. As a grand finalist in 2007, Glamma was comfortable performing on the big stage, and Ahab's blistering form was such that doubts and nerves didn't get a look in.


And initially neither did Glamma, as Ahab dominated out on the bricks once again, driving the score to four goals to none in no time at all.


Glamma eventually dragged himself onto the board with a scorcher he sliced through Ahab's feet and under the bench for two. He followed it up with another quick goal, declaring defiantly to the crowd that he wasn't just going to roll over. But in the end it wasn't up to him, as Ahab volleyed his next serve under the bench to claim the competition, 6-3.


It was a classy end to a magnificent performance from Ahab, and combined with his stunning upset victory at the last Slurpee Toss, this really has been the Year of the Whale. A new superpower has arisen, and with Glamma despairing at being the bridesmaid once again, Post longing to regain his lost crown, and Bart just desperate for plasticware (any sort of plasticware), the annual campaigns to come promise to be compelling indeed.

Below: Ahab, Keeper of the FNOath.


FURTHER READING
The 2008 Birdbath Olympic Cup
The 2007 Birdbath World Cup
A Concise History of All Things FNO

Enjoying every minute.

You know those people who, what's the expression, you could listen to reading the phone book? Shaun Micallef, for example. I could listen to him reading the phone book. I don't know what it would be, but he'd bring something to the act that would make it enjoyable and worthwhile. 

Noel Gallagher – despite the pleasing Manc accent – would not be on my list of phone book orators; but I'd be interested in getting his opinion on it. Whatever it was, it'd be worth hearing, as quotable gold seems to tumble out each time Noel opens his Big Mouth. If he's not offering his opinion on album pricing, then he's discussing rock stars who say they don't take drugs:

The guitarist told Italian newspaper Corriere Della Sera: "I look at Chris Martin, who says he has never taken drugs in his life, and I think he is an idiot. Doing drugs is the most beautiful thing about being in a rock band.
 
"Up until 1998 I must have spent £1 million on drugs - then I stopped, because it is bad for your health, brain, life and for people around you. But while you use them - except for heroin which kills people and which I have never tried - as you lot [Italians] would say, 'Mamma Mia'."

He's a git, and a prat, but he's a thoroughly entertaining one. Click on the link above for the full article, including Noel's thoughts on political messages at rock shows.

Entertain Us.

I was just exposed to a video that was highly offensive, deeply disturbing, and bag loads of fun to watch! If you're up for something like that, turn the volume up and click on through.

The International Game of Slurpee Demolition.

Wills, Hammersley, Thompson, Smith.

Names etched in the living rock of time as fathers of the modern game of Australian Football. Names revered for their vision and an equal passion to bring that vision to life. Names remembered as one day so too will those of Ahab, Bart, Cobbies, Glamma and Post. Not for any connection to Australian football, but rather for their pioneering contribution to the pursuit of competitive Slurpee consumption.

A Slurpee to most people is little more than a refreshing icy beverage best enjoyed on a hot summer's day. But for five boys from Templestowe – an outer north-eastern suburb of Melbourne, destined to receive notoriety as home to the Black Prince of Lygon St, Alphonse Gangitano – the Slurpee meant so much more.

For them, the Slurpee was a gateway to self-discovery. For them, the clipped conical form of a Super Slurpee held the answer to the question, "How much can you truly know about yourself if you've never dumped a bucket of ice down your throat as fast as you possibly can?"

And so it was that back in the late twentieth century, Ahab, Bart, Cobbies, Glamma and Post set about establishing the Super Slurpee Demolition Competition. Each year they would come together and challenge each other to push onward beyond the boundaries of the everyday, to grasp their potential with both hands and strive boldly into the unknown. And it was in that frozen depth that they discovered themselves; it was atop that icy mountain that they realised there was no limit to what they could achieve.

Sadly, though, the Competition was to run only three years before concerns over the negative health effects on its participants led to its abandonment. But its legacy lives on and has formed the foundation of a recent campaign by the 7-Eleven Corp. to see Slurpee Demolitions recognised as a legitimate sporting endeavour.


