All posts by Princess Sparkle

Matty Johns Footy Legend

Published 20 May 2008

THE saddest thing is that I wasn’t surprised. No, scratch that. The saddest thing is that none of us were surprised that we weren’t surprised. Most of us didn’t even think about it. We just trotted out our knee-jerk reactions, tut-tutted, finger-pointed, rolled our eyes and went on with our business.

Soon another incident will surface that we won’t even bother to file under “scandal” due to the frequency of these episodes. A scandal, after all, is something that shocks us.

Like everyone I’d got a whiff of a bunch of footy maggots and a young girl in a hotel room. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t take much notice. Sexual abuse and football? What next? Horse racing and cruelty? Yawn.

At the urging of many, I watched it all. The Four Corners report on rugby league’s sick pathology relating to sex, women and alcohol. The Footy Show’s pre-emptive strike aired a few days before Four Corners, in which rugby league legend Matthew Johns (who was named in the ABC report) fessed up and apologised – to his wife and family – and was then patted on the back with a “Well said, mate”, from Fatty Vautin. Tracey Grimshaw’s searing interview with Johns.

And, finally, I watched Johns’ colleague Phil Gould on The Footy Show a few days after the Grimshaw interview. Gould spoke of this being “the sledgehammer the game deserves” after “so many wake-up calls yet no one wakes up”. Gould then went on to lavish praise on the courage of Johns and his wife, Trish, for allowing themselves to be interviewed, almost ignoring the plight of the victim. When it finished, I felt as if I had swum through a lake of shit.

And let me answer that next question before you ask it. No, we haven’t heard enough about the football-pack-sex broken-young-girl business.

Our society is in denial about the massive and destructive impact jock culture has on the broader culture. American writer Robert Lipsyte defines jock culture as “the values of the arena and the locker room (which) have been imposed on our national life”. Lipsyte identifies the jock’s sense of entitlement and the belief he is beyond the law, a consequence of “blind adulation from fans, coaches and the media”. He goes on to say that “jocks who subscribe to its values feel the constant necessity to prove their manhood, and the best way to do this is by having sex with a woman”.

Clearly, many jocks feel that the best way to bond as a team is to all have sex with the same woman.

It’s time we admitted and discussed this reality and found ways to promote a healthier attitude in football towards gender and sexuality. No number of footballers running through paper banners or sitting in open-top cars in parades with their children is making any difference. Nor is any number of highly skilled and informed, yet ultimately token, women on footy shows or on boards of football clubs.

The now-even-greyer territory between power, responsibility, consent and vulnerability in sex needs to be negotiated. “No means no” suggests the question is simply one of yes or no, and that’s a simplistic reaction to a complex question. Women’s more assertive and comfortable attitude towards sex, combined with the impact of raunch culture, which has diminished the taboo and increased the accessibility of the sex industry, means it’s time for a rethink.

Equally, the days when it was socially accepted that women were the gatekeepers of males’ supposedly rampant and uncontrollable sexuality are, or should be, long gone. “Don’t walk round in your nightie when Uncle Brian’s here” – the subtext being that he can’t control himself and nor is it his responsibility to do so – is just not good enough. Never was.

The nasty collision of hormones, egos, psyches and alcohol aired in this incident suggests to me that we need public awareness programs and perhaps a manual. God knows men love a manual. The Rudd Government’s recent commitment of $42 million for “respectful relationships” training in schools is a start. Not a great start, but a start.

It also suggests we need to rewrite the rules. The rules that the girl involved “broke” by speaking out. The rules that had the blokes involved apologising – not for what they did, but for being sprung.

These blokes are used to rules; they play by them on the field all the time. But they clearly need a new set to govern their off-the-field behaviour. Rules that need to be enforced by shame. Their shame, not hers.

They may or may not have committed rape as the law understands it, but what they did amounts to spiritual rape. And for that they should be held truly accountable.

