Egil Olsen Day Redux

Long-term TSP fans may remember the short lived July 1st phenomenon of paying tribute to the Norweigan manager who brought gumboot wearing Marxism to British football, and promptly got relegated. You may have pined (like a parrot for the fjords) for news about what the man affectionately known as Drillo was doing these days.

Good news. Egil is back. Bad news, he’s in trouble. As an additional bonus the article contains a last line that makes me want to simultaneously cry and throw up.

Norwegian Egil Olsen has yet to be informed whether he has been fired as coach of Iraq and remains keen to continue working with the Asian champions.

“I’m still waiting to hear I’ve been sacked, I haven’t heard a word yet, no phone call, no email, no letter,” Olsen told Reuters by telephone from his home in Norway on Monday.

“I was told last week that the speculation was nonsense. I would like to continue working with Iraq, we have a good team, we have come so far.”

Basem al-Rubaie, the deputy head of the Iraqi Football Union (IFU), told Reuters on Sunday the IFU board had unanimously agreed to dispense with Olsen for refusing to coach the team in the Kurdistan region of Iraq.

Olsen, who was in charge for only three competitive games — none of which were defeats — said Iraq had agreed he would not have to train the team inside the war-torn country.

“In the first meeting we had, we agreed, many times, there would be no need for me to go into Iraq,” said the 65-year-old, who steered Norway to two consecutive World Cup finals and second in the FIFA rankings.

“It’s strange, because most of the players are outside Iraq.”


He poured scorn on suggestions by Rubaie that the IFU board were concerned about his health.

“I’ve never felt so fresh, this is not true,” he said. “I had minor back surgery but I have no health problems at all.”

In a recent interview, the former boss of now-defunct English side Wimbledon FC said he was prepared for the cut-throat hire-and-fire culture of Middle East soccer and knew he had a only limited time to prove himself.

If you ask me, and speaking of Iraq as we were, the Americans went after the wrong people. If only they’d invaded, captured and killed everyone who was responsible for Wimbledon being moved to Milton Kunt then the world would undoubtedly be a better place.

TSP: Missing The Point Since 1981

This article is all well and good. Wine, wine, wine, choff, choff, choff. But it never actually delves into the one question that I, and surely thousands of other innocent newspaper readers, really want answered. Why has that woman got her baps out?

Now, chances are that this is some sort of Melbourne institution that I’ve missed by not being trendy enough. “Oh you fool, don’t you know anything? She can tell whether it’s a white or red just by dipping her left nipple into it” etc…

Either that or it’s a concerted effort to increase box office at their show by hinting that there will be a hint of nork on stage. Jokes on them when the readership of Zoo Weekly turn up, realise it’s not the food and wine version of Alvin Purple and trash the place.

Besides, all this fine wine talk is academic to me. Everyone knows that the only wine expert I ever consult is Dino;



When you get your next under-the-counter copy of Underbelly from some bloke at Upfield train station look closely, I think you’ll see Dino in the background opening fire on one of the Moran family.

TSP = Not Pimpin'

I might be about 5 years behind in this (seven if you heard it before the much more popular reissue), but whilst going about my normal daily business tonight I suddenly wondered who the fuck Fatman Scoop was, and why exactly he had any authority to be yelling at me in his one hit wonder song. Of course Wikipedia had all the answers, including something about it taking two years to clear the samples which would explain why I definately heard the track once or twice in 2001 before it disappeared.

Anyway, about ten seconds later after I’d gotten over this and my thoughts had moved onto other things I started to think about other songs with such blatant crowd pleasing audience participation as Be Faithful. If you’ve been in anything resembling a cheap and nasty suburban nightclub in the last few years you’ll know what I’m talking about. Never before has any song been so cynically geared towards making people join in. Quoth the Fatman himself,

You gotta hundred dollar bill put ya hands up!

You gotta fifty dollar bill put ya hands up!


You gotta twenty dollar bill put ya hands up!

You gotta ten dollar bill put ya hands up!

Single ladies! I can’t hear y’all! Single ladies, make noise!

Single ladies! I can’t hear y’all! Single ladies! Make noise!

All the chicken heads, be quiet!

All the chicken heads, be quiet!

All the chicken heads, be quiet

See what he did there? In a post-modern manouevre worthy of the greats there is even a section contending that anyone who is not joining in this orgy of lies (90% of people who put their hands up as having a hundred dollar bill look like they dress at Savers) is a “chicken head”. What that is will remain a mystery, but the implication is that it’s terrible and in the cut and thrust world of nightclub sleazing nobody wants to do anything that will put them at a disadvantage.

