Playing the game by Trevor Plumbly

     Due to bodily and financial shortcomings, I never really ‘did’ sport; it required robustness and uniforms, both of which were beyond me. To justify the inadequacy, I formed the theory that sport was bloody stupid and I reckon I’m finally being proved right. It might be unkind, but I believe the rot started with the Italians and it’s been festering ever since. Give a bloke a spear and stick him in the ring with a pissed-off lion was the early Roman idea of spectator sport. Up to that point it was… Read More

Good sports by Trevor Plumbly

My contribution to the world of sport is minimal to say the least. As a result of family circumstances, I was neither watched nor encouraged to play team sports. Painfully thin, I learned early in life that physical well-being was preferable to the risks posed by playing school sports. These days however, I live in a country where a sprained All-Black thumb can send a decent percentage of the population into stress mode. Even my grandsons have been peer-pressured into joining these educationally approved forms of ritual abuse. Most thinking adults struggle… Read More

Party Games by Trevor Plumbly

ACTing up I know I’m lucky to live in a country like NZ and shouldn’t take the Mickey out of the place, but Brits are Brits and we tend to find humour in the strangest places. We also realise that we can do stuff all to control those who control us. Outside the periodic use of the ballot box, the best form of retaliation is mockery. The political system here, if it can be called that, is MMP, if you’re politically learned you’ll understand MMP, if not it would be like trying… Read More

Be a Sport! By Trevor Plumbly

Most countries seem to have an unhealthy obsession with breeding world champions at some sport or other. It’s probably inherited from the Stone Age ‘mine’s bigger than yours’ contest, with the winner claiming the prize of the maiden. I have reached that august age where prowess of any sort is not of great import, thus I can look at the fleeting fancies of conquest with a jaundiced eye. Ordinarily, embryonic world champs (if there are such creatures) have some sort of sporting implement or ball practically glued to their hands or feet… Read More