 

 

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Tracy Grirmshaw vs. Matty Johns

Published 23 May 2008

The most stunning television I’ve seen for a very long time was on Channel Nine last week. You can’t handle the truth?  Mate, I can’t handle the truth.

If you haven’t watched Grimshaw’s interview with ‘rugby league superstar” and ‘television personality’ Matthew Johns don’t walk but run to watch it online.  Grimshaw should win a Walkley or possibly the Nobel Prize For Calling A Spade A Rapist. This interview should be on the syllabus of every school.

Seven years ago Matthew Johns and a bunch of his teammates had sex with a 19-year-old girl. Four Corners did a story on the epidemic of group sex involving football teams and interviewed the girl who named Johns.  A Current Affair followed up with one of the most harrowing interviews I’ve ever seen.  I sobbed.  For the victim, the state of football and the mess many of our menfolk are in and that the rest of us are enabling.

Johns repeated the terms “willing participant” “the hurt and embarrassment caused to my wife and family” and used the word “unsavory” to describe what was clearly a spiritual gang rape without showing an iota of compassion to the victim. Grimshaw dismantled the familiar rhetoric with precision that left me breathless. After explaining he’d left the room at one point and then returned to check, “everything was okay” Grimshaw replied, “You see Matthew, most right thinking people would be thinking how could you look at that scenario and see anything was okay. She was 19 years old.  She was naked. And she was outnumbered…..Isn’t there something in your mind that said this is wrong, on every level? This is a vulnerable woman.  She wants more from this situation than we’ll ever be able to give her.”

It was this that unraveled me.

“Lets say she offered herself.  If I suggested to you the women who do that are looking to feel special for a while.  They see you all as sports Gods and they want a little bit of your fame and adulation and your specialness to rub off on them…Did it occur to you that that girl laying on the bed was somebody’s sister someone’s daughter, a girl with hopes and dreams and aspirations of her own?’

John’s wife Trish’s take was,  “His crime is infidelity to me as his wife and I am the only person who can judge him on that.” When asked, “How do you view this girl?” Trish answered, “I certainly wouldn’t like it to be my daughter.”  The look on Trish’s face seemed to say, “She’s a slut who’s stuffed up our lives, ruined my husband’s reputation and my life with it.”  When she said, “I’m glad she’s not my daughter” it may have been unclear to some but crystal to me that she didn’t mean, “because of what that poor girl went through” but “because I would be humiliated.”

I didn’t think Grimshaw had it in her to go one of the most alpha of the alpha males on Australia’s biggest embarrassment Channel Nine.  But she did.  Take a bow Tracey Grimshaw.

 

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Footy Show. Bankrupt orgy of male chauvinism

Published in The Age June 17 2007

The Footy Show is fooling no one: a misogynist in a suit is still a degrading spectacle.

I HAVE JUST WATCHED three episodes of The Footy Showand I feel like Sammy Davis jnr at a Ku Klux Klan rally, like Dannii Minogue at a Mensa convention, like George Pell in 2007.

I’m not into plants but I like Gardening Australia, I’m not into quiz shows but I like The Einstein Factor, I’m not into cars but I likeTop Gear, so not being into footy isn’t the reason that I’m repelled by this destructive, small-minded, morally bankrupt orgy of chauvinism. The Footy Show is a celebration of the very worst that television, sport, Australia and human beings can cook up. It’s offensive, toxic, corrosive, encouraging viewers to be stupid, shallow and sexist. Sit down, shut up and hang on. And ladies, bring a plate.

The Footy Show is nothing more than media-sanctioned misogyny. And so much less. Tune in and you’ll feel you’ve woken up in 1952. A man in a full body condom, men dressed as women, girls in bikinis, guys stuffing toilet paper down their jocks, dickheads, wankers and yobs. The few women that I did see were leered at, one called “a bitch” and another told to “get f—ed” (both by Sam Newman). I heard the word “sheilas” and could sense that the words “poofters”, “wogs”, “slopes” and “spastics” were just below the surface.

