Sunday, July 19, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Sophocles' lesson an example how to flōreō
By Arc Convenor of Mythology and Ancient Wisdom, Seamus Neustead
The Richmond Football Club’s fortunes over the past quarter of a century are not without precedent. History provides a litany of examples of periods of enduring success for individuals, groups or institutions followed by periods of abject failure. In many cases there is a full recovery and in some there isn’t.
When it comes to Richmond it is not entirely inappropriate to apply the word crisis to its current situation. The meaning of the word “crisis” comes from medicine and refers to the point in the course of disease when the patient either descends to death or returns to health. The Richmond Football Club has seemingly reached this point and what it does in the coming months will determine whether it descends to virtual death, destined to linger on the bottom of the ladder, occasionally getting within a whisker of the final eight; or whether it returns to health to become a strong and vital player in the Australian Game.
What better opportunity, however, to reflect on history, and on the amazing examples of success and its transience. Perhaps there is no better example than that of Sophocles. Indeed Sophocles is remembered as the most awarded playwright in the dramatic competitions of Athens during the festivals of Lenaea and the Dionysia. Sophocles shot to fame when he took first prize in the Dionysia theatre competition over the reigning master of Athenian tragedy, Aeschylus.
It is well known that Sophocles was a great tragedian whose success endured for a long period of time. Sure you might say Sophocles was a dirty old erastês, or in today’s parlance, a pederast, but he was one of the greatest playwrights of the Ancient world. Aristotle counted Sophocles’ Oedipus the King as the highest achievement in tragedy.
What is not well know about the famous tragedian is that for a time he was considered a bit of a joke among his fellow Athenians, particularly when he turned his hand to another genre, comedy, experimented with dithyramb, and began focusing on the comic, but often banal daily lives of fellow citizens. Given such an extraordinary display of hubris, it is not surprising that commentators at the time, Aristophanes being among the most vocal, began to question Sophocles’ sanity. “Sophocles has clearly lost his marbles!” Aristophanes exclaimed when Sophocles turned up to the Tuesday evening “Marble Madness” round robin competition empty-handed.
How did Sophocles turn it around? He had already introduced the third actor! What other innovations could the master muster? He went back to the drawing board. He introduced skenographia to liven up the set. Further innovations in dramatic structure and character development soon followed. More phallic props were incorporated into the play than ever before.
It was not long before Sophocles was back on top, with foreign rulers inviting him to attend their courts (although he was too proud to accept such extravagances).
It is difficult to imagine a world without Sophocles. No one person has had more influence on the course of history with such profundity and such acuity than that of Sophocles.
No doubt the Richmond Football Club will have Sophocles in mind when it appoints a new coach and sets out its new strategic direction in the coming months.
The Richmond Football Club’s fortunes over the past quarter of a century are not without precedent. History provides a litany of examples of periods of enduring success for individuals, groups or institutions followed by periods of abject failure. In many cases there is a full recovery and in some there isn’t.
When it comes to Richmond it is not entirely inappropriate to apply the word crisis to its current situation. The meaning of the word “crisis” comes from medicine and refers to the point in the course of disease when the patient either descends to death or returns to health. The Richmond Football Club has seemingly reached this point and what it does in the coming months will determine whether it descends to virtual death, destined to linger on the bottom of the ladder, occasionally getting within a whisker of the final eight; or whether it returns to health to become a strong and vital player in the Australian Game.
What better opportunity, however, to reflect on history, and on the amazing examples of success and its transience. Perhaps there is no better example than that of Sophocles. Indeed Sophocles is remembered as the most awarded playwright in the dramatic competitions of Athens during the festivals of Lenaea and the Dionysia. Sophocles shot to fame when he took first prize in the Dionysia theatre competition over the reigning master of Athenian tragedy, Aeschylus.
It is well known that Sophocles was a great tragedian whose success endured for a long period of time. Sure you might say Sophocles was a dirty old erastês, or in today’s parlance, a pederast, but he was one of the greatest playwrights of the Ancient world. Aristotle counted Sophocles’ Oedipus the King as the highest achievement in tragedy.
What is not well know about the famous tragedian is that for a time he was considered a bit of a joke among his fellow Athenians, particularly when he turned his hand to another genre, comedy, experimented with dithyramb, and began focusing on the comic, but often banal daily lives of fellow citizens. Given such an extraordinary display of hubris, it is not surprising that commentators at the time, Aristophanes being among the most vocal, began to question Sophocles’ sanity. “Sophocles has clearly lost his marbles!” Aristophanes exclaimed when Sophocles turned up to the Tuesday evening “Marble Madness” round robin competition empty-handed.
