Be back in ten days. As if anyone gives a damn.
Monday, 18 August 2008
Sunday, 17 August 2008
In Condemnation of Lee Chong Wei
To be fair, he did get a silver and countless other apologists will point out that it was a home court, with nearly the whole of the billion-odd Chinese fans there, and blablabla... Damn all that glass-full poppycock. This blog is the Three O'clock Truncheon, not the Eight O'clock Butthurt.
My main beef with him is that he had no spirit. His heart wasn't in the game. I wouldn't have been this vitriolic even if he was a three-foot tall midget with no fingers if I could see him sweat it out like some crazed terrier chomping and biting till it could bite no more. I would cheer for a fat marathon runner dragging himself across the finish line on his elbows and knees, even if he was dead last. I would even cheer for Barney going up against a real T-rex, but I won't cheer for someone who surrenders his dreams just because people were not yelling his name.
We can criticise our sportsmen, and sportswomen, for being unfit. We don't care whether our football team gets depressed before an important game because the coach keeps on serving them Horlicks instead of Milo. Whenever our abysmal football team plays ball like an unexperienced prostitute, we readily lay on them the wrath and disappointment that comes even without surprise. They play like air-headed bimbos, we beat them like red-headed stepchildren.
We do it all the time. If I play rugby like someone with two vaginas, sure as hell someone will give me a piece of his mind. If I retort that I didn't play that game well because I was sad my cat bit my scrotum that morning, I'm pretty sure that's not an explanation: it's an excuse. An excuse for me not giving 100%. It doesn't matter if LCW had his head caved in by the hooting Chinese mobs, its his performance that matters. If he's not giving 100% at the most prestigious event in the world, then anything else is an excuse.
Besides, Indonesia and Korea had no problem getting their golds. China must've forgotten to empty out her factories when they played, maybe.
Being a sportsman is not just about having the bigger biceps or the speedier feet. The Olympics isn't some freakshow showcasing the Man Who Swims With Fishes or the Strongest Man on Earth, its a presentation of the human spirit. That chap with his elbow splayed out in the weightlifting had a heart stronger than what his body could cope. THAT is a sportsman.
Would I be up to the task if I were in his shoes? Probably not, but then again I'm not a sportsman. I don't train everyday to do what I needed to do. Actually, come to think of it, yes I do train everyday to do just that. I call it work. You lot do it too.
If you are to present an important deal on behalf of thousands of your colleagues and you psyche out at the end, then you've quite fail to do what you're supposed to do. You've let quite a lot of them down. They trusted you with their hopes, and to lose out not from a fair fight drawn out through a long battle, having you sell each inch dearly, but from a weak will, then it's a damn right for quite a few of us to be quite upset.
My main beef with him is that he had no spirit. His heart wasn't in the game. I wouldn't have been this vitriolic even if he was a three-foot tall midget with no fingers if I could see him sweat it out like some crazed terrier chomping and biting till it could bite no more. I would cheer for a fat marathon runner dragging himself across the finish line on his elbows and knees, even if he was dead last. I would even cheer for Barney going up against a real T-rex, but I won't cheer for someone who surrenders his dreams just because people were not yelling his name.
We can criticise our sportsmen, and sportswomen, for being unfit. We don't care whether our football team gets depressed before an important game because the coach keeps on serving them Horlicks instead of Milo. Whenever our abysmal football team plays ball like an unexperienced prostitute, we readily lay on them the wrath and disappointment that comes even without surprise. They play like air-headed bimbos, we beat them like red-headed stepchildren.
We do it all the time. If I play rugby like someone with two vaginas, sure as hell someone will give me a piece of his mind. If I retort that I didn't play that game well because I was sad my cat bit my scrotum that morning, I'm pretty sure that's not an explanation: it's an excuse. An excuse for me not giving 100%. It doesn't matter if LCW had his head caved in by the hooting Chinese mobs, its his performance that matters. If he's not giving 100% at the most prestigious event in the world, then anything else is an excuse.
Besides, Indonesia and Korea had no problem getting their golds. China must've forgotten to empty out her factories when they played, maybe.
Being a sportsman is not just about having the bigger biceps or the speedier feet. The Olympics isn't some freakshow showcasing the Man Who Swims With Fishes or the Strongest Man on Earth, its a presentation of the human spirit. That chap with his elbow splayed out in the weightlifting had a heart stronger than what his body could cope. THAT is a sportsman.
Would I be up to the task if I were in his shoes? Probably not, but then again I'm not a sportsman. I don't train everyday to do what I needed to do. Actually, come to think of it, yes I do train everyday to do just that. I call it work. You lot do it too.
If you are to present an important deal on behalf of thousands of your colleagues and you psyche out at the end, then you've quite fail to do what you're supposed to do. You've let quite a lot of them down. They trusted you with their hopes, and to lose out not from a fair fight drawn out through a long battle, having you sell each inch dearly, but from a weak will, then it's a damn right for quite a few of us to be quite upset.
Friday, 15 August 2008
My Camera, My Computer, My Gym, and FHM
After a long neglect, and a request from die-hard fan Mahirah, a new blog entry's a-coming. Yeehaw.
