Springbok side looks good to me. Not even a whiff of a rose which I am happy about. Check out Brussow straight into the mix ...wonderful stuff that.
Just hope Ruan plays up to potential especially having been injured. Looks like John will not have to prop against Sheridan first up which is probably also a good thing. Steyn at FB - still a little bleak about Billy Zane not making it but dig Steyn.
Brilliant bench as long as Januarie sits on one side and all the others on the other so as to not tip the thing. Geez you can't be happy when Guthro, Bekker, J Fourie and Big Bruiser Danie come on fresh with 20min to play. Stick to the basics early and then let rip I say. Should be a cracker in Durban.
Giddyup!
Springbok team for the first Test against the British & Irish Lions: (Test caps in brackets)
Frans Steyn (27)
JP Pietersen (24)
Adi Jacobs (21)
Jean de Villiers (46)
Bryan Habana (46)
Ruan Pienaar (27)
Fourie du Preez (43)
Pierre Spies (19)
Juan Smith (54)
Heinrich Brussow (1)
Victor Matfield (80)
Bakkies Botha (55)
John Smit (81) - captain
Bismarck du Plessis (21)
Tendai Mtawarira (10)
Replacements:
Gurthro Steenkamp (20)
Deon Carstens (7)
Andries Bekker (13)
Danie Rossouw (36)
Ricky Januarie (34)
Jaque Fourie (42)
Morne Steyn (uncapped).
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
365 days of Slumber left for Cape Town
Today the one year countdown begins! A year to go until the Soccer World Cup comes to South Africa. The big 2010. Or it seems the more firmly entrenched way to pronounce it would be 20 10. I am receiving reports that the whole of Africa is getting behind us (http://bit.ly/fbz9Z) with this contagious excitement, although the World Cup fervour does not stand alone as a South African representative in Africa. Old JC Zuma is just as revered North of our country, so perhaps that is not really a great indication of vindication that 2010 is as important as we might think.
It is of course and should need no vindication. But we live at the tip of Africa which is sometimes a long way off from certain goings on in the rest of the world and although South African locals have been exposed to 2010 articles, facts, branding and advertising for a year or so already. The funny thing is, white South Africans (not involved in the ACTUAL build up to the event on some commercial, marketing or business point of view, or those involved in local soccer itself) have not the faintest idea as to what is coming our way. Oh you will certainly hear the regurgitation's spewing out of every bloke and his buddies mouths around the braai or while settling down to watch some rugby or cricket together on TV; or from the Book Club wives and Poppies getting together on a Thursday night or for that Monday morning coffee at Vida e Cafe. The World Cup talk is, for the vast majority of us locals, purely a way of making use of the chance to say something attention grabbing so as to be a part of the conversation, and perhaps even out-do your buddies while you are at it. To show how up-to-date one is with that happening around us. And that is exactly how we know it so far ... as something that is around us but not a part of us.
Not a clue I say:
Soccer, you see, has never really been much a part of the uniting of the Rainbow Nation. Not on the grand scale as mentioned above. Rugby was a big part of President Nelson Mandela's master plan - hatched while doing hard labour and sleeping on even harder cold floors on Robben Island. The plan proved to be a miracle as it played such a phenomenal role as the catalyst to making sure the transition of power in South Africa was effected in such an efficient way. Us whites were given our all-precious rugby back to play out on an International stage - which was greedily accepted and made the most of, resulting in an amazing against the odds win to claim the 1995 Rugby World Cup. So we won the William Webb Ellis Cup to crown South Africa as the World Champions in our beloved white mans sport - Rugby. The country danced in the streets as one - literally danced in the streets as the traffic stopped. On that day, there was no traffic in the cities, nobody needed to go anywhere, everybody was celebrating. It was a truly wonderful moment to be a part of and to experience.
Soccer enthusiasts celebrated as hard as any others in the RWC 1995 fanfare. Soccer though had no such lofty aspirations with the masses. As long as the boys and men could play the game they were happy ... and they did, everywhere they got the chance. There have been no such ubiquitous celebratory moments in soccer in South Africa, even when the platform has been presented. How many of us whiteys even remember South Africa won the African Nations Cup! The whites have just never really bought into it. Why should they, there is plenty going on without soccer and nobody was really pushing it down their throats too actively.
I too am a whitey. From many years back though, I have African soccer in my blood. Not the tainted feel for the game that you will find if you go looking for a litmus test of our cuntries soccer from the top of the pile in the local leagues. No, I have the feeling from real soccer experiences, from the 'pick-up' games that been played where ever possible for countless years gone by. From the small holding urban area I lived in, just next door to Alexandra township, to the beaches of Hout Bay in Cape Town, I always managed to find a game as a strong little bare foot whitey. For the first few minutes the dark faces would look at me with consternation and there was always at least one whose first reaction was that he did not want me there. The anger in those eyes will always be with me. Fore everyone of those angry fellows though, there was a huge white smile, and usually more than one, that welcomed me in a true African unabated friendliness that was available to even a young unknown and unaccompanied white boy when, even under the harshest conditions of apartheid in the 1980's, the smell and feel of freedom was able to be found on a piece of dirt with some tree trunks or oil drums for goals and some form of soccer ball. It was unabated, sometimes rough (I was 9,10,11 years old playing properly against and with tough men) and exhilarating beyond my abilities to describe to to you in words.