Is it the program, the network, the culture of Australian television, or just Newman that is so offensive? It’s all of them. But Newman really needs to be singled out for his extraordinary contribution to this tragic, puerile, adolescent show that degrades the culture of football, alienates women and teaches boys that females are slaves, trophies or bitches.

No wonder young footballers are taking drugs. How else can they reconcile this bizarre world with real life? And what’s with the suits? Some pathetic attempt to bring respectability to this sad little show? Fat chance.

Newman is vain, ugly, a megalomaniac, a bully. I can’t help feeling that deep inside he would be happy for women to have their brains removed and replaced with a bar fridge. He’s a dangerous bloke who’s paid a lot of money to defile our culture and undermine our intelligence in the most putrid of fashions. For any of you who have sat surrounded by people laughing at this maggot and found yourself thinking there is something wrong with you, there isn’t. There’s something wrong with him. And them.

The Footy Show catapults sexism into an extreme sport. Football shows don’t have to be a cross between a buck’s night and a lynching. And if you don’t believe me, watch Before the Game. It’s not as blokey, and that’s not just because there is a woman on the panel but because the blokes are not as blokey. The jokes are not as blokey. And the content is intelligent. Think Roy and HGLive and SweatyTalking Footy and The Fat. Australia has an impressive history and culture of intelligent, entertaining sports shows that put The Footy Show to shame.

 

 

Pigs In Suits. More on the Footy Show and it’s culture. Sing along if you know the words…

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Northland and Southland

Northland and Southland seemed poles apart, mainly because shoppers in the south had teeth — and shoes. GROWING up close to Northland, (regional dialect pronunciation: Norflandz) resulted in my magical childhood shopping odysseys being zoned to the Palace of Shoplifting and Festival of Mullets. Northland: No shirt? No shoes? No worries!

The arrival of the child-endowment cheque was celebrated by the collection of lay-bys from Fosseys and school holidays were marked by pantomimes with names like Carry On Up Jack’s Beanstalk or Aladdin My Pants, performed by drunken wannabe Dick Emery types whose biggest claim to fame was once meeting Bernard King. The creepy theatre queens made no attempt to hide their enjoyment of the disproportionate number of times they got the audience of children to yell “he’s behind you”.

The outing was usually topped off with a visit to Coles cafeteria, where we were treated to jelly that tasted like soap and chicken mornay that tasted like spew. Norflandians were either skinny and smoked Winfields or fat and wore sports wear. The number of fat people in runners and tracksuits on any given day meant blow-ins could easily be excused for thinking some kind of Obese Olympics was being held. Alternatively, blow-ins may have come to the conclusion that Northland was a biosphere breeding ground for Chubby Chaser eye candy — the rivalry between potential suitors being so stiff the chubbies were forced to run (hence the sports wear) to set up competition in order to find the keenest and most athletic chaser with which to mate in an attempt to diversify the gene pool and aid evolution.

Meanwhile, the skinny Norflandians were advancing natural selection by doing circle work in the car park in hotted-up panel vans while their offspring performed impact and velocity experiments using shopping trolleys against brick walls. Sure, they could have used crash-test dummies, but why use a mannequin when you could use your four-year-old half-brother who smoked Camels purchased with the money he’d just got from cashing in aluminium cans? I was also familiar with Southland, because my grandparents lived in Mentone. I mean, Parkdale. Their house was the only one in the Mentone street that was, according to them, in Parkdale, yet used Mentone’s postcode. Parkdale was posher. But the only people aware of this were the people who lived in Mentone. We had another relative who didn’t live in Northcote but in Westgarth. When people asked where Westgarth was, she’d reply: “Near Ivanhoe and Hawthorn.”

