by H. G. Nelson
During 2020, as well as leading the ‘Open the Gates’ movement, Sam began giving lectures via Zoom about the meaning of the game. His five-part lecture series entitled Sit on My Broom Stick! was the top-rating sports podcast for that year.
The first seventy-minute spray, ‘Your swing reflects your soul’, caught the imagination of both the world of golf and the wellness industry. Other topics in his Sit on series addressed stumpers like ‘Why is the ball white?’ ‘Why are there eighteen holes?’ ‘Why do we keep score?’
In the final Sit on lecture, ‘Wedged’ Sam restated the great golfing truisms outlining the reasons the game exists in the modern world. Many who have heard the series liken Sam’s handiwork to spiritual classics like Zen and the Art of Pole Dancing by former oriental weight loss tea expert Peter Foster, and One in the Eye: The Mystery of Darts, which was described by the renowned Buddhist scholar and international finance expert Alf Stewart from Summer Bay as ‘a masterpiece on the mysticism of the bullseye’.
After a bit of pushing and shoving, with Sam up front bellowing into the loud hailer and outraged members from all courses bringing up the rear, the Victorian authorities caved in and threw open the gates, welcoming swingers of all ages back to their favourite pastime.
Speaking of winners, that imposing figure on the seventh tee with a toothy grin is the Great White Shark, Greg Norman, Australia’s greatest golfer. Greg was struck down with COVID at the end of 2020. Through his social media posts, The Shark gave a chilling insight into how the illness had affected him and his son Greg Junior.
Today he does not have the time to swing the club in anger. He is a full-time fitness freak. He spends twenty-seven hours every day working out in the gym he built himself in the backyard. When he is not pumping up, he is flat out with business commitments in the condominium real estate and merlot wine space. There are great photo spreads showing The Shark’s fitness. Some of these snaps are bizarrely revealing. Sensitive viewers are warned not to go poking around on the internet looking for the portfolio of ‘Sharkie’ pictures. Several snaps of the Shark sloop have created lively pushback from the digital comment community.
There are great photo spreads showing The Shark’s fitness. Some of these snaps are bizarrely revealing.
In the current era it is hard to imagine there was a time, in the not-too-distant past, when The Shark towered over all the majors caper and made golf compelling. He had the game that, once in the groove, could menace any golf course in the world. He could destroy eighteen holes and leave a smoking, screaming mess of rubble in his wake.
What a record it was! One hundred and thirty-one weeks at number one in the Official World Golf Rankings and 765 weeks in the unofficial rankings. He had the complete game and that touch of unhinged madness that accompanies golfing greatness.
On any course in a major, depending on par, a top pro needs around seventy great shots, every day, over four days of competition. Do the maths: 280 great shots have to be whacked around the fairways, roughs and greens to have a realistic shot of jagging the winner’s claret carafe or lime green jacket that never fits and is never worn. The Shark always tried to get around in 272.
The Shark, on song, could complete the competition challenge with spectacular ease, but on occasions he was a spectacular choker. Maybe the best the world has seen. The golf course can be a lonely place. Only the player, with slim input from the caddie, can make the tough decisions. There is nowhere to hide when the ball slices into a dangerously placed hazard to the right, 150 metres from the pin. It is at those quiet moments of potential failure that the golf madness that stalks every swinger can set in. This Hot Dot lunacy makes the big names select a sand wedge instead of a putter and do the weirdest things.
The Shark could unleash a destructive genius equal to the creative brilliance he displayed at other times. There is an illustrated blog of The Shark’s great chokes. It makes poignant reading as these are mistakes that any weekend hacker would make. A world number one should have cut this rubbish out of his game before he left golf school.
Greg could stroll up the fairway on the last, having teed off to perfection. In this major, the world number one was coming home secure at the top of the leaders’ board with one hand gripping the winner’s jug and the other on a brightly coloured jacket ensemble. The Shark’s final approach shot was from 139 metres away – what could go wrong? The Shark swung and the crowd groaned as one; all they saw was total carnage of the shot. The Shark had over-egged the shot. There was far too much grunt and poke. The ball flew past the pin. It was a total shank. No one saw where the dimpled Jaffa finished up. It was not on the green. A search party was organised. Greg knew where it was. The Shark’s shot ended up with a challenging lie in the greenkeeper’s garage under the blades of the ride-on Victa mower.