Soccer was always remained dreamy to me. World Cups were 'out there' and a little bit too untouchable if you lived in South Africa. The exotic and mysterious flavour found its way into my head though. I remember listening to the 1986 World Cup in Mexico when Maradonna socred a goal with his hand - soccer World Cup now, not Rugby - no hands allowed. Listening I say, as we were probably not afforded the rights to broadcast the events such as that due to our political stand point at the time. So I had to make do with the wireless. It was crackly and comforting. A good dose of the way people took part in supporting their sports teams in the last 80 years or so I should expect.
The next World Cup was in Italy and so in went on. South Africa eventually got to take part too, but were nothing special. Tainted by politicking and poor management has been the reality as the game has become more and more big business in South Africa ... its such a pity as there is plenty of talent, but no direction and counter productive efforts keep us languishing.
This will do little to quell the exuberance of the soccer loving nation next year as the beautiful game comes home to Africa. It is a part of so much that is African, a lot more so than Europeans, South Americans and the rest of the world realises. I think there will be some amazement from those visitors as they flood to our beautiful country to enjoy the latest volume of World Cup soccer in action. None though, will be more amazed than the locals. It is just too big to contemplate and does not register on the frames we use as points of reference - cricket WC, Rugby WC and a couple of large tournaments we have hosted. This one will be very different. Off the charts bro!
What is of personal interest to me though, on a local Cape Town scale, is to see the reaction to South Africa coming to Cape Town. Along with all the melting pot of the rest of the world, there will be a huge following of South Africans moving all over the country. Cape Town folk that have not lived in any other part of South Africa do not, I think, have a clear picture of how their country actually looks. I am talking about whites in Cape Town you understand. I can't wait to see the awakening take place as they come out of a long slumber of ignorance and strange perception of what our country is like. Not a fault or anyone nor poor behaviour by the Capetonians mind you. Just a lack of feeling for the rest of the country. A relaxed bunch that are going to be shaken up, hopefully to the extent that we were back in 1995. Back then, when all had settled, the sentiment was incredibly positive and that is probably the most powerful tool to actually getting things done that are worthwhile in our land. I know it will be the same next year, and I can't wait.
It's less than a year now and soon it will be out of even FIFA's hands as Africa brings its unique flavour to what the former call football and what we call soccer. The African rhythm is unique, not as flamboyant as the South Americans, not as fluid as the Europeans or as energetic as the Asians. The Power and Mystique though go unchallenged. That is what those embracing the event in 2010 with the right intention will be able to tap into. A unique experience to be sure. Sound the drums and awaken Cape Town from its slumber!
It is of course and should need no vindication. But we live at the tip of Africa which is sometimes a long way off from certain goings on in the rest of the world and although South African locals have been exposed to 2010 articles, facts, branding and advertising for a year or so already. The funny thing is, white South Africans (not involved in the ACTUAL build up to the event on some commercial, marketing or business point of view, or those involved in local soccer itself) have not the faintest idea as to what is coming our way. Oh you will certainly hear the regurgitation's spewing out of every bloke and his buddies mouths around the braai or while settling down to watch some rugby or cricket together on TV; or from the Book Club wives and Poppies getting together on a Thursday night or for that Monday morning coffee at Vida e Cafe. The World Cup talk is, for the vast majority of us locals, purely a way of making use of the chance to say something attention grabbing so as to be a part of the conversation, and perhaps even out-do your buddies while you are at it. To show how up-to-date one is with that happening around us. And that is exactly how we know it so far ... as something that is around us but not a part of us.
Not a clue I say:
Soccer, you see, has never really been much a part of the uniting of the Rainbow Nation. Not on the grand scale as mentioned above. Rugby was a big part of President Nelson Mandela's master plan - hatched while doing hard labour and sleeping on even harder cold floors on Robben Island. The plan proved to be a miracle as it played such a phenomenal role as the catalyst to making sure the transition of power in South Africa was effected in such an efficient way. Us whites were given our all-precious rugby back to play out on an International stage - which was greedily accepted and made the most of, resulting in an amazing against the odds win to claim the 1995 Rugby World Cup. So we won the William Webb Ellis Cup to crown South Africa as the World Champions in our beloved white mans sport - Rugby. The country danced in the streets as one - literally danced in the streets as the traffic stopped. On that day, there was no traffic in the cities, nobody needed to go anywhere, everybody was celebrating. It was a truly wonderful moment to be a part of and to experience.
Soccer enthusiasts celebrated as hard as any others in the RWC 1995 fanfare. Soccer though had no such lofty aspirations with the masses. As long as the boys and men could play the game they were happy ... and they did, everywhere they got the chance. There have been no such ubiquitous celebratory moments in soccer in South Africa, even when the platform has been presented. How many of us whiteys even remember South Africa won the African Nations Cup! The whites have just never really bought into it. Why should they, there is plenty going on without soccer and nobody was really pushing it down their throats too actively.