My memories of Southland are hazy, slightly nauseous and headachey, which I put down to the journey in my grandparents’ overheated Toyota Crown — tartan rug on the parcel shelf, a Thermos in the glove box and the radio stuck on 3AK, Beautiful Music. It was beautiful if you liked panpipes and Manhattan Transfer, which may explain the nausea. The trip was only a couple of kilometres, but because my grandfather — wearing his tam-o’-shanter and an RSL pin in his lapel — drove like a man wearing a tam-o’-shanter and an RSL pin in his lapel, it took 4 years each time. In comparison with Northland, Southland seemed incredibly exotic, almost like a foreign country — possibly because it had a roof garden but more than likely because most of the people had teeth. And shoes. We all have our traditional hunting grounds. Although I loathe shopping centres, there’s an alarming familiarity about Northland. A bit like an uncle you hate but you know all his jokes. For 40 years I’ve lived in our fair city, and I’ve been to almost every shopping mecca — Knifepoint (I mean Highpoint), a place in Northcote nicknamed Poxy Plaza, Doncaster Shoppingtown — but I’ve never been to Chadstone. And it’s time I did. More later.

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God Is Bullshit: The Resurrection 2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival

“Gotta love those fundamentalists.  Putting the fun and the mental back into religion…”

God Is Bullshit: The Resurrection part of the 2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival ON SALE NOW! CLICK HERE TO BUY TICKETS! The perfect Christmas gift for your favorite frothing at the mouth atheist, or hard core bible basher.

“Who was Jesus? So a long time ago there was this woman called Mary and she was a virgin.  Hang on I’ll answer questions at the end. And an angel appeared before her and told her that she was going to have a baby.  Shhhh boys, let me finish. So Mary gave birth to Jesus who was the Son of God sent to earth to die for our sins. Hey, cut it out guys this is serious.  When Jesus grew up he performed miracles, walked on water, bought people back from the dead fed a crowd of thousands with a few loaves of bread and couple of fish, turned water into wine and then he was nailed to a cross and he died. But he came back to life three days later. Actually hang on guys. This sounds like a croc of shit.’’

Due to popular demand my one-woman show God Is Bullshit is back after a sellout season in the 2010 Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Better and now with 20 percent more blasphemy. BUY TICKETS HERE.  WILL SELL OUT! April 1st-24th at Trades Hall (no performances Monday).

Strap yourself in for a death-defying ride through my spiritual journey from wannabe Catholic altar girl to atheist eye candy. Hilarious, moving and profound. Big finish. Trust me.

WARNING! May contain traces of Cardinal George Pell, Tony Abbott, Mary McKillop, liturgical dancing and bizarre Bible stories.

Here’s what some middle aged, middle class rich white guys had to say about God Is Bullshit….

“Deveny’s shock and awe humor does for atheism what Mark Arbib does for espionage. And she’s still my favorite tweep.”

Tony Jones – host of ABC’s Q and A

“Sexier than Christopher Hitchens, funnier than Richard Dawkins, and more ethical than George Pell, Catherine Deveny is not to be missed.”

Peter Singer – Author, Philosopher and Professor of Bioethics, Princeton University

Deveny as the courage to say what so many of us think and makes you proud to be a card-carrying atheist.  I wish she was my mother. Seeing God Is Bullshit was the best $20 I ever spent.

Adam Elliot- Academy Award winning creator of Harvey Crumpet and Mary and Max

“Catherine Deveny, like Julian Assange, exposes, confronts, maddens. She tells the truth to power – and to habit, conformity, timidity and comfort. Dangerous and seductive, she makes me laugh, and laugh…”

Barry Jones, AO – writer, lawyer, social activist, quiz champion and former politician.

“You will be judged.”

Cardinal George Pell – Australian Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church.

And a few words from a our favorite Christian lady we all love,

“As one of the freaks who still believe in God, I found even I was welcome!”

Clare Bowditch  – singer, musician, broadcaster, writer, It Girl.

