Sport

When people—particularly snotty Eurosnobs—complain that sport exerts too much of a hold on the New Zealand psyche, that we invest too much in it, that we can’t handle our sports teams losing with any grace or perspective, I look to the old countries, those bastions of civilisations going back into antiquity and… giggle.

One of the common themes I’ve seen from a portion of Kiwis gloating about the All Blacks being ejected from the Rugby World Cup earlier than most people expected goes something along the lines of,

“When I was at school there were the thugby idiots who were bullying arseholes and I’m happy when the All Blacks lose because it upsets people like that.”

Now, I know this particular scenario because I, too, suffered from arseholes at high school. But within a year of leaving high school I realised a few things.

One was that nasty, spiteful, vicious people congregate find an excuse to be horrid to one another for all manner of reasons. If I was a girl who’d gone to an all-girls’ school, I’d have a whole bunch of stories of bullying that would have nothing to do with rugby.

But that’s a minor things compared to the most important point: I like rugby; I liked it at primary school when I played (very, very badly). When I allowed a bunch of arseholes to convince me that rather geeky kids who like Blackadder (not Todd) and math and suchlike had no place caring about rugby, who did I harm by reacting against the worst elements of rugby culture? Them? No, they were happy. They had driven the other away from something they liked. Rugby? Hardly, it’s plenty popular.

No, I harmed myself. I allowed what I liked, what I disliked, what I did and didn’t do to be defined by a bunch of people who were horrible to me for no good reason, and who I hated in turn. I was imprisoned by a bunch of people who barely knew who I was. That’s weak. It’s pathetic.

If you’re twenty years out of high school and you still feel the need to post to the interweb about how happy you are because you imagine some random collection of jerks being upset you ought to feel ashamed. Not because you’re taking pleasure in other peoples’ suffering. But because you’re a sad git who is still being controlled by them and you need to grow the fuck up.

In particular, I’d love to ask Big Norm for advice about how my teen can get into punch-ups over the Haka, punch out plate-glass windows in motels, and general drunken mayhem.

Every time I hear people whining that New Zealand doesn’t win enough Commonwealth or Olympic medals in the press I find myself wishing that the person they’re whining at would lay it on the line: the reason Australia does better than us is because they spend a huge amount of money on it - $380 million this year alone. That buys a lot of cancer drugs, or heart transplants, or hip operations. I’d be intrigued to hear how many hip operations we should cancel so we could increae our funding to Aussie levels. How many dead cancer patients is a gold medal worth?

Watching the Blues vs Reds match last night was an interesting exercise in seeing which of two totally incompetant teams would win by making marginally fewer cock-ups than the other. The only highlight was an (Australian) commentator praising a drop kick by the Reds as superb, thrilling rugby.

This from the nation that spent all 2003 ridiculing Johnny Wilkinson, and making Wilkinson’s field goals the subject of an “Is that all you’ve got?” campaign.

Only a little over a decade after the rest of the world decided South Africa had moved far enough away from being a racist state that we’d play sport with them again, South Africa suggests it may boycott Australia over racist abuse directed at its cricket players.

Now, this is cool. Man decides to have a go at all the Olympic sports over a hour year period.

Well, I’ve discovered that there are, in fact, no gyms in Wellington Central better than Bodyworks. And probably the worst response I got was from the one just down the road from me. Sportswide don’t do casual sessions, they tell me. Well, I don’t spend money for a minimum 6 month subscription unless I’ve had a change to try the gym. That was annoying. The bit where their telemarketing team rung me the next day to solicit my custom was hilarous. For once in my life, Telemarketing has been a force for good, rather than evil, since it gave me a feedback mechanism.

Of course, there’s still the whole membership fee nonsense, which I enjoyed not having at Universal Fitness.

I remember again why I don’t like gyms in Wellington: while Bodyworks has decent enough equipment and is gratifyingly empty in the evenings, they won’t tell you what it costs. You have to go and speak to some bullshit Personal Consultant (read: waste of space) so they can sell you crap you don’t need. And, of course, there are joining fees and rubbish like that. I’ll definitely be looking to see if I can find something with good gear and no bullshit - but I fear they don’t exist hereabouts.

Not to mention that while some twat at Bodyworks may thinks it is a clever marketing move to make use of the member’s car park conditional on plastering advertising over your car, all it does is piss me off.

I just had what will probably be my last workout at Universal Fitness in Halesowen, a gym I can’t speak highly enough of - Stephen found it by accident and we started going, then I joined in when I got here. It is, quite simply, the best gym I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. The people are friendly, happy to work in, and make going to the gym a thoroughly pleasant experience.

Of particular note are Debbie, the woman behind the counter, a friendly lady with a good knack for telling a yarn and making friends with strangers; Bobby, a big man who always seems perpetually nervous; and Patrick, an even bigger bloke who’s been training for ten years, has arms bigger than most people’s thighs, and a thoughful approach to his training - and a great big smile for people who wander by.

So if there’s something about England I’ll really miss, it’s this place. It’s some of the most enjoyable training I’ve ever done - not just because I was getting good results (an average 50% increase in weights over three an a half months) - but because it’s the most pleasant and down to earth place I’ve ever trained. No bullshit, no sulky guys hogging the equipment, no show-offs, and no-one making fun of guys just starting out.

I wish I could pick it up and take it with me.