Back to Mr. Scoop,

All the good lookin women sing along - I cant hear ya!
etc..
If you’ve got long hair put your hands up

If you’ve got short hair make noise


If you’ve got long hair put your hands up

If you’ve got short hair make noise
If you’ve got long hair on your head, ladies

If you’ve got long hair on your head

If you’ve got long hair on your head from your ear

to ya sleeve even if you gotta weave

Yo can i get a

Ooh ooh

Can i get a

ooh ooh

And duly people start ooh oohing away. Even males if they’re absurdly trashed and unable to comprehend that they have just openly claimed to be female. Then we get to the best bit of them all, the one that really sorts out the men from the boys. When this bit comes on drop everything, or everyone, that you’re doing and look around to see how everyone reacts.
To all my niggas that wanna

Hit it from the back

That wanna have sex


With no strings attatched

Yo, Can i get a

What what

Can i get a

What what

Can i get a

What what

Oh oh

alf of the males in the room will go wild for this bit and give it “what what” like there’s no tomorrow in the hope that somebody will spot them and instantly offer a shag. To the best knowledge of everyone involved with TSP this has NEVER EVER HAPPENED IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AND NEVER WILL, but try telling that to a drunken 18-year-old from Niddrie or a sleazy 47-year-old married man who is losing their hair. In the Fatman Scoop fantasy world they’re already having a three-way with two sisters.

A quarter of the people will sheepishly raise a hand to this even though they know it makes them look like a colossal twat, because after all you never know when scenario A is actually going to come true. Newsflash, it’s not - get over it. Swedish bikini models will not ignore the fact that you look like you’ve had your face smashed in with a brick, and that you’re wearing a ’salmon’ shirt with the collar up just because you wave your arms in the air to some guy shouting commands at you.

The rest will instantly stop anything they are doing and refuse to participate in this grim spectacle.

The first two will then spin their neck around so quick that they almost break it looking for any female in the vicinity who is showing interest in the next verse,

Who fuckin tonight? Who fuckin tonight?

Who fuckin tonight? Oh oh

Most of them, and none with you son.

Surely this is the key to getting your song flogged to death in clubs, straight into the charts and making you a fortune. Tell me that the chance to do the dodgy actions to Blame It On The Boogie hasn’t contributed to the continued popularity of that song over the last thirty years. The whole sunshine (opening hands above head), moonlight (whatever they do), good times (a hip thrusting pump for some unknown bloody reason), boogie thing is the only thing this side of Loveshack guaranteed to make the patrons of said shonky venue blow a collective gasket. Never mind that the moves seem to have been invented somewhere along the line. Watch the video, they never do these moves yet everyone seems to know them, and break them out as if it were the law. Why? Who knows, but it’s Audience Participation 101. Look at the Macarena and Boot Scooting - two mercifully short lived crazes that nonetheless made a lot of people a SHITLOAD of money because everyone wanted to be a part of it when it seemed to be popular. It’s all about perception. If you want to sell something make everyone think that the rest of the world loves it. Did 95% of the kids who ended up with a Pikachu doll for Christmas when that craze was running riot a few years back know what was going on? No, but they knew that their friends all probably had one and if that if mum and dad didn’t drop one off under the Christmas tree that they were going to tip the tree over and punch their sister in the face.

Off the top of my head I can think two other blatant crowd participation songs. One is the long forgotten (thank christ) “Clap Your Hands” by 112, which asked prospective punters;

If you’re sexy and you know it clap your hands

If you’re sexy and you know it clap your hands


If you’re sexy and you know it

And you really wanna show it

If you’re sexy and you know it clap your hands

thus leading to an inferno of people wildly clapping in case they were seen to not be joining in, and therefore not sexy. Incidentally I always thought that the line in this song where he claims his “drop top” is in the parking lot would have been much better if it had been his “choc top” instead, and the punchline was that he was a horny ice cream truck driver but that’s neither here nor then in this discussion. The point is that once again it got played an offensive amount because every ‘DJ’ (term used lightly, because you’re just changing CD’s pal) knew that the crowd would go nuts if it got played because they get to join in. Another instant fortune made from the sheep effect.

Less popular in these parts, but the finest work in the genre for mine was Ludacris’ “Pimpin’ All Over The World”, the end of which featured one of the finest ‘traps’ for nightclub horndogs ever invented. Quoth Mr. Cris;

Ladies and gentlemen as we ride out,

Could we have all the real pimps,

Please put both of your pinky fingers high in the air,
Queue everyone who considers themselves “Pimpin” raising the fingers at a million miles an hour.