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Interview With The Pluck’s Caitlin Crowley on Happiness

 

  • From: The Pluck
  • November 03, 2010 10:39AM

As a kid I used to love going to parties. There was a lot of depression, sadness and blackness at my house; lots of Catholic guilt. My father was an alcoholic and my mother had a lot to deal with. I was fairly emotionally sensitive and used to pick up on all the negative energy in the house. When I went to other people’s houses I felt very free because I wasn’t around all of that emotional pollution. One of the things I really loved was the lolly bag; the lolly bag represented the great memories and moments of the party that I could take home.

At Holy Name in Preston we had a very funky choir called Credo. Sitting in church was such a frustrating experience, it was boring. But I loved singing in the choir; it was great to have a voice in that very male medieval place.

CLICK HERE TO READ INTERVIEW

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Smack kids harder and in public

smack-cropped-1-480x229THE Australian Childhood Foundation has launched a campaign to warn parents not to smack their children because it may “teach children that violence can be an acceptable way to solve problems”. A recent poll revealed 92 per cent thought that smacking was “sometimes” necessary. Tony Abbott also thinks going the thump on kids is fine. 

I’ve never been sucked in by any of the fads and fashions in the extreme sport of parenting. I’m such a maverick mother my kids were all on solid food at three months. Which is why I can’t believe that I’m agreeing with something called the Australian Childhood Foundation.

Don’t get me wrong, my kids annoy me as much as the next person’s do. But I don’t hit them. I have never hit them and will never hit them. There have been moments when I have thought, “Ah, this is when parents hit.” But I haven’t. Because they are children and I am an adult. I pick on people my own size.

I’m not the perfect parent; ask my kids. I give the three kids two Freddo frogs and tell them to fight it out between them. Every night I kiss them good night and whisper to each of them “You’re not my favourite, but you’re getting pretty close.” I often respond to the question “why can’t you take us to the park?” with “because I hate children, I hate the park and I am flat out reading New Weekly“.

There’s a book called The Good Enough Parent. I’ve never read it but the title sums up my attitude completely. I’m not a helicopter parent, constantly hovering; I’m a bad-luck-you’ll-live-get-over-it parent.

But despite my “can’t be stuffed” attitude, I wouldn’t kick a kitten so why would I hit a kid? I love the response, “It didn’t do me any harm.” Well, yes, it did, because you are now inflicting violence on children instead of seeing it as abuse. Smacking kids is wrong. End of story. Violence or the threat of violence is an abuse of the responsibility we have as parents and as humans.

I can understand someone having a knee-jerk reaction if a toddler bites them unexpectedly. I can even understand someone doing it because they never knew how far they would be pushed. Once. But beyond that it’s just bullying and exploiting your physical advantage.

Parents who smack for the first time are racked with guilt. Then time passes, their kid isn’t in therapy and then they start using smacking as a threat and before you know it, it is normalised and often joked about in lighter moments, “Oh you watch out or I’ll paddle your cute little bottom.” But when they do, there’s nothing cute about it. I have been sickened listening to countless people recount hitting their children. They have a sadistic smile and a glint in their eyes.

“It’s not a smack really, it’s just a tap.” Then why bother? What, so just a little bit of violence is OK? Well probably a couple of cigarettes won’t hurt them either.

The smackers say that smacking doesn’t work. They tell me that they hit because they are stressed out and at the end of their tether. “So why wouldn’t you smack an adult?” “Because they’re big and will hit back.” Some parents have told me that smacking makes them feel better. Here’s a tip, try meditation, a facial or self-control.

Put the kids in a room and tell them that you are angry but you are coming back. Punch the wall, have a drink, phone a friend or yell if you like. Why is yelling better than smacking? Because you are much bigger than them. If the yelling escalates, it’s still just yelling. If the violence escalates, they don’t know that you are not going to kill them.

It’s not just “a little smack”, it’s physical violence. Why are children not protected in the same way as adults? An adult hitting another is considered assault, but an adult hitting a child is considered reasonable parenting.