Curiously though, despite the obvious debt owed to the band of brothers from Templestowe, no mention is made of their names anywhere throughout the 7-Eleven website or on the marketing paraphernalia produced to support the bid. Also missing is any reference to the other form of Slurpee-based competition they pioneered, Slurpee tossing.


That's okay though, because the boys didn't do it for fame or for the recognition. They're just happy to know that the challenge they set themselves – to be the very best they can be – has gone on to inspire others all around the world. Like this noble guzzler for instance:



Or this competitive chap from Australia (oh, hello iPhone, didn't see you there):



Impressive, no doubt, but their sense of accomplishment seems a little unwarranted. I mean, sure that was quick... for a Large. Let us know when you're done paddling in the kiddie pool and are ready to dump a Super down your gullet. What's that? Didn't think so.

But I guess this sort of setting the bar at ankle-height is to be expected when you consider 7-Eleven's bewildering decision to discard the established name of Slurpee Demolitions in favour of the uninspiring and ultimately meaningless, Sport of Slurping. Slurping? Slurping is involved, sure, but Slurping as a name fails to capture any sense of the effort required to compete. My grandmother, if she were still alive, would be up for 'slurping' a Slurpee, but demolishing one is another thing altogether. Slurping merely requires a mouth, while Slurpee demolition requires an iron will, an iron oesaphagus, and a spirit of recklessness bordering on lunacy. Slurping! Blrrrrrrp.

Oh well, history is a great and slow-moving beast, and I'm sure that in time this issue will be set to rights. In the meantime, let's raise our cups to the crazy ones. Because they push us forward. Because they change things. And because if they keep shovelling that much ice into themselves at that rapid a rate, we may not get another chance.

UPDATE
Well, that was quick. I know it's taking me forever to complete my posts these days, but barely had I become aware of this campaign than the bunting at the local Sev was stripped down and replaced with signs promoting discount milk! Give a movement time to establish itself before pouring it down the drain, 7-Eleven. I didn't even get a chance to venture down and get involved or take a few photos of the promotional paraphenalia. Nyarh. The 'Sport of Slurping' failed to capture the public imagination, I guess. Oh well, in schoolyards and on street corners this game was born, and for now, that's where it will stay.

UPDATE 2
Hold on, not so fast! I'd never been able to get the 'Official Sport of Slurping' website to load beyond the introductory video, and I assumed they must have shut it down post-haste after the campaign flopped. I just went there now, however, and it seems the bid is not only alive and well, it's also been a success! The (apparently legit) International Federation of Competitive Eating has just recognised (so-called) Slurping as an official sport, with the likelihood of an international event in 2010! Well, there you go. Corrected I stand.

UPDATE 3
HOLD ON, NOT SO FAST!! I just tried going back to the O.S.O.S website, only to have Google throw up a giant red banner, saying the site is a suspected host of malware that may harm my computer.


Not sure why I wasn't warned the first time I went there? Possibly because I was on my MacBook using Safari 3, whereas now I'm on my iMac with Safari 4? Surely it hasn't only just happened while I was walking between rooms? Firefox 3 flags it as well, but I don't have FF2 still installed, so I can't check if it's an older browser issue. Hmm, well, whatever the case, fortunately I took a screenshot of the site when I was there, so you can still have a look without exposing yourself to the heinous wares of mal. Hey, you're welcome.


Of particular note, see how strongly Australia has lead the lobbying. Not surprising, I guess, as we are the home of competitive Slurpee consumption. Yay Australia. And if a screenshot simply doesn't sate your thirst for Demolition news, head on over to their non-quarantined Facebook page for more.

UPDATE 4
Complain and you shall receive! "Deflector" Shield has just sent through a photo he took with his iPhone of a Slurping poster hanging in the window of a 7-Eleven in the city. My thanks! I'll tell you, the iPhone 3G may not have the greatest camera going round, but the best camera really is the one you've got with you.


UPDATE 5
I hope you've been enjoying, as I have, Talkin' 'Bout Your Generation, the latest vehicle of success for the infallible Shaun Micallef (sorry, Welcher and what?). One of the segments on the show is called What's a Doodle Do, in which the contestants attempt to identify familiar corporate logos as they're revealed bit by bit. In a recent episode, this image came up...