I too am a whitey. From many years back though, I have African soccer in my blood. Not the tainted feel for the game that you will find if you go looking for a litmus test of our cuntries soccer from the top of the pile in the local leagues. No, I have the feeling from real soccer experiences, from the 'pick-up' games that been played where ever possible for countless years gone by. From the small holding urban area I lived in, just next door to Alexandra township, to the beaches of Hout Bay in Cape Town, I always managed to find a game as a strong little bare foot whitey. For the first few minutes the dark faces would look at me with consternation and there was always at least one whose first reaction was that he did not want me there. The anger in those eyes will always be with me. Fore everyone of those angry fellows though, there was a huge white smile, and usually more than one, that welcomed me in a true African unabated friendliness that was available to even a young unknown and unaccompanied white boy when, even under the harshest conditions of apartheid in the 1980's, the smell and feel of freedom was able to be found on a piece of dirt with some tree trunks or oil drums for goals and some form of soccer ball. It was unabated, sometimes rough (I was 9,10,11 years old playing properly against and with tough men) and exhilarating beyond my abilities to describe to to you in words.
Soccer was always remained dreamy to me. World Cups were 'out there' and a little bit too untouchable if you lived in South Africa. The exotic and mysterious flavour found its way into my head though. I remember listening to the 1986 World Cup in Mexico when Maradonna socred a goal with his hand - soccer World Cup now, not Rugby - no hands allowed. Listening I say, as we were probably not afforded the rights to broadcast the events such as that due to our political stand point at the time. So I had to make do with the wireless. It was crackly and comforting. A good dose of the way people took part in supporting their sports teams in the last 80 years or so I should expect.
The next World Cup was in Italy and so in went on. South Africa eventually got to take part too, but were nothing special. Tainted by politicking and poor management has been the reality as the game has become more and more big business in South Africa ... its such a pity as there is plenty of talent, but no direction and counter productive efforts keep us languishing.
This will do little to quell the exuberance of the soccer loving nation next year as the beautiful game comes home to Africa. It is a part of so much that is African, a lot more so than Europeans, South Americans and the rest of the world realises. I think there will be some amazement from those visitors as they flood to our beautiful country to enjoy the latest volume of World Cup soccer in action. None though, will be more amazed than the locals. It is just too big to contemplate and does not register on the frames we use as points of reference - cricket WC, Rugby WC and a couple of large tournaments we have hosted. This one will be very different. Off the charts bro!
What is of personal interest to me though, on a local Cape Town scale, is to see the reaction to South Africa coming to Cape Town. Along with all the melting pot of the rest of the world, there will be a huge following of South Africans moving all over the country. Cape Town folk that have not lived in any other part of South Africa do not, I think, have a clear picture of how their country actually looks. I am talking about whites in Cape Town you understand. I can't wait to see the awakening take place as they come out of a long slumber of ignorance and strange perception of what our country is like. Not a fault or anyone nor poor behaviour by the Capetonians mind you. Just a lack of feeling for the rest of the country. A relaxed bunch that are going to be shaken up, hopefully to the extent that we were back in 1995. Back then, when all had settled, the sentiment was incredibly positive and that is probably the most powerful tool to actually getting things done that are worthwhile in our land. I know it will be the same next year, and I can't wait.
It's less than a year now and soon it will be out of even FIFA's hands as Africa brings its unique flavour to what the former call football and what we call soccer. The African rhythm is unique, not as flamboyant as the South Americans, not as fluid as the Europeans or as energetic as the Asians. The Power and Mystique though go unchallenged. That is what those embracing the event in 2010 with the right intention will be able to tap into. A unique experience to be sure. Sound the drums and awaken Cape Town from its slumber!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Children Tipping
Have kids reached the tipping point or is it just 'the next generation'?
I feel there is cause for alarm when I have a look at how children in the western world are growing up and their behaviour patterns that result. Obviously for every parent or teacher out there, there would be another gripe about kids of today. This was surely been the case when I went through my fun childhood years (1974 till 2004 and possibly still a few more to come) and was the case when young Churchill threw his peas on the floor in a tantrum 100 years earlier, or 100 years before that even, when little Johnny Appleseed (really John Chapman) would not tuck his hoes into his breeches no matter how much his nurse maid scolded the lad with threats of no candlelight for a month.
Yes I am sure every age and generation has had the same woes over their young and the rebelliousness of the ungrateful sods. That's not quite what has got my attention. What worries me is the lack of influence real people now have on children, whether they are trying to mould them or not. With the incredible amount of opportunity for youngsters to interact in a somewhat superficial, but seemingly very real platform, of social networks and all things computery, I feel that the yout (as Danny DeVitto calls them in my cousin Vinny) are sliding to a point where the masses of them are loosing vital experience of life ... the experience of how to deal with other Humans.