Another major was slipping down the gurgler on the final hole. But if anyone could rescue the round, Greg could. Who knows why the number one gave the final whack too much chilli? This was bad. But then came the brain explosion. Instead of taking the common-sense, conservative approach and taking a drop, Greg wanted to give the crowd a wild and crazy pure golf finish to a memorable day.
In the double garage behind the clubhouse, The Shark calculated that if he played the shot out of the blades onto the petrol tank of the Victa, the ball would jag a deflection from the tank, clear the shed door, dribble down the clubhouse path and back onto the green, and with a bit of luck it would end pin high with a three-metre putt to make one over par and a certain green jacket win. At least this was the view from the Channel Seven commentary team, who said they knew what The Shark was thinking. With hindsight it was always hard to know what The Shark was actually thinking.
With hindsight it was always hard to know what The Shark was actually thinking.
It was a brilliant conception in the mind, not so good off the stick. Suddenly, after twenty minutes swinging and swearing in the greenkeeper’s shed, Greg was eight over par for the hole and powdering into fifth place. But that was The Shark, genius and loon, all in the one package.
If after The Shark’s return to Queensland, his real estate and wine set-ups go pear shaped, our greatest golfer may have time to return to an earlier career using his name to market cars or anything that needs a leg-up in the sales caper. With the pandemic loosening its grip, Australia may be about to experience another golden era of Great White Shark promotional magic. Wind the clock back to 1997, the big unit of the year was the Holden Statesman International Greg Norman Signature Series.
The days are long gone since Australians made cars. But in the decades when Australia was a player in the car manufacturing caper, the public eagerly waited out front of the local dealer’s showroom for the curtains to be drawn back, revealing the latest Holden sedan in all its glory. It is hard to imagine that people in the Barossa Valley queued for days and gasped in amazement when the vertical blinds were lifted to reveal the 1975 Monaro in the Steinborner Barossa Holden showrooms in Craker Drive, Nuriootpa. It was a different Australia, less to do.
Not all cars are big hits, moving swiftly out of the showroom and on to roads across the nation at speed. Never mind the appealing promotion. The car-buying public are sometimes reluctant to take the risk with a new model or a new idea. No matter what inducements car dealers offer.
The limited edition can rescue slow-selling models. The personality touch up can turn a lemon into a bestseller. The Australian car history is littered with duds that required a star power push. The Carla Zampatti Ford Laser is a classic in the celebrity makeover story. Carla, no stranger to the fashion world, was involved in adding value to the Laser KB and KC range.
The KB range featured Carla’s touch with two-tone duco and colour-coded grill. Then Carla went crazy, adding yellow and red pinstripes to the KC. Plus there was a bonus key holder and, surprising many interior designers, the upholstery was dyed in a hard-to-miss fetching shade of S-bend brown. Some of these features may not have shifted this citrus from the showroom flo
or, but dealers were desperate.
Other examples of rebadged, touched-up cars are the Reebok Pulsar and the Sportsgirl Holden Barina. So when Holden dealers struck trouble moving 250 units of the 1997b Holden, golf-mad Theo Simpson, in head office, had a brainwave and roped in Greg Norman, the world number one and golf course design guru. Greg was asked to, as they say in the automotive industry, ‘put the polish on a turd’. A once-over with the chammy and hey presto, the Statesman International Greg Norman Signature model was ready to drive away from a dealer in your suburb.
Greg was asked to, as they say in the automotive industry, ‘put the polish on a turd’.
The Series 3 touch-up was jam-packed with extras, including sixteen-inch alloy wheels, leather and suede upholstery, fog lights, a sun roof and that special Shark styling in the detailed badging. Early adopters of the range also scored a set of King Cobra golf clubs and Norman’s signature on the boot lid. Running the practised eye over that lot, Australian car buyers could see it was a total package and represented incredible value.