How did Sophocles turn it around? He had already introduced the third actor! What other innovations could the master muster? He went back to the drawing board. He introduced skenographia to liven up the set. Further innovations in dramatic structure and character development soon followed. More phallic props were incorporated into the play than ever before.
It was not long before Sophocles was back on top, with foreign rulers inviting him to attend their courts (although he was too proud to accept such extravagances).
It is difficult to imagine a world without Sophocles. No one person has had more influence on the course of history with such profundity and such acuity than that of Sophocles.
No doubt the Richmond Football Club will have Sophocles in mind when it appoints a new coach and sets out its new strategic direction in the coming months.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Brian Taylor's Pourquoi to the Moon on the Stripes of a Tiger
By Arc Convenor of Mythology and Ancient Wisdom, Seamus Neustead
Just how did the tiger get its stripes? As legend tells it, in the beginning of the Jungle and long before Man (and Woman), all of the Jungle walked together as one, having no fear of one another. There was no drought, but instead a cornucopia and that which was eaten was nothing at all except for leaves and flower, and grass, fruit and bark. The Law of the Jungle was Tha, First of the Elephants. He shaped the Jungle with his trunk and tusks and feet.
However, so the story goes, this was not to last. Presently, disputes over food and then laziness emerged, and each wanted to eat where she lay. At this time Tha, First of the Elephants, was off making new Jungles, and lacking omnipresence he made the First of the Tigers the master and judge of the Jungle in his stead. The Tiger was large and beautiful in colour, and at the time when the Jungle was new, bared no stripe. In matters of dispute, all the Jungle People came to the Tiger without fear or favour, and his word was the Law.
One night there was a dispute between two bucks that was brought before the Tiger who lay amongst the flowers. During the proceedings one of the bucks happened to push the First of the Tigers with his horns, raising the ire of the judge, whereupon the latter, forgetting his solemn position, leapt upon the buck, breaking his neck.
Nobody had died in the Jungle prior to that event and the Tiger, seeing what he had done, absconded to the North to hide in the marshes. The Jungle People, left without judge or master, fell to fighting among themselves. Tha returned to find the young buck dead and enquired as to his assassin. Yielding no answer, he ordered that the trees that hang low, as well as the creepers were to mark the killer of the buck so that the Jungle should know him. Death had been brought into the Jungle.
The Grey Ape was to be next master and judge of the Jungle but he brought only senseless words and foolish talk as he mocked others from high in the trees. Once again Tha returned to discover that there was no Law but this time there was Shame. Tha declared it time for there to be Law that none shall break and that the Jungle People would know Fear. The Jungle People, having not known Fear, were of a mind to question its existence. Tha urged them to seek it.
The buffaloes went out looking and returned to announce that they had found Fear and it was in a cave. The Jungle People went to the cave and discovered there a Thing as described by the buffaloes. His cry filled them with Fear and when they returned to the Jungle they did not lay as one people but went off in tribes, pig with pig, deer with deer, horn to horn, hoof to hoof and so on and so forth.
When word had got to the First of the Tigers, still hiding in the marshes, of the Thing in the cave, he proudly declared that he would go to this Thing and break its neck. The Tiger ran all night to get to the cave but the trees and creepers let down their branches and marked him as he ran, along his back, his flank, his forehead and jowl. Wherever they touched him there was a mark and stripe against his yellow hide. When he came to the cave, the Thing, Fear, put out his hand and named him “the Striped One that comes by night” and the Tiger was afraid and ran away howling.
And that is how the tiger came to get his stripes. A similar story is told to explain how the Richmond Tigers came to be the least successful club of the last quarter of a century. Commentator and former Richmond player Brian Taylor, has repeatedly this year sought to explain Richmond’s woes as a result of poor culture. This culture, he claims, somehow became engrained in the club soon after the 1982 Grand Final loss to Carlton, and has been passed on from player to player through the generations. However, Taylor’s claim amounts to nothing more than an unverifiable and unfalsifiable narrative explanation for the poor on-field results of Richmond. Just as the whale has a tiny throat because a swallowed mariner tied a raft in there to block the whale from swallowing others, the once mighty football club has a lack of success because it fosters mediocrity and lacks a winning culture. Try and spot the more fanciful story. It may be harder than you think.
The Arc of Infinity does not think that this kind of explanation is helpful in trying to restore the Richmond Football Club to the great heights that it had once reached. This kind of explanation gets in the way of identifying real opportunities to overcome the lack of on-field success and implementing real plans and practices that will lead to success.
If Brian Taylor is to be taken seriously, the Richmond Tigers may as well simply ask Tha to restore its power as master and judge of the Jungle.