...and I'm proud to say... hmm, maybe proud's not the right word, aah, bugger it, proud to say I called out, "7-Eleven" without a second's hesitation. Pride that escalated when it took the contestants all the way to this...


...before they fiiiiinally got the answer themselves.


Talented designer with an extraordinarily keen eye for detail? Or layabout urchin who spent too much of his youth hanging around a convenience store? You be the judge.

Molly on Ice.

Interesting juxtaposition on the platforms at Southern Cross Station.


State of Origin destroys lives. No, wait, Don't let Molly go to your head. No, hang on, that's not it. Glory, I'm as confused as Molly normally is.

Thanks to "Human" Shield for the photo.

UPDATE
Seems like Molly's kicked the ice — good for him — but now he's threatening some of Australia's exceptional women. Raaargh! Come on, Molly; sort yourself out.

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day 2009.

Happy Star Wars (tm) Day everyone. May the Fourth be with you.

I guess.

Getting pretty hard to muster up much enthusiasm for Star Wars (tm) Day these days. Especially when Uncle George keeps revealing the swamp is deeper than I ever thought possible:


Sigh. This must be what Luke felt like on Cloud City. Freefalling into oblivion… and just when you think you’re at the bottom, a trapdoor opens up and the descent begins again.

I guess we can always pretend like it’s 1983 and the Classic Trilogy is all there is and all we’ll ever need? Sure, Jedi's got some problems, but nothing on par with the Prequels, right?

Enter Dan Vebber and Dana Gould's essay from The Unauthorized Star Wars Compendium, entitled ‘50 Reasons Why Return of the Jedi Sucks'. Written back in 1997 before the Prequels hulked along, I only came across it the other day, and I've got to say, it knee-capped any kind of defence I might have once been inclined to mount on Jedi’s behalf.

All the 50 reasons are telling, but of particular note is this point from Reason 1:

"But aside from what we see onscreen, the Ewoks are miserable little creatures for a completely different reason: they are the single clearest example of Lucas' willingness to compromise the integrity of his Trilogy in favor of merchandising dollars. How intensely were the Ewoks marketed? Consider this: "Ewok" is a household word, despite the fact that it's never once spoken in the film.

Indeed. Reason 9 [ The Forest Battle on Endor ] brought back some bad memories. Contrary to what they write...

"Happily, audiences have always responded to the stupidity of this imbalance: in screening after screening, the Ewok's groaning demise is typically met with more cheers and applause than the destruction of the Death Star."

…my experience was considerably different. Back in 1997, a group of friends and I attended a screening of the Jedi SE, hosted by the Star Wars Appreciation Society. Thinking we were among friends, we applauded and cheered loudly as an AT-ST barbecued the seemingly lone Ewok victim, but to our great shock we were booed, branded “nasty” and told to keep quiet! What?! We’re Star Wars fans, aren’t we? We hate Ewoks! Apparently not. My membership lapsed soon after.

Oh and, of course, impossible to argue with Reason 20:

[ Boba Fett's Death ]

Although I would have listed it higher. :)

Oh well, we’ll always have Empire.

UPDATE
Updated to include co-author credit and original source of essay, as brought to my attention in comments on original link. Interestingly, the archived piece the commenter links to includes 'Ten Reasons Why Jedi Doesn't Totally Suck', which makes for a nice positive little tie-off at the end. I'd agree with the ten points, except for their praise of Ian McDiarmid as the Emperor. I always thought he overacted the role, verging on caricature at times. And it was a thought emphatically confirmed when he reprised the role in the Prequels. Glory, that awful, awful scene where he fried his face with his lightning, I thought I was going to laugh. I hate, hate, hate, that scene. Forget the idea of the dark side working insidiously, eating away from the inside and corrupting over time. Nah, let's just do it in one take! Palpy's makeover from hell... up next! Rubbish.

Oh, I also chopped out a line about the essay being published on the eve of Phantom Menace's release. Because the authors spoke of their hopes for the "new films", I guess I assumed it was pre-Prequels (don't get any ideas, Lucas), and got my dates all muddled up. Thanks to Glamma for pointing out the error.

