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Tag Archives: sport

Double-barreled football

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Another cultural gift from The Bucket Sports Department.


Daly Cherry-Evans  is a prominent player in Australian Rugby League football.

Now I’m not about to make fun of his name because   I don’t want to run the risk of him coming around here and thumping the scheissen out of me I am an extremely charitable soul.

Instead I’ll just introduce some other hyphenated hunks of humanity who lace up their boots every weekend and bend over into the scrum to have their brains scrambled, rotator cuffs demolished and bottoms digitally remastered. (here)
Fortnightly Cantaloupe-Minesweeper.

Wallace Gromit-Parker-Bowles-Windsor     (Import from U.K.)

Kim Sun-Bush     (Korean American import)

Rastas Guggenheim-Mohammet     (Stateless import)

Li Ping-Pong     (Import from Serbia)

Matthew Brew-Munder

John-Susan Smith

Moses Inder-Bullrush

Zack Warrior-Princess

Confucius Thatcher-Hefner

Tupac Daley-Habbitt     (Import from USA)

Palmer Carpal-Tunnel

Dallas Hooshot-Jayyar      (Import from Arab Emirates)

The Bucket has yet to snare an Australian Media Association’s award for excellence in sports journalism. I have a good feeling about 2014.

Australia’s sporting disgrace

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Cricket has been the one enduring sporting love of my life. Today many Australians are celebrating the series victory over our traditional rivals, England.

Some of us are not.

‘Test cricket’ matches have been played between our two countries for 130 years. Cricket is more than just a game requiring technical skills and physical endurance. As each game is played over five consecutive days, complex and subtle tactical manoeuvres are required to deal with the vagaries of changing pitch and weather conditions.  But most of all, cricket has always demanded of it’s players an exemplary level of sportsmanship both on and off the field, including respect for opponents, and winning or losing with grace and dignity.

This year, players from both teams have violated the proud traditions of the game.  Australia, as the host nation needs to take most responsibility. The on-field behaviour of our players has been utterly disgraceful.  Verbal abuse, intimidation and threats of physical violence to opponents might belong with other sports, but not cricket.

We have witnessed these highly-paid sporting heroes of today, who are the role models for our young cricketers of the future, behaving like loudmouthed thugs and disrespectful uncouth showponies.

Cricket deserves better than this.

Much, much better.

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Update;  30th December 2013;

Following this verbal dressing down I am delighted to announce that all players behaved themselves admirably during the subsequent Fourth Test Match.  Accordingly, I am expecting a cheque in the mail from the Australian Cricket Board this week.  Other financial donations from traditional cricket lovers  may be lodged online at the usual place:

Gawd strewth mate, they’re back ‘ere again!

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Oh yes, I’m talking once again about Sharapova and Azarenka, those two shrieking and screaming ex-Soviet disgraces to both professional tennis and sport in general.

Well strike me pink, you’d think they wouldn’t have the nerve to show their faces in Australia again after the severe tongue lashing I gave them last year.

Obviously that wasn’t enough, so maybe I’ll have to resurrect my very own nineteen-sixties four step protest procedure which saw me single-handedly stop the Vietnam war, abolish capital punishment, and ensure that more bras were burned than were strictly necessary to promote the liberation of women in Australia.

These two loudmouthed horrid unsporting little tarts swindlers need to be gagged and deported before they distract and defraud any more honest opponents.

GOF’s 1960’s Escalating Public Protest Procedure;

1.  Raise right eyebrow in contempt.

2.  Expectorate with indignance.

3.  Hoist myself up and dangle precariously from the flagpole at Parliament House, Canberra. (Late springtime activity only due weather constraints)

4. Streak at public events with protest message bootpolished on my backside. (summertime only)

Now according to Mrs GOF and the arresting Officers who apprehended me last week during my Stage Four protest sparked by the planned bulldozing of Cairns City Place, I am no longer in peak streaking condition.  I therefore need another failsafe option to deter these two screeching tennis prizemoney poachers from ever coming back to Australia again.

