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Issue No. 143 | 05 July 2002 |
Bad Bosses
Interview: Media Magnet Bad Boss: Abbott's Heroes Technology: All in the Family International: New Labour's Cracks Economics: Virtuality Check History: Necessary Utopias Poetry: Let Me Bring Love Review: How Not To Get It Together Satire: NZ, UK Added to Australia�s Migration Zone
Revealed: The Evidence Cole Won�t Touch WorkCover to Set Up Crimes Unit Electricians Oppose Family-Busting Conditions Blue-Collar Blokes Back Mat Leave Murdoch Telegraphs Contracts Push Abbot Changes Rules for �Employer Advocate� Funding Cuts Drives Academics Mad Star City Casino Strike On The Cards Chifley Planners Lose Benefits Qantas Staff Sick of Shivering Regional Councils Call Jobs Summit Kiwi Ex-Pats Targeted for Poll Push Shangri-La Workers Still Fighting
The Soapbox The Locker Room Bosswatch Week in Review
Buggering the Bush The Great Giveaway Down and Out Why I hate Telstra
Labor Council of NSW |
The Locker Room The Tennis Racket
************** The professional (I use the term loosely) football codes in this country are continually trying to source their talent pool from younger and younger potentates. The end result is footballers washed up in their mid twenties. This seemingly admirable youth development policy is incredibly short sited and is hardly fair on the kids concerned. What they ask of 18 year olds is verging on the ridiculous, and watching player agents circle like sharks at junior sporting carnivals is rather sad. I think it is a bit rich to expect the nastiest of men, motivated by the nastiest of reasons, to work for the benefit of the most vulnerable of sports people. Country football is littered with the cast-offs from the elite leagues. By and large most of these players have been treated appallingly, especially by the AFL, where the draft is little more than a glorified slave auction. Mark Philippoussis turned out to be dud at the Wimbledon fiasco, which is a shame, the golden Greek had the Dutchman by the balls and let him off the hook. Failing to convert 11 break points didn't help. Mark pulled a sickie during the Davis Cup a few years back and was roundly canned by the Australian Media. In the meantime Pat Rafter played while he was crook and put in a shocker. Rafter comes from Mount Isa, so you would think he has an understanding about the efficacy of stumping up to the boss with a medical certificate. Then again, when it comes to Australian tennis, Rafter always has been something of a company man, unlike Lleyton Hewitt, who - like so many other middle class brats - is only really in it for himself. Lleyton's dummy spit brought back memories of that great commentator on the gentleman's game, John McEnroe. Music industry sources in Adelaide informed this column of Johnny the M's big comeback at Memorial Drive a few years back. The night before his semi final appearance he appeared at the source's nightclub with a blonde partner who was not Tatum O'Neil. Pissed on scotch, he joined the source in the nightclub office for 'a doobie of hydroponically grown purple light skunk'. McEnroe walked straight out onto the techno-pumping dance floor. He emerged from the dance floor later appearing 'dazed, confused, bewildered and lost'. He staggered blindly 20 feet to the bar where he took off his baseball cap and threw up in it. According to club policy he was then kicked out The following day he lost the semi-final in straight sets.
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