What sparked this off in my squishy brain, perhaps a little undernourished and beat up after a few recent drinking bouts, was firstly a trip in the local Rikki Taxi service. My car was in for repairs of the window that had been smashed by dem crooks. I was catching a ride with the Rikki service to retrieve my car. The interesting thing about the Rikki service is that it picks up other passengers on route to your destination if it, more or less, fits in. Its quite fun to meet some exotic hot Dutch angel who is heading to the beach at 10:30am on a Tuesday morning or a ditsy hippy from Obs who can't quite remember her own name and pays for the ride in coppers.
Today though it was at the St Cyprians Girls Diocese/Convent/Castle/School or what ever the church calls it, that the Rikki was heading for his 2nd pick up once I was already comfortable seated in the old London taxi, complete with Nedbank branding from top to toe.
The passenger in waiting was a 16 year old cute little thing extremely overladen with bags and guitars and more bags. Files, novels, textbooks and science projects all included in her load scholarary paraphernalia. I helped the young thing into the Rikki while she explained in the strangest English that only parents or teachers get to experience, how she is always carrying so much stuff and what an effort it was. Not complaining mind you, just commenting through some deeply drawn breaths and rosy red cheeks brought on by the effort. Now this was clearly one of the studious girls of the Convent paying much diligence to her studies and academia rather than on the other distractions and vices a 16 year old faces at that delicate age. Yet her ability to talk to me was incredibly sad to see. There was no awkwardness nor embarrassment at all, just an extremely limited set of skills - and I am not talking traditional ones that a Duchess would be sent to Switzerland finishing school to acquire- just a basic switch from her favoured buddies speak to be able to talk to a 35 year old. Not able I am afraid to report. I did find it poor form I must admit. Then it came time to pay the taxi and she had no clue how to adapt to make him understand where he was to take her or how she would prefer a certain break down in her change from paying a cheap fare with her R100 bill.
I helped Miss keen bean school girl out the car with all her baggage and marveled at the level communication, or as this case unfolded, the lack there of. The Rikki dude was clearly not aware in the least and carried on to the location I had asked him for. Now while waiting for the car in a dodgy part of Woodstock a little 9 year old comes cruising along the road with a dilapidated soccer ball under his arm. I motioned for the lytjie to drop the ball and have a kick about with me. He looked at me as if I was freak show. So I went for a more explanatory tact of communication and said "hey ... kom ons speel" hey come lets play. The little droll just walks straight past me. No fear, no jealous possession of his ball, just a total lack of energy or understanding to what I thought was an ingrained in guys young and old when there is a ball in our midst and an opportunity to kick it, throw it, lob it, pitch it or hit it to each other.
Is the interaction between today's youngsters and their elders slipping to levels of grave concern as quickly as I think they are? Don't get me wrong. I think there are incredible children out there with skills way beyond what elder generations had, but its like having a brand new car with all the fun stuff and you don't know how to actually drive. It could be a difficult battle to strike a balance with all the incredibly awesome opportunities that are available to the under 18's and keeping them involved in real life at the same time. I hear that these days when a 14 year old pops round to visit his/her buddy to 'play' for the afternoon or for a sleepover, it's not uncommon for them to sit in separate rooms on two different computers to talk to each other and those 'out there'. I think the potential for these fortunate kids is phenomenal if they are kept in touch with the many other benefits of life that are still worthwhile to them besides the new new stuff. Things that are real are still easily the most important as we are finding out, sometimes at the harsh end of some difficult experience. Real food is better than processed crap, real medicine is better than that which is made in a laboratory (still learning the lessons here) and Real people are better for children to interact with when growing up then the other options.
I feel there is cause for alarm when I have a look at how children in the western world are growing up and their behaviour patterns that result. Obviously for every parent or teacher out there, there would be another gripe about kids of today. This was surely been the case when I went through my fun childhood years (1974 till 2004 and possibly still a few more to come) and was the case when young Churchill threw his peas on the floor in a tantrum 100 years earlier, or 100 years before that even, when little Johnny Appleseed (really John Chapman) would not tuck his hoes into his breeches no matter how much his nurse maid scolded the lad with threats of no candlelight for a month.
Yes I am sure every age and generation has had the same woes over their young and the rebelliousness of the ungrateful sods. That's not quite what has got my attention. What worries me is the lack of influence real people now have on children, whether they are trying to mould them or not. With the incredible amount of opportunity for youngsters to interact in a somewhat superficial, but seemingly very real platform, of social networks and all things computery, I feel that the yout (as Danny DeVitto calls them in my cousin Vinny) are sliding to a point where the masses of them are loosing vital experience of life ... the experience of how to deal with other Humans.
What sparked this off in my squishy brain, perhaps a little undernourished and beat up after a few recent drinking bouts, was firstly a trip in the local Rikki Taxi service. My car was in for repairs of the window that had been smashed by dem crooks. I was catching a ride with the Rikki service to retrieve my car. The interesting thing about the Rikki service is that it picks up other passengers on route to your destination if it, more or less, fits in. Its quite fun to meet some exotic hot Dutch angel who is heading to the beach at 10:30am on a Tuesday morning or a ditsy hippy from Obs who can't quite remember her own name and pays for the ride in coppers.