UPDATE 2
Ok, Take 3. Glamma's come back to me again – I think he's doing this on purpose – and pointed out that I may have been right all along. The essay mentions it's been nearly 14 years since Jedi's release, which suggests that it was written in 1997, and hence pre-Prequel. The 2001 date is presumably when it was first published online. So there you go. Hope that's cleared things up for everyone.

The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss 2008.

When Senator Barack Obama choose to campaign for President under the banner of CHANGE, he could not have known the extent to which his vision would be fulfilled. Far more than just a slogan, Obama tapped into a current that was sweeping the globe. From the marbled halls of power to the humblest hole in the ground covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, a force was rolling, kickin' down doors and blasting through homes like some kind of cosmic spring-clean.

CHANGE. Change was on the move!

Even in Templestowe, an outer eastern suburb of Melbourne, famed for its blend of city and country lifestyles, people were stopping in the streets, cocking their heads with quizzical expressions, as though catching a scent in the air or hearing a faint voice calling their names. Perhaps not recognising it consciously, but deep down, on some level, these people knew something was coming.

CHANGE. Change was coming!

It seemed a day like any other as seven tossers turned up to the former site of Templestowe Primary School (No. 1395), ready to hurl buckets of ice through the ether and into Glory.

As first among losers in 2007, Davet had earned the right to the penultimate toss, but boldly waving this aside he stepped out onto the pitch and fixed the horizon with a steely glare.


Could he go one better than Jack to claim Bart's crown of King? Or would he instead forget to let go of his cup, over-rotating and slamming it onto the ground where it would spin off several metres behind him? Sadly for Davet it was door #2, which saw him suffer the greatest reversal of fortune in tossing history, falling from Jack one year to Holder of the Plastic Straw the next. Not even Ahab (2004) or Alethea (2007) in their wildest fits of unconess had considered so disastrous a result.

Once the spectators had stopped laughing and settled down, Agent Cobbies got down to business.


Every day is Auction Day for Cobbies, and he was determined to get a result. Dancing down the pitch in his snappy leather loafers, he launched his cup into the air. Angling off to the left but flying true, it thumped down on the far side of the top court, establishing a challenging mark for those to follow.

If Ahab was troubled by his history of misfortune at the Toss, he wasn’t letting it show. Smiling as he walked around pre-toss, he appeared entirely relaxed and confident.


Even when Bart employed his familiar tactic of inspiring overconfidence through unexpected praise, Ahab refused to be rattled and just let him talk to the wind. A slightly stilted run-up led nevertheless to a beautiful toss that drew cries of praise from the assembled crowd. Smacking down just shy of the far gutter, Ahab landed himself clear in front of Cobbies, and in strong contention for the Jack!

After a disappointing debut in 2007, JJ Glamma was back for another toss.


As he lined up for his run, he declared with a wry smile that he'd be happy enough to just beat Davet. Which, as it turns out, was lucky because his toss was so disastrous it failed to reach even the top court’s fence, mere metres away. Critics were quick to find fault with his unconventional "drinking grip," saying it was more suited to lifting a cup to one's mouth than hefting it into the air. But they were also quick to commend Glamma’s willingness to take risks and toss down a path never tossed before. And while his cup may not have travelled far, unlike Davet’s it did at least travel forward and so, true to his word, he retired happy.

Absent from tossing competition for the last two years, former Toss King Benn (2004) was back and keen to make up for lost time.


Striking like a cobra, he flew down the pitch and launched his cup into the air. Despite the uncommon choice of a Medium cup for tossing, his shot thumped down a mere length behind Ahab’s. But Benn knew his choice of cup had cost him, turning away with a shake off his head, saying, “Just no weight…” Important lesson there for young tossers.

Next to the line was perennial toss disappointment, Steve.


