Aperçus of This Sporting Life

Life goes fast, make the good things last

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 18 July, 2007 - 12:44:46 - print it raw

Take a night and watch it take a few more in return. Dusk to dawn and that's the business of the race, of the game with no name and no players bearing faces distinguishable from the anguish and the longing wish. Run with it and watch from the far side of the smoking bush. Where they all find the small red berries that leaves the far end ruminating with smoke of its own.

Counts of heads are useless in the fluctuation of nature and an abhorrent existence marked by futility. Watch out for one another and watch as one and another fall by the womping wasp of dust as the sudden fall takes them to ground. Scratch dust them there and only there as the stains trail lines flowing freely into the pools of hardening reds.

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Beaten by a policeman on a duty crawl

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 9 May, 2007 - 23:21:26 - print it raw

Law and order and to them, it's nothing but the criminals intent on carving up a scene of their own. Rough shod over the banks of the dry river lines, feet taking up the clay with foot prints to make tracks back and forth. Drop a case of doubt and there is never more a chance on turning back.

Oh for they will scream as they find their hands clapping with no arms attached. Loud and ecstatic with the erratic patterns folding of the desperate sweat. Hans, it seems, will take offence to this. Were that the man exists on this plame, on this field. Alas, but a mere figment of the speculation and imagination.

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Cloudy all day, it's why Tuesdays don't shine

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 25 April, 2007 - 10:47:56 - print it raw

Rain on, rain on, got the frog stomping going on. Drowning in the marsh, head deep in despair and regret, the little one looks for a peace outside the silencing of peers. Where it's only a matter of time before the click and thud. Head deep into the marsh, to drown the sounds around.

It's only not Tuesday, and maybe it's not Thursday, it certainly can't be Wednesday. Time is irrelevant with no schedule, no plan and no agenda. Following the path of the moon into the sea of the sun is all that matters here in terms of time. A coastal feeling in an arid landscape. Save for the pools of standing water, infecting those who sup at its horrid teat.

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Victorious Lemon leaves with NSW Poetry Slam Final

Ethan Switch - Sunday, 10 December, 2006 - 21:14:14 - print it raw

On the end of the night of the New South Wales State Poetry Slam Final, one Geoff Lemon, from the below blue borders of Victoria, jumps away winner supreme over the poetry night's cream.

Joseph Appleby, not far behind in line, takes a beat to shuffle the feet on the feat as runner-up of said meet.

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Gross morsels of the sushi train on the Melbourne Cup

Jimmy Weasel - Tuesday, 7 November, 2006 - 23:04:07 - print it raw

When the dust has cleared before the headache and the rank sushi has ceased its churning after spending the night fighting with sweet Asahi, certain truths are painfully obvious: TAB was once again the clear winner in today's Big Race.

"Wasted beyond repairs with so much karaoke and beer... and gross sushi train morsels... after exposure to the air, it should be thrown out, not given to payin customers..."

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Socceroos bandwagon lightens considerably following Italy defeat

Ethan Switch - Tuesday, 27 June, 2006 - 23:44:44 - print it raw

Off the foot of a controversially awarded penalty in the dying seconds of the Australia V Italy match, the Socceroos bandwagon has found its tare now thousands lighter. Far from the heavy days following a win of their qualifying face off against Uruguay for entry into the World Cup.

Crestfallen by the freezing conditions of watching another football game large and live on big screens in the city, the froth was scoopable and the beer bottles airborne.

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