Now ladies look around wit me, lets see if

We can weed some of these niggas out,
“Hold on, do what now?”
Cause it’s no way that all these niggas

could be pimpin,
If you happen to see a nigga wit two sweat patches up under his arms,

look like he been swimmin in shoulder height water,

please tell them. Put your hands down,

And thus begins the musical equivalent of Guess Who - as men everywhere suddenly realise they’ve been duped and drop their hands at a million miles an hour.

If you smell like you been

At work all day and Drakkar

please put your hands down,

Apparently Drakkar is both a cologne AND the building in which 58 French paratroopers were killed in the 1983 Beirut bombings. Your guess is as good as mine as to which one he means. Ludacris continues;

Now look up at the pinky fingers that are still in the air,

If you see a nigga ashy around the knuckles,


like the dude washed half of his hands and lotion three quarters of his body,

please say put yo hands down,
if your spinnin’ rims

Spin counter clockwise,

you are not pimpin’

How anyone is supposed to know that unless the song is taking place in the carpark is a mystery to me, but you’ve got to acknowledge his commitment to rolling people.

If you are dancin’ on the dancefloor

and you look to your left and your right and there is not a woman in sight,

Guess what? You guessed it you are not pimpin,

How true. Oh, how true.

If your vodka and cranberry is really really dark,

like blood, that’s because you didn’t order vodka buddy

that’s why it’s $3 a glass! Put your hands down.

This is why you never hear this song in Australia. Anyone seen drinking Vodka and Cranberry would have been bashed hours before.

Now look down. Now I need everybody just to

pull up your pants legs one time.

Okay, you see the nigga with the white socks? NOT PIMPIN!

Sorry.
>Unless…you’re part of the “Beat it” entourage.

if your shoes have a buckle on them…. you’re not pimpin…

By this time nobody should be left. Every single man in the joint should have been eliminated. Quality.

Alas the video doesn’t feature this quality lyrical smackdown, but it does feature attractive women - so get in you perves.



So, what other songs have a ridiculous audience participation element that have propelled them into making millions of dollars? Your suggestions please.

Update: Upon further consideration I’d like to add any song that commands you to “jump”, a’la House of Pain’s “Jump Around” or “Jump” by Kriss Kross. Also up for consideration is any number of the 20000 songs that have told you to “throw your set in the air and wave it around like you just don’t care”.

Blogging Inquest

In the interest of furthing the wide world of blog gimmickery, I hereby subject myself to hot interview action from Desci. If any of you are waiting for the replay and don’t want to see the answers look away now.

1. Best Album, band, gig.
I’m going to have to go for a one band Grand Slam here. The answers are TISM’s Hot Dogma, TISM and TISM at the Hi-Fi Bar 2004. I know the band themselves hate parts of Hot Dogma with a passion but I love it. Consider the following lyrical masterpiece from track one, The TISM Boat Hire Offer,

“Bon Scott would be alive this week if he just went fishing in Mordialloc Creek”

Genius. The album also contains my favourite TISM track Life Kills. A song which effectively takes all my philosophies of life and distills them into 7 odd minutes of rant. Simply beautiful.

Second place, The Smiths. Hey, fuck you - I know it’s twee but I don’t care. Wildcard for best gig ever was Ultraworld Festival last November. I’m not really into dance, not enough to know who anybody is anyway, but I had a top night surrounded by 5000 people off their trolley running away from police sniffer dogs. Then some girl with purple hair pashed me at the train station on the way home. HOT!

2. Why are you so into sport? It’s pretty shit.
Agreed. In fact I’ve found that I’m not really into sports that I don’t have a team to support in. I don’t guive two farks if Australia win at the Olympics, because it means nothing to me. In my sick mind it’s all about “my” team winning. Which never happens. In fact I expect that in the off-chance that Melbourne win an AFL Premiership anytime soon that it might actually act as a pressure-release that allows me to step away from sports a bit. Then I can ping myself off the Westgate knowing that I’ve seen everything that I wanted to see in life and there’s nothing left to achieve.

3. You’ve lived a lot of places. Where’s your favourite suburb in which to dwell?
Anywhere within a five kilometre radius of the city. If I ever have to live in the suburbs again (and punters, the furthest I’ve lived from the CBD was Camberwell) I’ll slash my wrists. If I had any of Hawthorn, Hawthorn East, Glen Iris, Hawthorn East, St. Kilda, Docklands, Southbank, Camberwell or Richmond I’d probably have to go for Southbank again. It was a two floor Penthouse fer-christ-sakes. I am, however, quite enjoying Richmond. As long as it’s somewhere that I can crawl home after becoming trashed then I’m happy.

