Posts Tagged ‘Fanny Blankers-Koen’

A good sleep

February 16, 2017

IMG_0918 front garden August 2016

Is it true that the elderly sleep less? As much as I dislike starting an article about sleep, I wonder about it? So much depends on a good sleep. One of the first thing we ask each other; how was your sleep?  Or, how did you sleep? I know that if the answer is “terrible” we could be in for a torrid day. With the years piling up, more and more memories and life’s baggage gets stored. You wonder if losing a bit of memory is a blessing in disguise.

I have become more forgetful, especially names. It is something that worries some but not me. I have no trouble admitting I don’t know a single name of a recent Olympic champion. I remember Zatopek and Fanny Blankers Koen from the past. I don’t know the name of even a single rugby player of today.  Sport and I are Teflon coated. Water off a ducks back, and gladly so. I feel sorry for all those ex-champions having to cope with a future life without fame, all fading away into so much nothingness. Like all of us really. One ought to be thankful for lacking fame.

We have both keenly taken to a large memory calendar on which we write down future appointments. One of our first appointment will be getting quotes for air conditioning. Next, yearly check ups for doctors, poking around a bit here and there. A hearing check up. That’s all there is so far. I hope to get more interesting appointments written down soon. A date for a trip around the world on a large cruise-liner would be nice. Or, being interviewed about having won a literary competition. Oprah Winfrey talk show invitation?

So far this large desk-top calendar has just those few appointments. No dinner dates or meeting up with our PM Turnbull nor any undertaker. I wonder if he suffers sleepless nights? He isn’t a happy man anymore. Being at the mercy of the extreme charlatans of the right. He must have had a dream for change. Make Australia progressive. Pass legislation hurling Australia into the twenty first century. Even the same sex marriage bill, which most want, including our PM, is now slipping away. Why doesn’t he have the guts of his convictions and go for needed change? He might loose his Prime ministership, but he can say; I tried!

No appointment needed for the date with autumn. A few golden-auburn Liquid Amber (Liquidambar styraciflua)  leaves have arrived already. We can’t get to cooler weather soon enough. We are now troubled by having seen a very nice free-standing house opposite where we live. It has a beautiful garden and a workshop-cum extra little living space (for times during marital upheavals/differences/ enthusiastic outbursts.) It has its own men’s shed really!  I could finally make a rabbit hutch. The house itself has more space. Above all, it would allow us to get away from the Body corporate and its Strata witchcraft. No more stolen plants or bullying threats from ropable divorcées.

We really like living in this town-house. It is convenient and so much work  Helvi put in the garden. The problem is that old trees don’t easily get re-planted elsewhere. Are we old trees? While not saplings, we don’t feel like gnarled oaks. What do you reckon? Should we move? It would be rather painless moving across the road and being able to give the ‘finger-up’ to Body Corporate/Strata witches. Mind you, retaliation isn’t an answer to bullying.

What do youse reckon?

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The dreaded C…..t word.( or, how I became an ambassador for Cricket.)

February 22, 2012

Just walking the dog past a group of young cricket players here in Bowral, I wonder why we do not know any fifteenth century runners, swimmers or even sword fighters. Perhaps cricket hadn’t been invented then, so let’s just come to that sport later. Perhaps calling cricket a ‘sport’ might be stretching it a bit anyway.

We have all heard of Michaelangelo di Lodovico, Tintoretto, Dostoevsky, Mozart, Rembrandt Van Rijn, Shakespeare, Erasmus, Aristotle, Johannes Bach and so many more. They are all immortal and have passed the passage of time.  Yet, when it comes to sport fame, the heroes all seem to fade away. Why is that?

Some no doubt will vehemently protest and will immediately mention Emil Zatopek, Fanny Blankers- Koen and a few others, but… name a swimmer or athlete from more than a hundred years ago and…nothing much. This is why it was so baffling that one of our previous prime ministers, John Howard, contemplated asking intending migrants to have some understanding of Australian history and that that history should include an understanding of cricket and Donald Bradman. He must have assumed that Bradman would forever be part of Australia and its history, optimistically defying all previous sportsmen and women throughout the entire world that have sunk into oblivion.

Now, many would question cricket as a world sport. Indeed some assert it is more akin to ballet or pantomime with its strange exotic gestures, complicated numerals, and leaping around the grass. But even accepting it is a legitimate sport, will Donald Bradman also not slide into oblivion as all other champion sportspeople inevitably seem to do? It is a vexing question. Sportspeople just don’t make it into immortality as creative artists do. Perhaps, there is just not much that sports people leave behind. We can’t really re-live those achievements that are just purely physical. So what, many might ask, is the magic of running a bit faster than before, or hurling a steel ball further away than ever?

Sure, with modern technology, especially the camera, we can now play back interesting bits of sport history and once again watch the magic of a 1932 Olympic game. We can also saunter past an arrangement of sporting cups, caps, and medals but only if they have been donated to a specially designated museum and only if family members had the foresight to do so. I suspect many just get lost in backyard garages amongst rusty spades, jars of lonely nails, tired lawnmowers or remain utterly forgotten in dusty attics.

One can re- read a Shakespeare poem or Emile Zola’s books, gaze over the beauty of Pierre Bonnard’s spread eagled nude L’indolente or listen to the magic of a Bach’s cantata, but how does one re-live the excitement of Bradman’s magic swing of the bat or the fifty meter swim of John Konrad, having taken off another split second? Perhaps we have hit the nail here. Sport records are never the end, someone always has the temerity to shave off another split second of the swim or run. Inevitably, the ball or discus will land just another millimeter further in the grass. All records are forever being broken, thereby stealing the thunder away from the previous record holder. There is just no respite from this extreme form of vicious competitiveness.

I would have hated to have run the fifty metres in 10 minutes or less, only to watch it beaten by a kid in a pram. Sport and I never made it. I love a steady walk but only if broken up by a nice latte or a park bench. I just never really got into all that sweating and leaping around the grass. If a ball happened to come my way, I would either pretend to be a surprised onlooker or just pick up the ball to see if it needed pumping up. Being tall, I was enticed to join basketball. During the break between Bronte and Scarborough Park, I was spotted listening in to the opposite team and their coach, conspiring on what violent tactics to use next, when the game resumed. I did not even notice the difference in uniform. I was sacked immediately but was so happy on the train home.

It’s a story too long for this discourse on the fleetingness of sporting fame, of how I came to be an official ambassador for cricket. I am as amazed as my next wife, but in my wallet I have a card with my name on it describing me as “Bradman Experience Ambassador”. It proves there is hope for everyone. Never give up, is my advice to all of you.

OK, then, I’ll give you a synopsis of how this miracle came about. We were invited to a social fund raiser at…you’ve guessed right…The International CRICKET hall of Fame, here in Bowral. It was a very cheerful affair not the least with, as so often is the case in loosening wallets, copious quantities of fine wine and well malted ales. I was totally knocked out by all the historic cricket films swirling on every wall it was capable of being projected upon. Boy, did we see cricket bats in action. It was almost frightening.

At one stage, I noticed a couple of lovely, well groomed and high breasted ladies talking from a distance and at the same time throwing admiring glances. I sauntered past, holding forth with some elegance, my Shiraz between thumb and index finger. The taller lady asked: “What years did you play for Australia?” “Was it around 1963?”  “Oh, I am sorry, I never did “, I answered honestly. “I came close in basketball,” I added, while looking away.  I am not sure what happened or indeed, if this conversation added at all to being asked to promote this noble sport, but here you are. I am now a ‘Bradman Experience Ambassador.’

I did say; there is hope for all of us. (Cricket is a mighty fine Sport.)