They say you get the face you deserve at fifty. Bernard Tomic didn’t have to wait that long. His angular head seems to be the hasty work of an iced-up metal worker. A head, jaggered and angled with more juts than a fiord, pokes forward in defiance when challenged. Barnyard’s prominent chin invites fists. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t been belted by anyone yet but it probably won’t be long. I’d like do some gob work on him but that wouldn’t be the end.
I’d feel obliged to have a crack at the other clown Kygrios. Sporting the chain-sawed cockatoo look, Special K has more swagger than a drunk on stilts. Talented but without manners or intelligence these tools would be in juvie if they couldn’t hit a yellow ball over the net. Someone should tell them and their sauntering posse of loucheads that it is a slippery slope this fame game. But as we know jerks keep their counsel close. They tend to surround themselves with backslappers and urgers only. The history of circus animals is loud and likely. Anthony Mundine was counselled by clowns and Jeff Fenech by fruiterers and blokes in high volume suits and floral shirts. So it doesn’t matter what we say or even write because these lard buckets stopped reading at the Goofy and the Dwarf stages of their stunted development.
Do you remember Mark Philopoosos? The Poo should serve as a talisman for these two revved up Cortinas. Declared bankrupt Philopoosos has in more recent times recanted his folly. His downward spiral should be a compulsory study for these and others. Tennis Australia should make it mandatory for the young hopefuls that ply their trade on the JDS circuit.
Of course our recent attention has been drawn to these clowns by their lack of forelock tugging towards the AOC. I prefer to call this mob the OACTBC – as in Old Athletes Constantly Travelling Business Class. Every four years we are served up a panoply of sugar rich Olympic ideals. Please pass the bucket. If you erstwhile high jumpers and scullers were a bit serious about standards and values you shouldn’t have allowed drug fueled cheats to reign supreme for decades while seemingly more concerned about frequent flyer points than fairness.
Kitty Chiller who is the kitchen aid at the mission (apparently this is somewhat akin to a Thermomix that spits) set her sights on Barnyard and Bumhole. The Shrill reckoned these blokes didn’t quite measure up on the Bradbury Scale. Oh Doh Ray Fuck Me! Why is it even a topic? Of course they don’t. They are simply gold medal deadshits Shrill. Move on and start confiscating the cough drops off the swimmers if you want to protect your tarnished rings. These lads have made it very clear that the rings hold little ground in their cocktail dreams. Of course the only reason tennis is in the Olympics is another grab by the IOC to ensure that their television rights are fattened further.
But back to the main course – tennis. By contrast it was great to see Rocket Rod Laver presented with another silver plate during the French Open a few weeks back. It made me think that it was highly unlikely that B & B will ever get a silver plate in recognition of their tennis achievements.
These talented yet stupid lads are simply a flash in the pan. A fashion du boof. In fact I tend to think of these two a bit like those allegedly fashionable tight mens suits illogically worn with brown shoes. Not a classic look for the fattening classes who look tres tweedle dumb twee.
Like B & B it appeared like the annual Bogong moth plague but stayed far too long. Even the not so young blades started wearing this fashion unquestionably. They all simply looked stupid.
It just went to show that the classics stay with us forever while the others simply look silly, stupid and eventually very sad as they fade away.