I Am, But These Pricks Aren't Australian...

TWO recent events in Sydney have shown both the good and the bad of modern Australian society.
Let's start with the good, because the bad is a fucking disgrace.
At Telstra Stadium (formerly Stadium Australia, the main stadium during the 2000 Olympics) on November 16, the Australian soccer team (the Socceroos) qualified for their first World Cup in 31 years after beating Uruguay in a penalty shoot-out. Photos after the events showed Australians of all backgrounds dancing in the streets to celebrate the fact that their team had finally made it through.
And why wouldn't you describe as their team? As Michael Cockerill said in the Sydney Morning Herald the next day:

In a multicultural nation in a fractured world, the Socceroos can bring together the sum of their parts: Muslim, Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican. German, Lebanese, Polynesian, Croatian, Italian, Melanesian, Greek. It is a rich tapestry but last night they - and we - were one thing only. Australian.

While that may have been the case nearly a month ago, it certainly wasn't yesterday.

After a disgraceful attack on two lifesavers last weekend in Cronulla, on Sydney's southside, text messages and e-mails had been flying around, urging "Anglos" (those of European, mainly English, extraction) to get revenge on the "Lebs" (which basically means anyone who looks Middle Eastern).

Sure enough, large groups of people gathered at Cronulla throughout the day - at first peacefully, before the effects of alcohol, sunshine and testosterone combined. Beginning with one man being punched around 11am, the mob surged every time they saw a person of Middle Eastern appearance, attacking them with fists, beer bottles, cowardice. No one that looked like a "wog" was spared - not even young girls. One "hero" even ripped off a girl's headscarf as she tried to get to safety.

Of course this racist show of aggression wasn't going to go unpunished by those who felt their brethren had been attacked. So we then had the fun of more testosterone-filled hoons attacking the original mob or burning the Australian flag.

Onya guys. Between both groups, you've successfully managed to get the ugliest part of any society into the world news, managed to undo any good work the Socceroos victory had achieved, managed to get your revenge(s) in the most despicable way possible.

But you know what the absolute pits was?

The original mob draped themselves in Australian flags and sung the Australian national anthem while beating the crap out of people they didn't consider Australian enough.

Excuse me?

What do they want: a return to the white-bread Australia, where a special meal was meat and three veg instead of the usual two? And anyway, why does it matter when one's ancestors came over here? If that were the case, then those idiots that started the trouble yesterday would absolutely revere our indigenous people as being the most Australian of them all, although if many of them could even spell "indigenous" or "Aboriginal" I'd be surprised.

If you're going to use OUR flag and OUR national anthem, do it somewhere that's going to help national pride. And for those from both sides that participated in the riots: don't bother cheering for the Socceroos in Germany next year.

You've clearly shown you're not Australian.

Girls On The Avenue...

I LOVE people-watching.
Work is located upstairs with a verandah overlooking the main street, so on those nights when I decide not to go out and make a spectacle of myself it's often good fun to watch the people go by.
Pubs are good for these as well. Just by walking along said main street you get the chance to watch the locals sit around and talk shit, then kick on next door as everyone that's out piles in and makes a beeline for the dancefloor.
There you get to see older men and women who look like they just escaped from the local pound shake their bodies in a way that's more suggestive of a South American bird's mating patterns than anything that actually fits the song being played.
Just about every night there's a group of younger women taking advantage of a night out with the girls, which largely consists of getting themselves so plastered they get poured into a taxi rather than getting in of their own accord. These women are usually responsible for any pinched male arses.
Then there's the younger men.
These range from 18-year-olds with an inflated sense of maturity and coolness; the packs of men who seem to have a very good time jumping around and knocking your beer out of the glass; and the men whose sole purpose is to get laid.
Can there be anything more funny than a man (or woman for that matter) who just won't take no for an answer?
The other night our group was treated to a rather determined effort by one chap to get into the pants of an English tourist.
The guy tried so hard. He spoke to his "target" continuously, tried a few moves on the dancefloor, and generally made sure that she was never out of his sight.
It wasn't until she went to bed without inviting him that he gave up, a forlorn figure at the top of the stairs finally realising it just wasn't going to happen.
Of course it got kinda scary when he spent the next day stalking her and her friend, but that's another story.
Twice on my European travels I saw someone go in for the kill; twice they were knocked back.
Actually that should be three times, given that two guys were both trying to get a kiss of a fair maiden (not) during one particularly drunken night in Nice. Time after time either of the two would lean in for the magic moment that would make the night unforgettable; time after time she would move her head back as far as possible and reject their advances.
The other time saw a girl trying desperately hard to begin a few rounds of tonsil hockey with my mate, who at the time was in a state of emotional turmoil. Every time you looked at them she had her head tilted, eyes closed, lips in readiness. Never got the message.
Then there's the guy at the hostel whose eyes light up every time he sees a XX-chromosoned person.
Never mind the fact that he's in his forties with the most ridiculous ponytail you could imagine, there's rarely a girl at the hostel that hasn't had "Fabio" unleash his charms on. Most politely listen and get out of there as soon as possible, although the smarter ones let him pay for a few drinks before bolting.
People. If you can't beat 'em, watch 'em.