My One-Day Career as a Sports Journo

Well, if you'd spoken to me in the month before or after the game, no doubt I would have mentioned this. If not, I'll happily mention it again: I got to watch London's 2009 NFL match at Wembley. From the press box, on assignment for londonist (Yep, that's me grinning like a moron in an empty Wembley after the game).

With the usual sports writer Duncan in Australia, and me the only person who had a clue about American football, I foolishly put my hand up to cover the match, expecting nothing to come of it. Little did I realise Duncan could actually arrange a press pass, and once it was all sorted I started to properly panic. Thankfully Duncan was able to coach me via email in the arcane ways of the sports journo (basic rule: don't look like you're enjoying yourself).

London definitely gets in to their now annual NFL match, and the NFL happily fuel the fervour, with cheerleader visits (I particularly like this shot, with the girl second from right frowning like she just saw a puppy put down; witnessing a non-smiling cheerleader is rarer than detecting a Higgs Boson). There are even pre-game events for the fans of the visiting teams (yep, more gratuitous cheerleader shots!) All of which seemed a bit of a waste for this match, with the Patriots heavily favoured to out-gun the struggling Buccaneers... which they duly did. I watched on from the box, amazed by the media machine that is the NFL (play-by-play printouts were delivered to each of us promptly after each quarter), and mildly disgusted by the English chap from some regional paper in the seat next to me who spent the entire match ignoring the game and staring through his binoculars at, you guessed it, the cheerleaders. Hmmm, perhaps the NFL should save themselves the expense and the fixtures headache and just send the cheerleaders across the pond each year...

After the match I managed to show my novice status by getting lost in the bowels of Wembley, but eventually got to the Patriots post-match conference (my impressions: Belichik is a mumbler; Brady exudes so much charm you just want to punch him in the face), then filed my match report from the media centre. Apparently it went to the top spot in google news results for NE Patriots the following day. Which was bizarre. All in all, a fantastically fun experience which had me buzzing for days afterwards... but as others pointed out to me, as much as I loved doing it, if I actually had to do it every day for a living the magic would probably wear off quickly. Pity really, I thought I might have found a new career...

Journalistic Integrity

Press. Tickets.

Can there be two sweeter words in the English language? Apart from default, of course. Despite the moronic door man (is there any other kind?) I got to see Ash Grunwald playing a pretty damn fine gig at a pretty damn fine venue, and all I had to do was write it up.

Now on this particular occasion, that wasn't a problem: good music being played by performers clearly having a fun time, in a great bar... it was pretty easy to be positive about it. And I was more than happy to put more money across the bar since I got in free (to my regret on Sunday). But what if the next thing I get tickets for is... well, rubbish? Being completely conflict-averse, I'm terrible at criticising others. I mean, they might not like it. And what right would I have? I can't play that instrument/cook that meal/do that on stage... who am I to judge them?

Quite a dilemma.

I think, on balance, I'll take the tickets. I can always just hide behind the anonymity of the internet if I hate it.

Londoner Lost in Blue Mountains, Oz-UK Relations Take A Battering

(That's right, a series in which I blatantly cross-post my mutterings on londonist. I know no shame. )

The story about Jamie Neale is getting quite a run over here in London. Frankly, I think they've just been waiting for a feel-good story about a London teenager. The headlines might as well read "London Teen Not Dead, Not Even Stabbed." And it was all feel-good, with warm fuzzy feelings all round, until it turned out he'd signed away exclusive rights for his story for an undisclosed (read: large) sum. I must admit my reaction was less than favourable: "Why reward stupidity? He risked his own life, and the lives of the rescuers, why does he get a big pay out? Big deal, he got lost in the Blue Mountains and survived; I get drunk and lost every time I go out in East London (far more dangerous), and I survive: So where's my hundred grand?"

To be fair, he does claim he'll give the money to the rescue services and Katoomba hospital and if he does, top marks for doing the right thing. But I'll be interested to see if that eventuates, since it may just be a reaction to the allegations it was a hoax. As I mention in the post, it's all pretty standard fare for a rescue-story media circus in Oz, and no doubt there's more to come.

The thing that really struck me though, is the comment flame war going on below the Evening Standard article. It seems to start with a comment on the Australian media (I'll be first to agree that we don't produce anything at guardian or Indy level, but we at least avoid the barrel-scraping of the more popular papers over here... the Aussie press operates in a teacup, and is guilty of brewing up the occasional storm), so it's a fair comment to make, but the manner of making it leaves a little to be desired...

Typical Australian media, get the stroy wrong and accuse a decent British
lad as being as crooked as the australian's criminal forefarthers. .... The
xenephoibic australians need to get a life and stop whinging

... unless perhaps you're Pauline Hanson (all spelling has been faithfully preserved). I particularly like the touch of tarring an entire nation as xenophobic (or -phoibic) - Alanis Morissette could have written an extra verse. And it all kicks off from there... I'll leave you to read it at your leisure. It does strike me as odd that two of the most racist nations on the planet ("Bloody South-East Asians/Eastern Europeans stealing our jobs!" "Bloody Muslims/Muslims building mosques!" - delete as appropriate) seem to reserve their most blatant racism for each other, when they are in fact so similar.

The fact the Ashes is on probably doesn't help.

So dear reader, what's really happening in the Neale story? Is the hoax accusation a media beat-up, or do we really think it's a scam? And how are the racism levels back in Oz these days? Any more flag-waving riots? And why do we hate the Brits (and vice-versa) with such gusto?