Twenty-three years ago, I read a novel that had a large effect on me. I fell in love with its cynicism, it's worldliness, it's wisdom, and it's language. That novel was 'The Bonfire Of The Vanities'. If you haven't read it, a nutshell summation would be the protagonist fucks up but the world goes stupid with righteous indignation fuelled by the media. The novel is set in 1980s New York, but I see parallels right here in 2016 Australia. The 'protagonist' in this scenario didn't even do a massive fuck-up per se, at least not in my view, but Holy Jesus, everyone appears to have lost their shit! Nurses who do bowel care, you don't have to squeeze the little enema nozzle up your patient's date any more, just get them a social media platform to watch the latest 'scandal', and - trust me on this - shit will spray!
I'm referring to the incident in which West Indies cricketer Chris Gayle flirted with a female sports commentator. People have been screaming about sexual harassment in the workplace (no, I didn't make that up). People have been dourly droning on about the power play the male sports player was trying to exert with the female reporter. Oh, the sexism! Oh, the sleaze! Oh, the bullshit!
Hang on, I must pause in my blogging because I can hear a thunderous noise going by - whatever can it be? Wait...
Okay, I'm back now. I looked out my front door and saw a massive crowd of people running along the street in which I live (and good on them, it's a steep hill) and they were carrying flaming torches and pitchforks. I think I heard one of them say something about getting Chris Gayle....
See where I'm going with this?
All I saw was a hyped-up guy (whom I originally thought was Snoop Dog; I don't follow cricket) fresh from the sporting field make an off the cuff remark to a female reporter, jokingly asking her for a drink and saying, 'Don't blush, baby!'. He also complimented her eyes. Look, I'm not saying it was the most intelligent thing anybody's ever done as it clearly isn't. Fleming's discovery of penicillin was a lot smarter. But on the scale of smart things to do, Gayle's actions are still ahead of eating the silica gel packs you get in the new box of shoes (you know, the ones you're warned to not eat).
But once again, everyone appears to be going totally and hopelessly batshit. Why? He's even copped a ten thousand dollar fine. I'm guessing that would be a lazy lot of spare change stuck in the back of his sofa, but still: why? I truly don't see what's wrong with what he said. The journalist might have felt some discomfort and annoyance, and that's her right. But I don't think it warrants the outrage that's been generated.
One of the television stations perpetuating the crud seem to be missing their own hypocrisy. A little while back, their female weather reporter chatted up a rather hunky guy on a beach as she did her live weather report. This same show also had a reporter on site when Johnny Depp (in Captain Jack regalia - swoon!) was getting ready to board a boat, and he kissed her on the cheek. Where was the outrage then? I sure as hell didn't see any.
There are surely better things to worry about than some clumsy off-the-cuff remark, aren't there? What's wrong with complimenting someone's eyes? I can just imagine the outcry had he said, 'Last time I saw a face like yours, it was peeping up over a trough'! At least the reporter was spared the atrocious pick-up line someone tried on me years ago: 'I'm 21 and still a virgin; what about breaking me in?' (Sheila's Nightclub, North Sydney, 1985).
Oh, and I am unsurprised at what I saw yesterday. A petition calling up the PM to sack Peter Dutton for calling a journalist a 'mad fucking witch'. Honestly, you people! If you're going to become infuriated and indignant every time somebody calls somebody a name, you'll be doing nothing but hurting your index finger with the constant clicking on the online petitions. If Dutton is an incompetent dolt, then yes, sack him forthwith. But because he called a Murdoch hack something unsavoury? Gimme a break! When this twerpy petition shows up in my inbox, I will do what I always do. Flip the bird at my computer screen, and sneer, 'Fuck off!' as I delete it.
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