When is old enough? Six months? Where is the line between smacking and child abuse? Why is it only OK to hit them if you love them? Why, in domestic violence situations, is there a zero-tolerance policy but it’s OK of you hit, slap, punch, kick, pinch or shove kids as long as you don’t leave a mark?

I could back in a whole lot of statistics but what would be the point? Hits from the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s and today. Wrong, wrong, wrong. All wrong.

Before we had children, my partner and I (who had both been hit as children) made the choice not to smack. Which is the only reason that schools no longer beat, strap and whip kids. A conscious decision.

Smacking children diminishes us all. It’s time to break the cycle with some re-education, realistic alternatives and some shaming.

If you are proud of hitting your kids, hit ’em harder and hit ’em in front of other people. That’ll prove me wrong.

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Public Schooling saves family with three children one million dollars.

I’ve just done some quick sums and I’m up $676,600, minimum. No private school fees, no private health insurance and no wedding. Three kids at a private school for six years ($540,000 — that’s just the basic fees, excluding building funds, uniforms, balaclavas, etc). One wedding ($40,000 is the average price). And basic private family health insurance until the last kid reaches 18 ($96,600). That’s not counting the cover before the babies were born or the out-of-pocket expenses for any private health treatments or private health care after the kiddies leave home. Which I hear they don’t do these days. Stuff ’em. They can keep sharing a room and sleep in bunks.

The look on their faces when I tell people who send their kids to private schools this? Priceless. That amount is net, not gross. Before tax I could be saving closer to a million bucks. All by doing stuff all. I’m a financial genius!

People are being sacked left, right and centre, the economy’s on life support and if it weren’t for Father Kev and his $1000-a-head per child stocking filler, the kiddies would be waking up on Christmas Day to hessian bags full of phlegm.

What a breath of fresh air it is to have something other than gloom and doom in the paper. Private school fees are going up. About bloody time. Double them, I say. Other things on my wish-list? Shoot-on-sight laws for people who use leaf blowers, more fat chicks on telly and spot checks to locate people whose remote controls outnumber the books they own without pictures. I’d be open to re-education camps where necessary.

Back to private schools and why I’m rapt the fees are going up. A survey of calls to the Sensis 1234 directory service from May to October showed that requests for state schools are up 372 per cent. Yippee! More kids at state schools. More funding, better schools and happier parents because they’re not slaving their guts out to pay for a school with a blazer to impress their friends and compete with their adult siblings. Happier kids because they don’t have to be on a train at 7.15am and because their parents aren’t as stressed out. Hooray for the financial crisis!

Just so we’re clear, this page is called opinion and my opinion is private schools should not receive any government funding. If people want to send their kids to a school that is a social, single-gender and/or religious ghetto in an attempt for them to meet the “right” people, keep away from the “wrong” people, live out the dreams of their parents or continue some unbroken line of inherited bigotry, they should pay for it themselves. Every. Single. Cent. The Government reckons it’s supporting choice. Funding private schools encourages, finances and promotes intolerance, inequity and social apartheid.

The more expensive private schools are, the more people will come back to government schools. Jack up those prices. Get the kids back to the local and find out that it’s about what’s best for kids and not about having something for your kid that you consider better than what everyone else’s kid has. “Oh yes, Kenneth goes to Up Your Grammar. It costs $5000 more than the school you send your kids to. Oh yes, I know what they all cost. Not only does that prove we love our child more than you love yours but it also proves we’re richer than you and therefore better. And you know what the best thing about our school is? No poor people!”

Education is the whole society’s responsibility because we’re a society and the outcome of education affects us all. It’s wrong and unfair for any child to have a better resourced school than another. It’s wrong and unfair for some teachers to work in better conditions than others.

Lucky for the 70 per cent of us who send our children to public schools, we understand that a school is not their education. And that diversity in the classroom, excellent government-funded education and well-rounded kids are the key to a clever country, a tolerant community and a modern society. And saving a million bucks.

 

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