Today though it was at the St Cyprians Girls Diocese/Convent/Castle/School or what ever the church calls it, that the Rikki was heading for his 2nd pick up once I was already comfortable seated in the old London taxi, complete with Nedbank branding from top to toe.
The passenger in waiting was a 16 year old cute little thing extremely overladen with bags and guitars and more bags. Files, novels, textbooks and science projects all included in her load scholarary paraphernalia. I helped the young thing into the Rikki while she explained in the strangest English that only parents or teachers get to experience, how she is always carrying so much stuff and what an effort it was. Not complaining mind you, just commenting through some deeply drawn breaths and rosy red cheeks brought on by the effort. Now this was clearly one of the studious girls of the Convent paying much diligence to her studies and academia rather than on the other distractions and vices a 16 year old faces at that delicate age. Yet her ability to talk to me was incredibly sad to see. There was no awkwardness nor embarrassment at all, just an extremely limited set of skills - and I am not talking traditional ones that a Duchess would be sent to Switzerland finishing school to acquire- just a basic switch from her favoured buddies speak to be able to talk to a 35 year old. Not able I am afraid to report. I did find it poor form I must admit. Then it came time to pay the taxi and she had no clue how to adapt to make him understand where he was to take her or how she would prefer a certain break down in her change from paying a cheap fare with her R100 bill.
I helped Miss keen bean school girl out the car with all her baggage and marveled at the level communication, or as this case unfolded, the lack there of. The Rikki dude was clearly not aware in the least and carried on to the location I had asked him for. Now while waiting for the car in a dodgy part of Woodstock a little 9 year old comes cruising along the road with a dilapidated soccer ball under his arm. I motioned for the lytjie to drop the ball and have a kick about with me. He looked at me as if I was freak show. So I went for a more explanatory tact of communication and said "hey ... kom ons speel" hey come lets play. The little droll just walks straight past me. No fear, no jealous possession of his ball, just a total lack of energy or understanding to what I thought was an ingrained in guys young and old when there is a ball in our midst and an opportunity to kick it, throw it, lob it, pitch it or hit it to each other.
Is the interaction between today's youngsters and their elders slipping to levels of grave concern as quickly as I think they are? Don't get me wrong. I think there are incredible children out there with skills way beyond what elder generations had, but its like having a brand new car with all the fun stuff and you don't know how to actually drive. It could be a difficult battle to strike a balance with all the incredibly awesome opportunities that are available to the under 18's and keeping them involved in real life at the same time. I hear that these days when a 14 year old pops round to visit his/her buddy to 'play' for the afternoon or for a sleepover, it's not uncommon for them to sit in separate rooms on two different computers to talk to each other and those 'out there'. I think the potential for these fortunate kids is phenomenal if they are kept in touch with the many other benefits of life that are still worthwhile to them besides the new new stuff. Things that are real are still easily the most important as we are finding out, sometimes at the harsh end of some difficult experience. Real food is better than processed crap, real medicine is better than that which is made in a laboratory (still learning the lessons here) and Real people are better for children to interact with when growing up then the other options.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Magical
I recently took part in a trail running event as a guest of the organiser and as a representative for Runner's World Magazine. I am the Gear Editor there on a freelance basis and nobody else from the magazine could go so I took up the invite. That was 4 months back and between then and now when I was super strong and fit, I did the movie vibe and lost all the training I had done.
So I arrived at this event on about 45% full as only ended up having 3 weeks to train and some of that needed to be recovery from the training ... anyway I did about 6 runs totalling 100km in those three weeks and rocked up at the event with running buddy Greg Goodall who would do the three days with me.
The event turned out to be as tough ... so tough in fact that I struggled to overcome the challenge ... I just managed it though so was happy with that.
Anyway that's not what the blog is about. I wanted to write about what happened on the 2nd night of the event. It was all well catered and comfy for 300 competitors. Greg and I managed to find an extra tent to avoid having to spoon in a tiny one together as many others ended up doing. There was a 'chill out' tent where a surprising amount of beers were drunk and a large tent for dinner and prize giving each night. Now, on the particular night in question, I noticed that those sponsors and brands involved with the event were being called up to be introduced to the audience of competitors and to hand out the odd prize or do a lucky draw or something of that sort. Each time the DJ dude would play some old classic track to spice up the occasion and keep everyone interested. I realised that as the Runner's World Magazine representative I was likely to be called up to present something and I thought to myself how cool it would be if they did call me up, the DJ would play Eye of The Tiger. You see I was wearing a black hoody and I thought it would be cool to put the hood up and do some sparring as I walked up to Eye of The Tiger.