4. I know you’re not really into the whole relationship thing, but who would be your perfect girl with whom to live forever and ever? Or just for, like, a year?
Holy shit. Now I’m flummoxed. In an ideal world she would be…

Cynical and ever so slightly evil, a little bit older than me, professional, smart, tall-ish. Interest in sports and the like not required, but tolerance must be had for disappearing mid AFL season for roadtrips to games in Canberra. No interest in having kids, and the sort of person who IF you were to get married wouldn’t expect some ring that could feed half of Africa for a year.

Oh, and I’m totally hornE for accents. What can I say? Ooh la la.

Alas I’m not even sure whether a record breaking combination of the above could actually hold my interest for even a year. Crash through or crash and all that.

5. Would you let me goth you up next time we go out? You’d look SO pretty.
I don’t think I could take myself seriously, but it’s tempting anyway just for a laugh. Will I be able to crack on to hot goth girls without actually having an intimate knowledge of Edgar Allen Poe or the Cure back catalogue?

5.1. Can we please go to Flat top? Mel’s DJing and I can’t go alone.
No idea if the supplementary question was meant to go on the blog or not, but hey why not. I’m in.

Celebrity Endorsements Taken Too Far

Releasing an endless stream of shitbox singles a decade after you died is one thing, but I can’t believe his management would stoop so low as to take money to plug shithouse servo food.



P.S - To take this photo I had to use a mobile phone next to a petrol pump, thus endangering the lives of hundreds of people. Sucked in that it didn’t explode.

Random Kountdown Korner

TSP’s all-time, all-argument starting best, and worst, sports logos of all time. All images courtesy of sportslogos.net

In no particular order we present,

The Best

Yomiuri Giants - Japanese Baseball

Note the way that the “Giant” aspect is perfectly put into perspective by the size of bats he’s holding and the city behind him? Read further and you’ll see what happens when designers don’t bother to do this and suddenly you get basketballs big enough to crush Rio De Janerio.



Washington Senators - Baseball


It’s a ye olde founding father senator winding up to hurl a fastball. Genius.

Vancouver Ravens - Lacrosse

Probably the hottest Raven ever invented.

Toledo Mud Hens - Baseball

Never before has any member of the chicken family shown so much concentration.

“>

Temple Owls

If you’re saddled with designing a logo for a pissweak animal like an Owl, at least make it look like it’s going to kill somebody.

Portland Sea Dogs - Baseball

It’s a dopey looking seal, but this has definately got something going for it.

Plymouth Whalers - Ice Hockey

The greatest blowhole blastoff EVER. Look at the concentration on his face - it’s the little things that make it.

Hartford Whalers - NHL

Speaking of Whalers, it’s the greatest stylised letter logo ever. If there’s ever been a professional sports team that needs to come back you’re looking at it.

Vancouver Canucks - Ice Hockey (1970)

Pong on an Atari 2600. Genius.

Oakland/Los Angeles/Oakland Raiders - NFL

Simple, classic and with a hint of real menace. He’s going to cut your head off and shag your dog.

New Orleans Voodoo - Arena Football League


Super spooky. But also classy!

Nashville Kats - Arena Football League

Sleazy cats don’t always make for the best logos, but when it looks like the Fonz and will probably sell you a key of coke in the carpark afterwards you’ve got to give some respect.

Minnesota Fighting Saints - Ice Hockey

An evil child. Will throw things at your car while you’re driving down the freeway.

Houston EZ-Rider - Tennis

Smokin’ rackets? That’s cool. EZ Rider? That’s just stupid. Lucky we’re not ranking sports team names - being named here would certainly show up that long defunct franchise.

Hawaii Islands - Arena Football League


There aren’t enough logos featuring somebody giving the big “don’t argue” with the left hand.

Hamilton Bulldogs - American Hockey League

The standard by which all sporting bulldogs should be judged. Infinately better than the shitful Footscray version.

Grand Rapids Rampage - Arena Football


By the time you see the rhino it will already have killed you. More likely to happen in Africa than Grand Rapids, but they’re not huge on Arena Football there apparently.

Cleveland Indians - Baseball

The happiest man in sports! No idea why, they never win anything.

Cincinatti Reds - Baseball

Sure, they may have also given us the worst logo ever (keep reading..) but what redemption - his head is a freaking baseball ferchristsake. This guy would get more birds than the Captain in the Flight Centre ad.