1. Camera Dieded
It IS the summer holidays, so a little bit of lazy-assery is quite expected. In any case me old camera died so no pictures anytime soon. It was a brick of a camera which doesn't go so well with my habit of stuffing it down my jeans (in the pockets, mind you) so the screen ended up so warped that if I had a book of Egyptian hieroglyphs, I could build my own Stargate.
2. Old Laptop Resurrected, Then Dieded Again
The old laptop had a minor resurrection the other day. Dunno much about computers but they say probably that the engine in it got overheated due to the fan not working well enough thanks to the fact that the insides' a mini dust bunny petting zoo.
Shoving a small fan under its arse lends me some minutes to extract many of the pictures already in it, totally not helped by the computer screen which like the camera, is also warped. You kinda need to put your thumb on a certain point at the top of the screen and put pressure on it to de-warp the damn thing so you can see enough to use the pinky of your other hand to move the touchpad around. After a while, the thing will warp back irregardless of your digit being there and you'd have to wrestle the bugger for a bit before trying to find the sweet spot to thumb again. I'd rate the experience just about as enjoyable as fingering an unwilling she-bear.
After trying vainly to pleasure the beast for the gigs of mp3s in there, I quite characteristically insulted the fidelity of its mother and bought myself a new one. A new laptop, I mean, not a new bear.
3. The Gym That I Go To
If you're looking for hot girls at the gym, best give the KLCC Twin Tower Fitness Club a wide berth. The place is nice and all, and the activities there are alright (picked up aikido on Fridays) but most of the fellas there are Petronas engineers who work there and who are like 30plus. The girl at the counter, Ira, is cute though.
From time to time, I treat it like a convenient shower place. After doing the shopping at Suria KLCC, I just pop down there and take a sauna. Beats jumping into the kiddie pool by the recreation lake outside. Getting arrested for suspected pedophilia will probably not be good on the CV.
4. The FHM World's Most Wanted Women 2008 Party
Being a regular reader of FHM, I got this invite to the FHM party at The Loft. Thought I'd drop in, see what's the fuss about. Too bad no one else I know buys FHM, so that meant I was gonna wing it alone that night.
The place was quite cozy, after a pint and a cigar, I joined in a group of guys who turned out to be the rowdiest there. Excellent stuff. Girls were hot (what few there were, the early part being a total sausage fest) drinks were pricey, and after midnight it was pretty jumping.
And if on the off-chance you're that cute, funny VI-hating psychologist girl (Evelyn? Ee Ling?), I'd quite consider selling a 99-year lease on my soul for her to call me or something. Damn I was a total faggot for forgetting to ask her number. Damn damn damn.
1. Camera Dieded
It IS the summer holidays, so a little bit of lazy-assery is quite expected. In any case me old camera died so no pictures anytime soon. It was a brick of a camera which doesn't go so well with my habit of stuffing it down my jeans (in the pockets, mind you) so the screen ended up so warped that if I had a book of Egyptian hieroglyphs, I could build my own Stargate.
2. Old Laptop Resurrected, Then Dieded Again
The old laptop had a minor resurrection the other day. Dunno much about computers but they say probably that the engine in it got overheated due to the fan not working well enough thanks to the fact that the insides' a mini dust bunny petting zoo.
Shoving a small fan under its arse lends me some minutes to extract many of the pictures already in it, totally not helped by the computer screen which like the camera, is also warped. You kinda need to put your thumb on a certain point at the top of the screen and put pressure on it to de-warp the damn thing so you can see enough to use the pinky of your other hand to move the touchpad around. After a while, the thing will warp back irregardless of your digit being there and you'd have to wrestle the bugger for a bit before trying to find the sweet spot to thumb again. I'd rate the experience just about as enjoyable as fingering an unwilling she-bear.
After trying vainly to pleasure the beast for the gigs of mp3s in there, I quite characteristically insulted the fidelity of its mother and bought myself a new one. A new laptop, I mean, not a new bear.
3. The Gym That I Go To
If you're looking for hot girls at the gym, best give the KLCC Twin Tower Fitness Club a wide berth. The place is nice and all, and the activities there are alright (picked up aikido on Fridays) but most of the fellas there are Petronas engineers who work there and who are like 30plus. The girl at the counter, Ira, is cute though.
From time to time, I treat it like a convenient shower place. After doing the shopping at Suria KLCC, I just pop down there and take a sauna. Beats jumping into the kiddie pool by the recreation lake outside. Getting arrested for suspected pedophilia will probably not be good on the CV.
4. The FHM World's Most Wanted Women 2008 Party
Being a regular reader of FHM, I got this invite to the FHM party at The Loft. Thought I'd drop in, see what's the fuss about. Too bad no one else I know buys FHM, so that meant I was gonna wing it alone that night.
The place was quite cozy, after a pint and a cigar, I joined in a group of guys who turned out to be the rowdiest there. Excellent stuff. Girls were hot (what few there were, the early part being a total sausage fest) drinks were pricey, and after midnight it was pretty jumping.
And if on the off-chance you're that cute, funny VI-hating psychologist girl (Evelyn? Ee Ling?), I'd quite consider selling a 99-year lease on my soul for her to call me or something. Damn I was a total faggot for forgetting to ask her number. Damn damn damn.
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