So there I sat waiting to see what was next in the agenda. A guy was called up to do a lucky draw as a promotion for his race that was tacking place on Table Mountain in September. Its a popular race and costs over 200 bucks. The draw was done on a laptop and picked randomly from the 300 competitors. A lady won it and went up for the prize. Cool. Then the music started. For the first time that night the DJ decided to spin Eye Of The Tiger ... I looked around as if people could read my thoughts. I felt so strange, as if everything was open and I was able know anything and in control. There was one more name to pull from the lucky draw. I knew it would be mine. I felt light and content ... the guy called out the number followed by the name RYAN SCOTT.
I was not surprised at all but did feel a bit awkward. Did everybody else know what I knew? Of course not. One of the strangest things that has ever happened to me fore sure. So strange and so powerful in a non intrusive way. What an incredible experience.
So I arrived at this event on about 45% full as only ended up having 3 weeks to train and some of that needed to be recovery from the training ... anyway I did about 6 runs totalling 100km in those three weeks and rocked up at the event with running buddy Greg Goodall who would do the three days with me.
The event turned out to be as tough ... so tough in fact that I struggled to overcome the challenge ... I just managed it though so was happy with that.
Anyway that's not what the blog is about. I wanted to write about what happened on the 2nd night of the event. It was all well catered and comfy for 300 competitors. Greg and I managed to find an extra tent to avoid having to spoon in a tiny one together as many others ended up doing. There was a 'chill out' tent where a surprising amount of beers were drunk and a large tent for dinner and prize giving each night. Now, on the particular night in question, I noticed that those sponsors and brands involved with the event were being called up to be introduced to the audience of competitors and to hand out the odd prize or do a lucky draw or something of that sort. Each time the DJ dude would play some old classic track to spice up the occasion and keep everyone interested. I realised that as the Runner's World Magazine representative I was likely to be called up to present something and I thought to myself how cool it would be if they did call me up, the DJ would play Eye of The Tiger. You see I was wearing a black hoody and I thought it would be cool to put the hood up and do some sparring as I walked up to Eye of The Tiger.
So there I sat waiting to see what was next in the agenda. A guy was called up to do a lucky draw as a promotion for his race that was tacking place on Table Mountain in September. Its a popular race and costs over 200 bucks. The draw was done on a laptop and picked randomly from the 300 competitors. A lady won it and went up for the prize. Cool. Then the music started. For the first time that night the DJ decided to spin Eye Of The Tiger ... I looked around as if people could read my thoughts. I felt so strange, as if everything was open and I was able know anything and in control. There was one more name to pull from the lucky draw. I knew it would be mine. I felt light and content ... the guy called out the number followed by the name RYAN SCOTT.
I was not surprised at all but did feel a bit awkward. Did everybody else know what I knew? Of course not. One of the strangest things that has ever happened to me fore sure. So strange and so powerful in a non intrusive way. What an incredible experience.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
And like that ...pfffff .... it was gone.
See below for a brilliant article on how the most popular social network sites and YouTube may not be with us forever. At the moment, and for a few years now in the case of YouTube, they have not been able to find a solution to making enough $$$ even with so many followers. It's the venture capitalists that are making it possible at the moment, but are they looking for returns on what they have handed over? You would think so. Read on to see what Advertising Age has to say about the possibility of loosing your favourite platforms.
Oh, my. That's a nice sentiment, but Twitter really doesn't need more users around the world tweeting in ways that can never be monetized. Ireland's got just 4 million Catholics, but the Vatican counts more than a billion baptized Catholics worldwide. If the pope endorsed tweeting prayer, Twitter could be out of business by the end of the year! The 3-year-old company, remember, still lacks a revenue model and just burns through more venture capital every time a new user signs up. (Fortunately, given how retro-conservative Pope Benedict is, he seems more likely to issue a papal encyclical condemning Twitter. We all know it's more likely to enable sin -- pride! sloth! -- than piety.)
The Coming End of YouTube, Twitter and Facebook Socialism
Thank God for Tech Moguls Who Redistribute VC Wealth So We Can Cybersocialize Freely. For Now, That Is.
Twitter founders Ev Williams and Biz Stone should thank God it was just a cardinal, and not the pope.
Last week, according to the Times of London, Cardinal Sean Brady of Ireland told the country's Catholics to "Make someone the gift of a prayer through text, Twitter or e-mail every day. Such a sea of prayer is sure to strengthen our sense of solidarity with one another."
LET US PRAY: Cardinal Sean Brady wants you to tweet for Jesus.
Photo Credit: Niall Carson
Oh, my. That's a nice sentiment, but Twitter really doesn't need more users around the world tweeting in ways that can never be monetized. Ireland's got just 4 million Catholics, but the Vatican counts more than a billion baptized Catholics worldwide. If the pope endorsed tweeting prayer, Twitter could be out of business by the end of the year! The 3-year-old company, remember, still lacks a revenue model and just burns through more venture capital every time a new user signs up. (Fortunately, given how retro-conservative Pope Benedict is, he seems more likely to issue a papal encyclical condemning Twitter. We all know it's more likely to enable sin -- pride! sloth! -- than piety.)