Today, these Shark Statesmans change hands for about $11,352. Not sure if the King Cobra clubs are part of the deal. But if the Cobras were in the boot untouched and unswung, it would make this a great purchase for any genuine car collector or golf memorabilia enthusiast. Even just knowing that The Shark had fiddled about with the donk of this Statesman would make this a priceless package.
The COVID years were a boom time for the car industry as people were wary about public transport and wanted to keep to themselves. Both new and used cars were sold in record numbers. But tough times may return and then car sales managers will be hollering for The Shark to come back to the showroom and weave his winning magic on another case of lemons.
SPORTS RORTS: EVERYONE KNOWS EVERYONE DOES IT!
Our shotgun queen takes her A-game to Canberra and hits the federal pork target dead centre.
WHEN SPORT BOBS UP on the national agenda, money and duffle bags crammed with folding tossed casually into the club secretary’s car boot are never far from the first order of business.
Australia has a proud and long-standing tradition of dumping truckloads of cash into sporting organisations based in marginal seats across the nation. It is a simple way of thanking the citizens for doing the right thing last time and reminding them it is not long before they need to do the right thing again.
It’s a time-honoured and widely applauded part of the electoral cycle, along with the democracy sausage on election day out front of the local school. The taxpaying public grumble at every ‘sports cash splash scandal’ but if the scattering of cash was not a proven election strategy major parties would stop doing it. The key trick, as with all political intrigues that involve large slabs of taxpayers’ moolah, is not to get caught. But in 2020 even getting caught was no crime. In today’s electoral landscape everyone knows everyone does it.
The pattern of federal sports pork (or should that be smashed avocado in these vegan-tinged times?) allows federal loot to trickle its way out of Canberra through grants and end up in the pockets of club officials and committees. And, if the trickle-down effect worked, some of these sports dollars would end up in the pockets of coaches, players and suburban ground staff. In charge of the grand grant largesse is the federal Minister for Sport. This nation has been blessed with wonderfully talented Australians who offered to plug away in the federal Sport portfolio.
The Minister for Sport wheeze was unleashed in 1972 when Labor leader Gough Whitlam shoehorned Frank Stewart into the job. Gough had no real interest in sport, but he knew Frank was well credentialled for the portfolio, having played first-grade rugby league for the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs in that golden run for the top NSWRL side between 1948 and 1952.
The Bulldogs over the years have turned out as the Berries, Dogs, Doggies, Dogs of War, the Family Club and the Entertainers. Their home ground was the Kennel at Belmore Oval. They always produced a hard-core rugby league–style entertainment on and off the paddock. They have bagged eight premierships and been runners-up ten times. The club have been at the forefront of Mad Monday, end-of-season trip and pre-season trial match outrages for decades.
The Dogs have kept the wick turned up on league scandals, creating headlines that have the great code front of mind during the long hot summers of cricket and tennis when everyone thinks only of the beach.
Frank Stewart, our original Minister for Sport, had a great set of rugby league and political genes, which he inherited from his dad, the founding president of Canterbury-Bankstown Club. Frank was very active in the sport policy space for the Whitlam government. He laid the foundations for the Australian Institute of Sport. Incidentally, for a lifetime of effort at the coalface Frank had a stand named after him at the Kennel.
Since 1972 and Frank’s early efforts at running the ball up, there have been twenty-six federal Ministers for Sport. The portfolio has been a revolving door in the big house with a new minister sworn in approximately every 1.84 years.
The portfolio has been a revolving door in the big house with a new minister sworn in approximately every 1.84 years.
In later Labor times, when our greatest sporting all-rounder, Bob Hawke, was at the helm of the Canberra runabout struggling with a sputtering outboard, sport was a central issue. Bob knew what the electorate liked. He knew it liked winners.
