So they said this morning that DJ had sex in the back of a car on the waterfront docks and the car was a Barina. I'm absolutely outraged - who drives a Barina in this day and age?
Anyway, enough about that. The first thing I want to write about today is inspiration. At a certain point every single person with a blog gets a little bit bored or lacks something to say, and today I really didn't have any interesting ideas. I could try and find Anne-Maree Cooksley on Facebook, but that wouldn't really work. However I did think today about my heroes and inspirations, and really reflected on the fact that...well, I don't have any. Much as I fancy Vilimaina Davu, I don't think I'm suited to go out and play netball. Again. Adam Ant and Britney Spears both went a bit crazy, so they are out. Much as Paul Medhurst is the only Collingwood player keeping me sane, I only draw so much inspiration from him. At least he turned his life around. I'm not sure Jodie Low or Alisa Camplin are big on conversation. And there's only so much inspiration I can take from the devine Leilani Kai - I can't really imagine solving lifes problems with a crafty chair shot and a hook of the tights. Besides, I'm Scottish - suspicion of our betters is really all we have. Anyone with a hero is likely to be beaten up in the playground for being a big jessie. Even if it is Vilimaina Davu.
Reflecting on it though, I did have a hero growing up, the same as any small Tasmanian boy - David Boon. David Boon if you don't know was our only visible successful Tasmanian, a mainstay of the Australian cricket team. There was a lot to admire about David Boon - he was a short, fat bloke with a redoutable moustache. He was able to get stitches without painkillers. He looked like a bloke you could have a beer or a BBQ with, and he was the strong silent type, tough and hard. He also could play cricket like a demon. How proud we were whenever he made a gritty 50 at the WACA, or took a great catch off Peter Taylor, or sang like David Byrne on the late show. He probably doesn't know just how much we all looked up to him. Now, I met him a few years ago, and he was a grumpy arsehole when I asked for his autograph, which is kind of interesting isn't it? I spent all my childhood looking up to him and practicing my cover drive, in return for a grunt. I really should write that you should never meet your heroes they'll only disappoint you, but I couldn't really fault him for being himself. Everyone has flaws, and by that stage of my life I realised that. There's only so far you can take drawing inspiration from a celebrity before they let you down. Inspiration has to come from something more tangible, a moral code or a reason to get up in the morning, friendship or real love. Had I met him at a younger age, I'd have been disappointed, but I was 21 - what business did I have bothering him? I took what I could from the little image on the TV screen, that was enough, I had nothing to take from the real life, slightly full up, stuck at the casino and feeling angry he wasn't at home real life version. He was simply being human.
Of course, a celebrity can inspire through their deeds, but I don't think they can inspire as people anymore, not with people gossiping about them all the time. Anyway inspiration isn't always easy to dispense. I went to a local football game a few years ago, where the score was, say 48 points to 1 at 1/4 time. The good thing about local football in Australia is that you can go onto the ground and listen to the coach address the team, and of course, you head straight to the losing team to hear what the coach has to say because it's always very intense. The coach of the team that was losing gathered all his players, turned purple and shook his finger. "More rope?" he said sternly. "More fucking rope?" he said even more sternly. Everyone took in this wisdom and scratched their head. "That's what you fucking asked for! More fucking rope! All fucking week, more fucking rope! Give us more fucking rope! I give you more rope...and you fucking hung yourselves!" - and the thing was, no one had any idea what he was talking about. The players all looked completely bewildered, which made him angry and incoherent and mumbling something about being as weak as netball players (sorry Vilimaina Davu ). Here was a man at the end of his tether, reaching into his soul and trying to say something articulate, something inspirational, something deep and meaningful - and he was too inarticulate, too angry and too bewildered to come up with something. It was a wonderfully human moment, although at the time, it was just really funny.
So what is my inspiration? The hope that tomorrow will be better than today is all the inspiration I ever need to go on. Oh, and Peggy Lee Leather. Definitely, definitely, Peggy Lee Leather...