It's telling that Cardinal Brady grouped Twitter with texting and e-mail. The former, of course, is a paid service and a massive profit center for cellular carriers around the world, and the latter you also pay for, albeit indirectly, as a service bundled with your monthly internet access or by allowing yourself to be subjected to advertising. (As a Gmail user, I decided to see what would come up when I e-mailed myself the Lord's Prayer. The ads Google served included ones for BeliefNet and Don Helin's paperback pulp thriller "Thy Kingdom Come." Ka-ching!) But when it comes to Twitter, we not only don't pay, but we all take it for granted that somebody's going to keep footing the bill for the rapidly expanding server farms needed to process and store zillions of tweets per minute.
It's sweet, really, that venture capitalists have ponied up millions so that we can all keep tweeting. It's also more than a bit scary. Because more and more of us are increasingly addicted not only to Twitter, but to other services that lack workable business models. What happens if the "dealers" who feed our habits disappear? (It's been known to happen. Last week, for instance, Yahoo announced it was shutting down last century's hot social-networking-esque service, GeoCities, for which it paid $3.5 billion in 1999.)
I've been thinking about all this a lot since I wrote, a few weeks ago, about how Susan Boyle has been on what I called the "Google Dole" -- her fame fueled in a nonsensically nonprofit manner by Google's YouTube unit, which hemorrhages cash serving up too much video with nowhere near enough advertising support. (I'll again refer you to Benjamin Wayne's Silicon Alley Insider piece, "YouTube is Doomed," which deconstructed the recent Credit Suisse report that puts YouTube's estimated 2009 losses at nearly half a billion dollars.) You'd think a clip of Boyle singing a song from "Les Misérables," one of the most popular musicals of all time, on one of the most popular TV shows in the world would be semi-monetizable. (I mean, geez, at the very least stick a pop-up overlay on that video with a link to the "Les Miz" soundtrack on iTunes.) But no. Adam Ostrow at Mashable further proved my point with his piece, "Susan Boyle Video Profits: $0," which explained that disagreement between "Britain's Got Talent" owner ITV and YouTube over pre-roll vs. overlays prevented ad placements in Boyle's YouTube streams.
And then last week The New York Times reported about the hazards of international expansion for the likes of Facebook. Getting million of new users in the Third World, it turns out, really sucks, because Facebook will never really be able to meaningfully monetize those eyeballs. It's tons of cash out (bandwidth, data storage, personnel) with little hope of cash in.
Weirdly, some of the management at these companies don't even seem to be trying that hard to make money -- a consequence, perhaps, of still being awash in millions of dollars of VC money ("venture charity," as I like to call it). In fact, Abbey Klassen, Ad Age's digital editor, tells me that she once heard a Facebook exec joke to an agency exec, "Didn't you know we're a nonprofit?"
I'll go one step further: They're socialists! OK, yes, I'm using the dumbed-down definition of socialism championed by numbskulls like Sarah Palin, but regardless of the finer points of economic theory, you've got to admit that at some level the boys at Facebook, YouTube and Twitter are actively choosing to redistribute the wealth. They're taking money from venture capitalists and deploying it so that millions of people far beyond Silicon Valley can get something for nothing. Entertainment, information, and self-marketing opportunities, mostly.
And, oh yeah, a sense of "connectedness" -- cyber companionship -- which makes this particular era of VC-wealth distribution all the more ... touching. (Let's all be friends -- on someone else's dime! Let's all be perpetually jacked into the hyper-insta-now global hivemind of human consciousness -- for free!)
I am so appreciative. Seriously. I love YouTube, I've made some interesting connections through Facebook, and I enjoy Twittering. (Last week, for instance, I tweeted about an astonishing bit of information I came across in Britain's Daily Telegraph: YouTube "reportedly uses as much bandwidth as the entire internet took up in 2000.")
But I also know it can't go on like this. The digital Robin Hoods can't keep redistributing the wealth forever, because eventually the wealth runs out. Investors get sick of propping up private ventures that don't have viable business models, and shareholders of public companies, like Google, get cranky about flushing cash down the drain.
So what can we do? Not much, I suppose, other than enjoy it while it lasts -- and maybe twitter a prayer for VCs everywhere.
~ ~ ~
Simon Dumenco is the "Media Guy" media columnist for Advertising Age. You can follow him on Twitter @simondumenco
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Reverse Osteoporosis
I read a piece from the New York Times today about a condition I saw dressed up Hollywood style on Greys Anatomy ... it was even more interesting and bizarre in this factually reported article than the histrionics of Greys portrayed it to be.
So basically when you get older the skelington of the human body is designed to get a little more brittle as the bone degradates. Its something that is not ideal when you take into account that the skelington has as one of its major attributes a guarding role - that of the nervous system. The constant grinning you sometimes see etched onto an old timers face is probably actually a painful grimace or perhaps it is an ironic smile at how all those years of taking the body for granted have come back in the form of almost unmanageable pain for many, as nerves are less and less protected by that 206 part skelington that used to serve them so well.