As both Keeper of the FNOath and Perpetual Master of Demolitions, Steve had long coveted the title of Toss King and a clean-sweep of all three Templetitles. But each year Bart’s dominance left him frustrated, and the luckless veteran was stuck playing Chick Hicks to Bart's Mr. The King. A new year pours new hope, however, and Steve was hoping this year would be the one. The crowd fell into an expectant hush as he gathered himself, sensing perhaps that something extraordinary was about to happen. And they weren’t wrong. The air crackled as the Postman thundered down the pitch, but as his arm reached the apex of its mighty revolution, his cup slipped from his grip and shot straight up into the air! Slamming down ahead of Glamma’s but still on the wrong side of the fence, disaster had struck for the third time in a year! Involuntary cup release, more commonly known as ‘slip-grip’, is an inherent risk when tossing plastic cups, as condensation can make their smooth sides slippery indeed, offering not even the minimal grip afforded by the waxed-cardboard surface of the traditional cup. Usually considered a trap for young players, Steve's misfortune showed you ignore the basics at your peril.

And so, with everyone spent but Bart, all that remained to be determined was by how much he'd win. Would he land his cup on the lower court again, or would he smash his own book of records and cross that one too?


Counting down from five, Bart blasted forward and launched his cup into space. But a cry went up as mere seconds into flight it started to descend! Ah, Houston, we have a problem! Trailing a stream of ice, Bart's cup came crashing down to Earth all too soon, failing to clear not only the top court, but... Three. Other. Cups. as well!!

CHANGE. Change was here!


Above left: Ahab, 2008 Slurpee Toss King. Above right: Bart's non-threatening congratulatory handshake.

Gallant and good-humored in defeat, Bart turned to the stands, spread his arms and acknowledged, "I've been done." Perhaps, like Samson, Bart’s recent hair-cropping had deprived him of his strength when he needed it most? Who could say? And for the time being, who cared? What an extraordinary year! A new, first-time Toss King, Bart defeated for the first time in competition and not just deprived of the title through absence, and three competitors unable to toss their way out of a pot! Just extraordinary.

Ahab refused to be drawn on whether he’d be able to go Back-to-Back, but the 2009 Toss is shaping to be an absolute balls-out BLOCKBUSTER! See you there!

The Final Results (official): 1. Ahab (Toss King); 2. Benn (The Jack); 3. Cobbies; 4. Bart; 5. Steve; 6. JJ Glamma; 7. Davet (Holder of the Plastic Straw).

ADDENDUM
In the lead-up to the 2008 Festival of Slurping, Bomber affirmed his commitment to the Stolp and posed an interesting question regarding the Toss.

"I will however drag my sorry arse to the local Sev to truly explore what a Malaysian Slurpee tastes like. Does it have the same texture even? I have found many thing over here appears to be the same as at home, but they are not.

I will then proceed to throw that cup with as much slurpee as i choose not to drink southeast bound which will no doubt land about 10 feet behind 'The Champ's'. The next step is a massive question. As the Stolp field is the stolp field, and the chuck line is the chuck line... Will my throw of approx 6360 km still lose if it falls 10 feet short of the Champ's?”

JJ Glamma stepped in helpfully to reply.

"Something else to keep in mind is that the toss line is a North/South line extending North and South from Templestowe Primary (-37.757755,145.128601).

At the latitude of Kuala Lumpur (3.16177, 101.707993) the line passes through the Pacific Ocean north of New Guinea. At this point it is only 4,820km East of KL.

However.

The contestants in the toss stand on the Eastern side of the line and throw west. So Bomber is not 4,820km behind the line — he is 4,820km in front of it.

Fortunately, the Earth is round, so that by turning around and facing West, he will find himself behind the line once again. 35,193km behind it, to be exact.

However, since lines of longitude get closer together the further away from the equator we get, his best toss strategy will be to throw almost directly North, with just a hint of west.

I am not familiar with the rulings that apply here — is the winner judged by metres west of the line, or degrees of longitude west of the line? It matters little when all tossers are at the same latitude, but could be critical here.

In any event, however that question is answered, the target point for Bomber will be within 100m of the North Pole. Which means he must throw a distance of 9,656km.

Any questions?"

There were none, and as no cup came slamming down from the stratosphere on Toss day, there was no need to question the final result either.

Too much Slurpee blogging barely enough?
Keep on Stolping: The First Pour–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Tossing: Dawn of Time–2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007.
Keep on Demolishing: The Alpha and the Omega.