When I was six my Dad deterred me from engaging in all manner of aberrant behaviours by putting me over his knee, pulling my strides down, and flogging my bare arse black and blue with a wooden spoon.  It worked a treat. For more than half a century now I’ve been recalcitrance-free.

You will be delighted to know that I have just secured myself a job as a linesperson at Rod Laver Arena for this weeks Azarenka v Sharapova tennis match. I urge you not to miss it.

You will never again get the opportunity to witness this unique interaction between one linesman, two players, and one tennis racquet handle.

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Sermon; Performance enhancement

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In the beginning God created a wheel unto which man joined sticks with a receptacle on top and verily called it a wheelbarrow.

The Lord looked down upon the wheelbarrow and was mightily pleased so he rewarded the industry of man by sending two different wheels for man to build a bicycle, whereupon man himself was filled with joy everlasting and copied the wheels, and made millions of bicycles which he used to spread enlightenment further and faster all over the world wherever the land was flat, and without trees and rocks and nails and mud and rivers.

And it came to pass that the fastest rider of them all was Lance, the son of Armstrong, so the Lord interceded and spake directly unto Lance;  “Thou shalt ride over the mountains of Europe to the east for ten days and then return unto the shade of the Eiffel tree in the west. Unto thee I will provide secret potions and herbs for you to imbibe so that thou shalt be the fastest man in all the land for seven more years.”

But after seven years had passed the Lord looked down and saw that Lance was not humble and that he was filled with belligerence and untruth and greed and desire so He ignored Lance and spake instead unto a faithful disciple who was also a tabloid journalist;   “Pssst,…. God here…….unto thee alone I present this scoop of unprecedented proportions”  following which came the day of judgment for Lance, and the name of Armstrong didst stink forever after like someone elses baby’s poo.


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Scriptural enlightenment. (about humility)

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And the angels on high looked down upon the arena of the thirtieth Olympiad and lo, they saw Usain Bolt become the first man ever to successfully defend the athletic sprint double gold, and they were glad and excited and flushed of face and all over, and they asked the Lord  “Lord did you see that?”  

The Lord then reminded the angels of the meaning of the word ‘omnipresent’ and rebuked them for being tempted with sins of the flesh. He then looked down upon the multitude thronging in exaltation of the self appointed Legend Of The Track and He was mightily displeased.

So the Lord spake directly unto Bolt, admonishing him for the displays of vanity and prophesying that “if you point that infernal pretend bow and arrow in my direction just one more time, your gonads will verily shrivel up like plums into prunes then drop off and be as feed to the hungry chickens and your muscles will shrink and you shall thereafter forever be known as Erkel.”






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Message from the Deaconess;   Shortly after delivering this reading Reverend GOF publicly dropped his vestments and ran stark naked out of the cathedral covering his private parts with the ‘comments’ box and the ‘like’ button.

Oh well…..babies out with the bathwater.

Maybe he’ll return the box and the button one day.

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Full Colour Aussie Olympics Supplement

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Full colour

The Bucket is proud to present your only reliable guide to Australia’s sporting performance at the midway point of the London 2012 Olympic Games.

A.  Actual medal-winning achievements relative to predictions made prior to the games;

Three-eighths of bugger-all.

B.  Why;

Well let me sum up the problem in just five words;

T O O    M U C H   B O N K I N G   G O I N G   O N.

At the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, 90,000 condoms were handed out to the 10,000 athletes who were domiciled in the Olympic village.  Four years later in Athens 130,000 were distributed.

In 2008 the numbers were written in Chinese so I can’t decipher them.

One can only assume that in London 2012, a city still steaming in erotic memories of Margaret Thatcher, the pro-rata use of physical contraception barriers has further increased.

Before we descend into discussing the sordid topic of s. e. x.  (there are kiddies reading this….including mine)  we firstly need to discount the possibility that the athletes are just going to innocently inflate all these prophylactics with helium and set them loose like colourful snub-nosed peace doves during the closing ceremony.