Just how did the tiger get its stripes? As legend tells it, in the beginning of the Jungle and long before Man (and Woman), all of the Jungle walked together as one, having no fear of one another. There was no drought, but instead a cornucopia and that which was eaten was nothing at all except for leaves and flower, and grass, fruit and bark. The Law of the Jungle was Tha, First of the Elephants. He shaped the Jungle with his trunk and tusks and feet.
However, so the story goes, this was not to last. Presently, disputes over food and then laziness emerged, and each wanted to eat where she lay. At this time Tha, First of the Elephants, was off making new Jungles, and lacking omnipresence he made the First of the Tigers the master and judge of the Jungle in his stead. The Tiger was large and beautiful in colour, and at the time when the Jungle was new, bared no stripe. In matters of dispute, all the Jungle People came to the Tiger without fear or favour, and his word was the Law.
One night there was a dispute between two bucks that was brought before the Tiger who lay amongst the flowers. During the proceedings one of the bucks happened to push the First of the Tigers with his horns, raising the ire of the judge, whereupon the latter, forgetting his solemn position, leapt upon the buck, breaking his neck.
Nobody had died in the Jungle prior to that event and the Tiger, seeing what he had done, absconded to the North to hide in the marshes. The Jungle People, left without judge or master, fell to fighting among themselves. Tha returned to find the young buck dead and enquired as to his assassin. Yielding no answer, he ordered that the trees that hang low, as well as the creepers were to mark the killer of the buck so that the Jungle should know him. Death had been brought into the Jungle.
The Grey Ape was to be next master and judge of the Jungle but he brought only senseless words and foolish talk as he mocked others from high in the trees. Once again Tha returned to discover that there was no Law but this time there was Shame. Tha declared it time for there to be Law that none shall break and that the Jungle People would know Fear. The Jungle People, having not known Fear, were of a mind to question its existence. Tha urged them to seek it.
The buffaloes went out looking and returned to announce that they had found Fear and it was in a cave. The Jungle People went to the cave and discovered there a Thing as described by the buffaloes. His cry filled them with Fear and when they returned to the Jungle they did not lay as one people but went off in tribes, pig with pig, deer with deer, horn to horn, hoof to hoof and so on and so forth.
When word had got to the First of the Tigers, still hiding in the marshes, of the Thing in the cave, he proudly declared that he would go to this Thing and break its neck. The Tiger ran all night to get to the cave but the trees and creepers let down their branches and marked him as he ran, along his back, his flank, his forehead and jowl. Wherever they touched him there was a mark and stripe against his yellow hide. When he came to the cave, the Thing, Fear, put out his hand and named him “the Striped One that comes by night” and the Tiger was afraid and ran away howling.
And that is how the tiger came to get his stripes. A similar story is told to explain how the Richmond Tigers came to be the least successful club of the last quarter of a century. Commentator and former Richmond player Brian Taylor, has repeatedly this year sought to explain Richmond’s woes as a result of poor culture. This culture, he claims, somehow became engrained in the club soon after the 1982 Grand Final loss to Carlton, and has been passed on from player to player through the generations. However, Taylor’s claim amounts to nothing more than an unverifiable and unfalsifiable narrative explanation for the poor on-field results of Richmond. Just as the whale has a tiny throat because a swallowed mariner tied a raft in there to block the whale from swallowing others, the once mighty football club has a lack of success because it fosters mediocrity and lacks a winning culture. Try and spot the more fanciful story. It may be harder than you think.
The Arc of Infinity does not think that this kind of explanation is helpful in trying to restore the Richmond Football Club to the great heights that it had once reached. This kind of explanation gets in the way of identifying real opportunities to overcome the lack of on-field success and implementing real plans and practices that will lead to success.
If Brian Taylor is to be taken seriously, the Richmond Tigers may as well simply ask Tha to restore its power as master and judge of the Jungle.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Nazism Marches on with Demetriou and Co
By Herschel Finklestein Arc Minister for Outing Nazis
Yet again more details emerge of the totalitarian nature of the AFL.
This time the whistle has been well and truly blown by one of the games greats; a man who was on the inside doing his best to maintain the traditions of the Australian Game through his work as a Hall of Fame selector.
Former Richmond great and Hall of Fame Living Legend Kevin 'Hungry' Bartlett quit as a selector for the Hall of Fame amid claims of heavy handed interference on the part of the fascist AFL Commission.
Bartlett is just the latest in a string of selectors who have quit underneath the weight of an oppressive regime that rule the game with an arrogance and bad case of constipation.