That condition I was talking about earlier is called fibrodysplasia (you would be displeased too when you see what it does to your fibres) and works in the opposite direction as Osteoporosis. Yup ... instead of your bones becoming brittle, you grow more bones from all sorts of causes - like doing damage to one of your existing bones or even cuts and bruises. Eventually your whole body is full of extra bone which is just not compatible with the way the rest of the organs and bodies systems work and you die.
Don't worry dude, waking up in the morning a little stiff (and no I don't mean that bone) is not the first sign of this condition showing itself (although it does mean you should probably not have scrummed your buddies for a couple of hours at that bachelors party until you all fell into the fire that was at first a good idea to be next to as it was providing the only light source). Bony growths that appear all over your body could be suggesting you are one of the unfortunate ones though and if that's the case then ... yea I am going to say it .... hard luck.
This article (see link below) explains it all in a well written manner as apposed to my garble. What was most interesting to me about the whole piece though was not even when the guy grows a second skelington, but rather the close connection that our skelingtons have with the other organs in our body. Lovely stuff.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/28/science/28angi.html
So basically when you get older the skelington of the human body is designed to get a little more brittle as the bone degradates. Its something that is not ideal when you take into account that the skelington has as one of its major attributes a guarding role - that of the nervous system. The constant grinning you sometimes see etched onto an old timers face is probably actually a painful grimace or perhaps it is an ironic smile at how all those years of taking the body for granted have come back in the form of almost unmanageable pain for many, as nerves are less and less protected by that 206 part skelington that used to serve them so well.
That condition I was talking about earlier is called fibrodysplasia (you would be displeased too when you see what it does to your fibres) and works in the opposite direction as Osteoporosis. Yup ... instead of your bones becoming brittle, you grow more bones from all sorts of causes - like doing damage to one of your existing bones or even cuts and bruises. Eventually your whole body is full of extra bone which is just not compatible with the way the rest of the organs and bodies systems work and you die.
Don't worry dude, waking up in the morning a little stiff (and no I don't mean that bone) is not the first sign of this condition showing itself (although it does mean you should probably not have scrummed your buddies for a couple of hours at that bachelors party until you all fell into the fire that was at first a good idea to be next to as it was providing the only light source). Bony growths that appear all over your body could be suggesting you are one of the unfortunate ones though and if that's the case then ... yea I am going to say it .... hard luck.
This article (see link below) explains it all in a well written manner as apposed to my garble. What was most interesting to me about the whole piece though was not even when the guy grows a second skelington, but rather the close connection that our skelingtons have with the other organs in our body. Lovely stuff.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/28/science/28angi.html
Monday, April 20, 2009
A cool dude runs Saatchi & Saatchi and he is on his way to CT
Aaa how fantastic that you will get a chance to visit our country. I am so happy to be living here and enjoyed you blogging on what is indeed a truly incredible and interesting place to live. I have in fact been working under Mr Eastwoods direction in that movie and just wrapped yesterday after two months of playing one of the Springboks. How strange to pull on the Jersey and sing Nkosi with the Panavision Camera close in attendance. The rugby scenes v the All Blacks were just too special! The Warner Brothers movie experience was phenomenal and cant wait to see the finished project at the end of the year -this movie is sure to be a cracker in its own right, not to mention what it can do for South Africa and the game of rugby throughout the world. I must also tell/warn you that Matt is a top guy and a handy poker player. I lost an exciting hand to him while holding trip 7's! I too am a story teller and actually writing one that flows from my heart about a childhood under apartheid. A writing and emotional experience I am enjoying immensely. Not all white people were a part of the major wrong doings in the country at the time off course, and not every black person carries the relatively new found opportunity of 'freedom' forward in the most productive or integrous way. The country still faces huge challenges as the ANC is looked upon with narrowed eye brows from those that sat in prisons and sacrificed so much for it in an excruciating past. I had a very interesting chat to Zelda (Madiba's personal assitant extraodinaire) on Wed night in this regard. KR when you are in CT pls feel free to look me up madibapi@gmail.com as I have a super insight to this fairest of cities that you could make use of.There are Lovemarks a plenty that occur in Africa's unique way of expressing itself - from the Mining Helmuts that together with the Vuvuzela (don't worry if these are not familiar yet, they will become familiar in 2010 WORLD CUP)have become so much part of the game of soccer, to the table cloth of cloud that covers our flat Table Mountain! Not all are commercial love marks perhaps, but just as intensely revered and loved. I am good buddies with Bob Skin as well if you need a reference :) Safe trip and enjoy your stay as I am certian you shall. Ryan Scott From Kevin |
|
Ryan,
Great to hear from you - your passion's infectious!
KR
Kevin Roberts
Saatchi & Saatchi Worldwide CEO
2009: Winning Ugly Together
SAATCHI & SAATCHI
THE LOVEMARKS COMPANY
www.saatchi.com
www.lovemarks.com
Great to hear from you - your passion's infectious!
KR
Kevin Roberts
Saatchi & Saatchi Worldwide CEO
2009: Winning Ugly Together
SAATCHI & SAATCHI
THE LOVEMARKS COMPANY
www.saatchi.com
www.lovemarks.com
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