Let’s conservatively assume, based on previous statistics, that athletes are issued with nine condoms each. If they are bonking each other and not outsiders, that will equal 18 acts of protected sex per athlete during the two weeks of the Games.
(see, I’ve given this a lot of thought and due diligence)
On top of that there’s all the unprotected sex and disgusting hanky-panky groping foreplay filth and wickedness which is probably also occurring in this Olympic stadium of iniquity.

No wonder Australian athletes are performing so miserably at the London Games right now. They’re all too busy excelling at other things.

C.  What to do about it.

As our nation’s sporting reputation is completely stuffed for these games we should just bring ’em all back home immediately, compensate them with a free pie and sauce and a tube of Goanna Oil Liniment at Sydney airport, then concentrate on the next Olympics instead.

All we’ll need then is some sporting and management genius like me to accompany the team, and enough green and gold chastity belts for all the athletes, male and female, to wear for the duration.

I’ll be in charge of the keys.

So America, China and England, don’t even bother turning up to Rio de Janiero in 2016. It won’t be worth the embarrassment.

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P.S.  Oh, and did you ever wonder what the 5  circular symbols on the Olympic logo denote?

Well now you know.

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Fame and glory: Better late than never.

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There are times in a man’s life when he really should take a long hard look at himself and truthfully admit that, when compared to others, he is occupying six cubic feet of space which might otherwise be put to better use.

Let’s face it, I have completely failed to honour my genetic inheritance or justify the existence of my protoplasmic mass with any semblance of outstanding achievement.

Tom Lehrer was the twentieth century’s pre-eminent satirical lyricist.
When he was 37 years of age in 1965 he also broached the subject of his own comparative inadequacy with the following comment to his audience;

“It is a sobering thought, for example, that when Mozart was my age he’d been dead for two years.”

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The following  is a condensed list of my failures to date;

1.  Failed to achieve any of my childhood ambitions. Fireman. Ship’s captain. Radio announcer. Train driver.

2.  Failed to consummate what at one time seemed to me to be a ‘sure thing’ with Ms fancypants MacPherson.

3.  Failed to win any pie-eating, ballroom dancing, arm wrestling or Mister Congeniality competitions.

4.  Failed to sire octuplets. (to the best of my knowledge)

5.  Failed to change the world in any way. I’ve never precipitated a war, fomented social unrest, marched for world peace or even burnt a bra in anger. (except for just one time, and that didn’t change the world….it just made Mrs GOF very angry.)

6.  Most distressing of all is that Australia ignored my prodigious talents for 30 years when selecting it’s International cricket team.  Furthermore, even after I’d spent so much money on a (since reversed) sex-change operation I was still not even considered for
our women’s beach volleyball training squad prior to the Sydney 2000 Olympics.

So shove it Australia. I’m taking my sporting prowess overseas.

Being fully aware that my springchickenhood may well expire sometime during the next decade, I was left with the challenge of finding a suitable sport upon which to unleash my superabundant talents.
The answer came through divine intervention.
A heavenly angel descended to my garden shed (into which you will recall I had been compulsorily quarantined by Mrs GOF last month when I was sick) and whispered the following message from God;

“GOF, your destiny is a narrow, cold and wet hole in the ground.”

Before I had time to further discuss the ramifications of this spiritual sporting guidance, the angel suddenly went *poof* and transmogrified into a ghostly and ghastly apparition (which coincidentally bore an uncanny resemblance to Tammy Faye Bakker) before vanishing through the shed window into the darkness of night.

Praise the Lord for absence of ambiguity.  


I’m now in training for;




The International Bog Snorkelling Championships.

Mr Gerden Green, a linguist from Llanwrtyd Wells in Wales, came up with the idea of bog snorkelling one evening in 1976 when he was high on a combination of booze and methane trying to forget the travails of his academic day. His post-doctoral thesis, “An examination of where all the missing Welsh vowels disappeared to” was not progressing as planned and was giving him the shts and splttng hedachs.

World record-holder for two laps of the 55 metre-long bog trench is Joanne Pitchforth with a time of 1 minute 35.18 seconds, so I phoned her in the U.K. hoping she would help me with some training hints;

“Pith off GOTH ith juth finisht trainink ant I caent tork to you corth my flikinth teeths are full oft grath and mut and uther thit laek amoebaths, parathetiumths and wormths”.