Hiroshima Toyo Carp - Japanese Baseball

Look at the sheer determination on that kid’s face! Every organisation which starts with “C” should be stealing this for motivational purposes.

Monmouth University Hawks

He wants you to come to his car. He wants to do things to you.

Toronto Phantoms - Arena Football

A truly terrifying spectre. Sadly the only thing that actually died was the team.

Youngstown University Penguins

That penguin is saying, “yes, I look stupid but mock me and I will DESTROY you”. A formidable opponent against anyone other than a club wielding Polish sailor.

The Worst



Lewiston MAINEiacs - Ice Hockey


So, you’re commissioned to come up with a logo for the worst team name ever. Do you, a) chuck a sickie, or b) create something resembling an inbred simpleton.

Denver Rockets - ABA (1971)

If the rocket is that big, and the mountains are that small - how big does that make the basketball? Frightening.

Denver Nuggets - ABA (1975)

What is it with Denver basketball sides? First the giant rocket, and now the guy who looks like Peter Russell Clarke having just sat on something substantial.

Columbus Crew - MLS

Looks more like a union meeting than a sports logo.

Los Angeles Sharks - World Hockey Association - 1973

Ladies and gentlemen, the porkiest shark of all time. So slow in the water that instead of running in terror when it turns up, people swim around and taunt it instead.

Milwaukee Admirals - American Hockey League


Drawn by a 12-year-old much?

Cleveland Barons - American Hockey League

A tuxedo clad shark with a monocle playing hockey should tick all the boxes for comedy, yet somehow this just falls short.

Cincinatti Reds - Baseball (1960)

First he stole bases, then he stole 12-year-olds from their beds. Horrifying.

Chicago Fire - World Football League (1974)

Dude! Your head is totally on fire!

Las Vegas 51’s - Baseball

I fucking hate aliens.

New England Patriots - NFL (70’s-1992)


Fact, if they actually had somebody who looked like one of the Village People playing Centre in the Superbowl they would have gone 19-0.

Montreal Expos - Baseball (RIP)

I once saw an explanation of this logo on a website. When a logo requires an explanation there’s something seriously wrong.

New England Steamrollers - Arena Football (1988)

It really looks as if he’s humping a car.

Peoria Rivermen - Baseball

Gay sea captains are a marketing dream

Parramatta Power - NSL

Why are they arm wrestling over a football?

Club Marconi - NSL


An italo-themed boomerang and a radi o transmission tower? Did Marconi invent the throwing stick as well?

Portland Storm - World Football League - 1974

What the fuck is that thing? No wonder they only lasted a year.

San Antonio Gunslingers - USFL - 1984

The pansiest looking gunslinger in history. More likely to shoot himself in the kneecap than to successfully hit you in the event of an actual duel.

St. John’s Fog Devils - Ice Hockey

See, I might be a sick person but he seems to be performing unspeakable acts. I don’t want to see that in my sports logos.

Atlanta Apollos - National American Soccer League

In English please?

Carolina Cougars - ABA (1971)


Note to all sports marketing executives - there’s a reason why only one team has ever had a sinister animal rubbing a ball as if he’s trying to read your fortune.

Canton Invaders - Indoor Soccer

HE HAS EMERGED FROM A GIANT SOCCER BALL TO KILL YOUR FAMILY

Tulsa Roughnecks - NASL

Everyone knows that giant Americans with wrenches in their hands are only ever seen near soccer if they’re chasing somebody down the street trying to hit them for playing it.

Boston Lobsters - Tennis

First things first when the hell does anyone have a league for tennis. Secondly I’ve been studying the serving action of the Lobster for hours (or minutes) and I still can’t work out what the hell is going on.

Arkansas Travellers - Baseball

Never include a marketing slogan in your logo.

The Rest

Chattanooga Lookouts - Baseball

Well it does what it says, but don’t you think it’s just a little bit sinister? Like it’s looking at you through your bathroom window or something.

Fukuoka Hawks - Japanese Baseball

Hey, the bird is flipping me off!

Memphis Southmen - USFL

I hate the logo but it’s got a sort of cool Godzilla destroys Tokyo vibe to it.

I’m unsure about this one. I’m not at all terrified by their crazy duck, but he does have a look of determination on his face which says “I’m going to peck your nuts off”.

University of Missouri - Kansas City

This is precisely the sort of “fuck you” fighting Kangaroo logo that North Melbourne should adopt (sans pissy skivvy if possible) rather than the ill-defined thing they’ve got at the moment which may as well be a chicken.