Labor front-bench talents like John Brown, Graham Richardson and Ros Kelly were all tapped to hand out the cheques in the winnable seats. Minister Kelly was connected with one of the best sports rorts cash handouts the nation has seen. The term ‘sports rort’ was coined to acknowledge her great handiwork. Her Texta pen and whiteboard, on which the original carve-up was sketched, is now in the entrance way of the National Sport Museum in Canberra. Remember, Minister Kelly’s handiwork would have been encouraged by those at the very top.
It was a similar tale when another sport mad PM, John Howard, took over steering the Lake Burley Griffin moored runabout.
Skipper John squeezed the best out of Sport Minister Jackie Kelly (October 1998 to November 2001). When it came to money and handouts, Jackie always asked, ‘What would John Eales do?’
When J.K.’s reign ended, she was followed by the greatest to serve in this plum post. The ‘Eh, Er, Eh!’ man Rod Kemp was our longest-serving Sport Minister. Rod kept a tight hold of the scorecard and felt-tipped pen from November 2001 to January 2007. It was a long, sustained dig. His spell included the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City and that magnificent Stephen Bradbury come-from-behind speed skating gold, a Rugby Union World Cup in Sydney and the Athens Olympics, to name three of the big ones.
But other great Australians served with distinction in this political post that allowed free entry to the big events, car parking near the main gate, passes to the head of the catering queue any time day or night and a chance to have a selfie snapped with the sporting champions of the day who were paid to put in for our nation.
Politicians were always camped near the finish line or podium looking good for a happy snap with a winning Aussie. Or maybe a late tap to present the medals at a gold medal ceremony if the appointed IOC official did not front, thinking the event was beneath them.
Politicians were always camped near the finish line or podium looking good for a happy snap with a winning Aussie.
The list of ministers is long and features many who appeared to be completely unsuited to the task – like the man who was always filmed in front of empty bookshelves and was a great lover of interpretative dance, George Brandis (January 2007 to December 2007). Or Peter ‘Spud’ Dutton (September 2013 to December 2014). To give Spud his due he still looks as though he has a quick 50 in him if needed to stabilise an innings in a Pollies v Press ODI stinkarama at Manuka Oval. Or the marathon man, Greg Hunt (January 2017 to December 2017), who is no stranger to running the hard yards; or the Gold Coast real estate expert, Sussan ‘Time to Shine’ Ley (December 2014 to September 2015), who has done wonders for spearfishing on the Great Barrier Ree
f.
Cynics might moan that this plum is available to anyone who puts their hand up. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The post is so highly rated that in 2020, the whip-cracking, aged care numbers man, Richard ‘Big Dick’ Colbeck, was tapped for the job. In his heyday Dick was always one out and one back until he spotted a rails run in the shadows of the post, and burst through a gap to salute.
That is a quick roundup of the heroes and heroines who have served in the portfolio. The gaze now zeroes in on more recent adventures in the 2019 sports budget carve-up.
The idea all ministers share is the understanding that federal sporting loot for votes is central to Australian politics. The sport pork racket barely rates a mention in the media unless it goes horribly wrong.
The attitude to this distribution of largesse was summed up in late 2020 by NSW Premier Gladys Berejiklian. Aunty Glad mumbled to a startled press pack, after the exposure of her government’s latest barrel of avocado and single origin cream hurled from the back of the moving ute towards vulnerable seats, ‘Everyone knows it is wrong, but it is not illegal, so it must be OK!’ Or words to that effect. Gasps all round followed by everyone quickly moving on.
In the lead-up to the 2019 federal election, Prime Minister ‘Gold Standards’ Morrison could see a few marginal electorates on the wobble, so he opened the play book that Glad referred to in the presser, the one that has served all politicians so well since Federation.
The 2019 dishing out of big lolly for sport was guided through the rough rapids of parliamentary scrutiny by Senator Bridget ‘Bang Bang’ McKenzie. Bridget was perfect for the job. Elected as a senator in July 2011, she rose quickly to the top, becoming deputy leader of the National Party.
The then PM, Malcolm Turnbull, a great swimmer, bus enthusiast, walker and amateur fitness guru, tipped Bridget into three portfolios. Her responsibilities were Sport, Rural Health and Regional Communications.