Well I’ll teach that Ms Gutter-Gob Pitchfork a lesson or two in August at Waen Rydd bog in Wales.
She may well have superior buoyancy but I’ve been working on a way to harness diet and technology to my advantage.
Sauerkraut and baked beans for breakfast linked somewhat circuitously to a hot-air catalytic thruster concealed in my jocks.

I have a feeling in my gut that the Bog Snorkelling World Record will soon be mine.


Autographs may be requested on this forum in September after I triumphantly return to Australia laden down with trophies and medallions and tanned all over from the relentless glare of the International media spotlight.

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Inaugural Pain in the Arse Award

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Give your eyeballs a break and let GOF  read it to you;

(click on the little triangle thingy )

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Distinguished WordPress bloggers, Your Highness, Your Excellency, Your Eminence, Madam Prime Minister, ladies and gentlemen, guide dogs, and Elle MacbloodyPherson and her new gentleman friend;

Thank you for attending the inaugural presentation of our Pain In The Arse Award.

We are gathered here tonight in the The Bucket’s magnificent new beach-themed auditorium which was constructed with the assistance of a ten million dollar higher-education grant from the Australian Government, as well as donations of $1000 from each of my blog subscribers who probably haven’t noticed it’s disappeared from their bank accounts yet.

A very special welcome to my American friends who are with us tonight. Thank you for traveling so far.  Although your first reaction to my mentioning the words ‘sport’ and ‘cricket’ might be to wander off for a slurp at the 24-hour bar in the foyer, I urge you to hang around to assist with the hurling of brickbats.
This time-honoured sport will begin shortly.
Besides, someone in Florida needs to share some responsibility for training today’s award winners.

Firstly let me take you back to a time before sportsmen and women were paid huge amounts of money just for playing games.

As young cricketers during the 1960’s there were two very important principles of sport (and life) which were drilled into us relentlessly by coaches and mentors.

1. “The game” is more important than your personal performance.

2. “Sportsmanship”, including respect for opposition players and umpires, was paramount.

Today I  lament the passing of “sportsmanship” in many sports, including my own beloved game of cricket.

Too often today, the degree of sportsmanship displayed on the field of play is inversely proportional to the amount of prizemoney on offer.


Let us now turn our attention to tennis. Never in it’s long history have players tarnished the image of the game so consistently and shown such poor sportsmanship as tonight’s award recipients.

These two spoilt little brats have the temerity to demand total silence from spectators yet proceed to launch themselves into spasms of screaming every time they hit the ball.

They claim that the habit has been a natural part of their game since childhood.  Pigs arse. Pull the other one. I had a daughter who once upon a time played tennis.  Had she started squarking at 100 decibels every time she hit the ball I would have firstly bashed her over the scone with the racquet before carting her off to have the disorder corrected by a psychiatrist.

Screaming is NOT a natural part of tennis you pampered little millionaire darlings. It is a contrivance.
It is YOUR deliberate tactic to distract opponents. Like it or lump it, what you are actually doing is CHEATING. You are defrauding your opponents, and defrauding the public of it’s right to enjoy watching your sport.
The practice should be outlawed immediately by the International Tennis Federation.

The Bucket has no pleasure at all in awarding the
Inaugural Pain in The Arse Award to the joint winners;

Tonight we truthfully recognise the contribution which these two players have made to women’s tennis, and acknowledge that both of them are dispensible millstones around the neck of good sportsmanship and decent behaviour;

Ladies and gentlemen, our award winners for 2012,



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One short clip of an Australian crowd reacting appropriately to some of Sharapova’s absurd behaviour.

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And finally, in response to a tweet just received from @eavesdropper532  “GOF do you think their childish ear-shattering on-court behaviour today will inevitably be carried forward into the ‘games rooms’ of their adult relationships tomorrow?”

You are a pervert eavesdropper532 ….A PERVERT! and NO I am not interested in paying $7000 for your covert audio recording of “Sharapova’s forty/love climax point in a marathon three-hour French Grand Slam.”
GO AWAY you horrible little man.