Hungry blew the lid on the Commission and the way it interfered in the process of selection of Hall of Fame members when he quit earlier this week. Bartlett spoke of how the Demetriou Junta basically told the panel of selectors who they wanted in the hall of fame and when they wanted them, making a mockery of the selection sub-committee and its function.
Of course this is nothing new. We are all aware how long it took for God to be inducted into the hall of fame. The reason for Gary Ablett not being inducted sooner was because of the interference of the Nazis at the Commission who would not have him inducted because of its of moral outrage and the damage his induction may have done to the image of the corrupt organisation or its 'brand'. Get rooted.
We can only but wonder how long the fascist spank-wads of the AFL will veto the entry of one of the Australian Games greatest centre half-forwards, Wayne 'The Duck' Carey, into the hall of fame.
The Arc encourages all the selectors of the Hall of Fame to quit in protest at the tyranny of the AFL and it's jackbooting ways.
The AFL says 'Jawohl!'
The Arc says ' Nein Danke Fascists!'
Tasty entree generates saliva
By Special Guest writer Gary Lyon as told to Arc Deputy Minister of Ghost Writing Foxy Malmsteen 
Nothing improves the enjoyment and satisfaction of a great meal like a tasty entree. And as the waiter approaches us with the steaming main meal of the 2009 AFL grand final it's a perfect time to reflect on the succulent starter that currently sits partially liquified in a congealed mass at the bottom of our stomachs, preparing to enter our intestines.
The epic Saints Cats clash was the prawn cocktail to the final weekend in September's rump steak - smaller and less filling by comparison - yet a vital part in the overall dining experience of the season as a whole. Sure it's a little pricey for what you get - but quality seafood does come at a price premium and it's certainly not going to bother me with the coin I'm on.
This finger licking entree swiftly eradicated memories of the North v Essendon clash earlier in the year which was akin to burnt piece of garlic bread that due to a rookie error by some young inexperienced apprentice in the kitchen - had been marinated in vinegar and rats piss. It was difficult to endure and certainly not the sort of thing a serious gourmet would be recommending to colleagues.
Why did you even need the garlic bread at all when you knew the exquisite entree would be served shortly thereafter? Christ it's like you've never been fed before! I have serious doubts as to whether you even belong in this AFL season as Restaurant metaphor at all. In fact I'm surprised you didn't just retrieve the half eaten Yeeros from the bin outside and scoff it down without chewing - and of course by that I mean buying a Melbourne membership.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Papa Rellena is still just a stuffed spud.
By Arc Fine Food Critic - Cooky Pudding
We at the Arc often wonder what it would be like to be embarrassed of the captain of your football club. How it would feel to know that the entire football world is laughing at your club because of the choice of your captain. Knowing they’re laughing because your captain is nothing more than a big three course meal of spud.
Of course I’m talking about the Collingwood Football Club and their choice of Nick Maxwell as captain. Surely it is with utter shame and a sense of complete embarrassment that fans of this powerful and traditional club hang their heads at the mere mention of his name. That his name is up there with greats like Nathan Buckley, Lou Richards, Des Tuddenham, Syd Coventry and Tony Shaw (we’re being generous Tony) must surely rankle even the most one-eyed, one toothed, parolee.
The Arc is at a complete loss as to the reasoning behind this decision. What is it about this generous helping of mash that makes him captain material? There is nothing, nothing about Nick Maxwell that would compel the Arc to name him captain of a garbage scow let alone the captain of a powerful football club like Collingwood.
Mr chips runs around the back half of the ground without an opponent game after game collecting cheap and junkinsh touches. On the very odd ocassion when he does get an opponent it is rarely the best forward. Game after game he tries to impose himself as some kind of hard man by beating up on players half his size or young kids playing their first year of football. And have you ever seen him kick for goal? He makes Travis Cloke look like Matthew Lloyd.
I guess this is hardly suprising with a list full of spuds. How is it that Josh Fraser gets the plaudits that he does? For a number one draft pick Josh Fraser is a plate of chips with a side of roast potatos. A flat track bully at best, he performs well against little opposition and splatters like a lump of shit when confronted with some pressure or a half decent opponent.
Travis Cloke, is there any worse set shot in the game? "Hello Miss Shopkeeper, I'd like a giant fuck off packet of Salt & Vinegar chips thanks." He's had two reasonable games; one against a fucking hapless Fremantle and the other against a less than impressive Essendon outfit. He cannot kick goals. And have you heard him speak? He sounds like a bender with a speech impediment who is about to cry.
The fickle media fall all over these players and praise them for something they are defintely not.
Papa Rellena is still just a stuffed spud.
And so it goes.
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