Monthly Archives: February 2013

You cannot be cirrus!



Our Man in Panama!

James Evangelo Nitties, take a bow. A 5-under 65 on day 1 of the first tournament in the feeder Web Tour, in Panama of all places, is not to be sneezed at.

The General Pattern likes Nitties. He’s from Newcastle. Is a bit of a rogue. Dresses like a human, not a golfer. Takes the piss out of himself on reality TV, and real TV. Has heaps of talent, but is prone to brain explosions. Perhaps we see some of ourselves in the Nitties of the world, rather than the automatons and religious freaks that dominate US golf?

After all, this is a guy who blows a surefire US Tour Card by sleeping in. Medicated – legally – for the ‘flu. He wasted a whole year last year, missing cuts, racking up his signature double bogeys but also chucking in triples and quads, and The General Pattern was about to leave the fanclub… and then we read that he was grieving for the dad he had just lost. So we loved him even more. I mean, imagine yourself, scrounging around for $5000 paycheques in scungy US second-tier towns, with 150 other hopeful sharks and yesterday’s men, the whole time burning inside because you miss your dad. The golf flame must really burn in these young men and women, to suffer that week after week.

There’s a (small) movie in it.

Anyway, Nitties came back to Australia over the summer and finally found some form. Who knows, finally he found some peace? We didn’t read anything about him, unlike the personal tragedies of the Allenbies and Applebies of the past, or the golfing grief of British Open butterfingers Adam Scott – and who can blame the media, there are hundreds of Nitties out there, all desperate for a crack. The bottom reaches of the tennis tour must be the same, satellite tournaments and begging for wildcards. Agassi’s autobiography gives a splendid picture of this “life”.

This time of year, I welcome the onset of autumn, with it’s cooler nights and bluer skies, the return of football to Australia, the lure of a winter ahead, especially one with an Ashes series. And it’s the US Masters Golf, held 11-14 April this year, that heralds its arrival. I give praise. And this year, and every year, I take pause, and remember the 500 or so hard-working golfers that aren’t quite good enough for Augusta. Better than your club Pro, able to shoot a 60, but just not quite good enough. A missed putt here and a duffed chip there. In Nitties’ case, pars that become bogeys, and bogeys that become killer doubles. If only…

They’ll play the Louisiana Open for $500K total before the Masters. And then they’ll be in Midland, Texas, for a $600K purse, on Masters weekend, and lightning could kill the lot of them and the world would not avert its gaze from Augusta. Some of them will fly to Sao Paulo for the Brazil Open in between. Meanwhile, the Masters winner will pocket around $1.5M.

That’s as it should be.

Still, I’ll take pause during the Masters, even during that glorious Monday morning prime time back 9, the single greatest 2 hours of the year, every year, and check how Nitties and the rest are going in Texas.

They are the VFL footballer, who plays for Coburg for 10 years and is never quite good enough for the AFL. They are the cricketers who fill in at Sheffield Shield or County level when the test stars are unavailable. The footsoldiers of the lower football divisions in England.

To me, they are heroes. Some day, some of them will graduate to the big tour, and be famous for a day. Or two.

In the meantime, they remain the sporting world’s tired, its poor, its huddled masses. LIberty’s wretched refuse of teeming shores.

You can follow the Web Tour at:

My Bloody Eardrums

My Bloody Valentine at the Enmore Theatre, 18 Feb 2013.

Verbatim I-phone note, with setlist courtesy of


Enmore Road. Rainbow. Omen? 20 + years since Phoenician club.

20 kilos and grey hair, kids and mortgages. Swimmer’s ear.

So young. Keating about to be PM and Warne just about to debut.

A gig that continues to divide people. Some if us loved it! Most hated it. And have long memories…

Grunge was just around the corner anyway. As was PJ Harvey

Say no to nostalgia? Some worth the wait.  Chills were not.  Anyway, almost Valentines Day and there are small bars on Enmore Rd, the kids sleep. Onwards!

Fuck! Free earplugs at the door. You have been warned.

I only said.

When you sleep. Earplugs let you hear the great rock song under the noise

New You. Unknown – nice lights. Harmonies comprised of honey and mud. I get the name, now.

You never should. Fast and furious. Big kick in the middle. Crowd not really moving. Big fat distorted riff and sweet vocals by Bilinda. Coda.

Cigarette in your bed. Brilliant red lights. Acoustic. Slow and soft. Off EP. Huge harmony. Big guitar. Then soft again. Speed up near the end. Military drum.

Come in alone. Intro like an elk on heat. Slower than album. Drums almost funeral march. Like Mazzy Star record left in the sun. Heads starting to bob Ears starting to throb

Only Shallow. Loveless opener.  Beginning to remember why it was such a great song. Feel it in my pancreas. Ripping me a vulva with the kickdrum and bass. Hensonesque video backdrop. They are not distorted. It’s the rest of the world. Deep in your body you know this rhythm. Peristalsis. Crowd up and at ’em

Battery low :(. Shut up and watch


Much louder upstairs. Savage. Like the loud Singapore 767 that haunts my evenings.

Nothing much to lose. Except my hearing.

To here knows when. Dirge. With butterflies. Repetitive but intensely complex. Sort of Bach with bite.

Soon. Bumping into old friends and colleagues. Cancer. Survivor. Celebrate. Good version but can’t match the record.

Feed me with your kiss. Yes please.

Some complaints about the vocals. What vocals!?

You made me realise. Smackdown. Then meteor explodes inside the Enmore. People run for cover. Hailstorm inside your house. A tonal tsunami. Tarantino geysers of blood from ears. Just keeps coming, sound rolled around with debris and cars and mud and fish and Lucy. After about 4 minutes of white noise even I’m starting to grumble. Paid $100 to be whipped when can get it for free. On freecycle. 8 minutes. Have to wait now. The payoff must be incredible. 12 minutes. Done. Run. Yes no maybe no yes yes YES!

Not as good as 91. Neither am I, Warney or Keating. Mbv arguably aging the best.

Walking home. Jupiter almost inside the moon. Sums it up. Astral collision. Optical illusion. Once in a lifetime. Second time lucky.



Blueberries. Via Blackberry.

The Born Ascendancy

Off the top of my head:

  • Born Free
  • Born Under a Bad Sign
  • Born on the Bayou
  • Born to be Wild
  • Born to Run
  • Born to be Alive
  • Born In the USA
  • Born Sandy Devotional

Feel free to add more. Without looking, preferably.


1955 – Rock Around the Clock (Haley and the Comets – more meteor zeitgeist)

1964 – Rock and Roll Music – (Beatles version)

1974 – It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It)

1982 – I Love Rock and Roll (Joan Jett version)

1990/1 – ?

Row row

Row row row your boat

Up to the shiny moon

If you start in March

You might get there by June

(inspired by 3 celestial marvels – the asteroid, the Russian meteor, and Black Caviar)