The sunburnt country has a well-deserved rep as one of the greatest sporting nations on earth. After all, we’ve thrown up champions in just about every sport known to man – tennis, cricket, footy, running, swimming, cycling, boxing, golf – you name it, we’ve topped it, and the list just goes on and on and on.

I’ll admit that we haven’t cracked it in soccer, but that’s a bloody rich man wogs game, and boring to boot, so its not something we’re gunna lose a lot of sleep about, even if some many-vowelled, fiery-tempered middle Europeans down south wanna get all het up wand wave flags and set off firecrackers and all that type of nonsense.

Puh-lease fellas, get a grip, and grab an oval ball and a pair of Steeden shoulder pads. You’ll feel a whole lot better for it I assure you.

We haven’t quite cracked the gold in the great game of basketball yet either, but that’s only because we are quite new to the caper, having taken up slam dunking to keep fit in the AFL off-season, and discovering that we’re actually quite bloody good at the thing.


So with a bit of international shuttle siring like we’ve done for years in the racehorse game – go Ben Simmons you bloody good thing! Old Gazey (nickname Huey – cop that son!) taught your old man everything he knows – and a few bucks splashed into development, we’re off and away and if our Boomer Boys don’t walk away from Rio with gold around their Jeff Becks then I’m a bloody monkey’s uncle and Gorgeous George is goddamn Casanova.

Rudolph Valentino more like it – take a look below and tell me if ya notice anything sportsfans; yep, you see it too don’t ya –  but let’s keep the wog’s smooth attempt to woo the Bead Twirler in order to sup on her cabbage curry out of the equation shall we, not because I’m an impartial journalist but because I’m gunna give that plastic wangsta gangsta a chop in the chops if he keeps his ‘this charming man’ game up for much longer.


Yes George, you’re the sort of fella who can give the Twirler a fair whirl, for sure mate, and here I’ve got a couple of free tickets to Disneyland for ya son. Mickey Mouse will me pleased to see ya, and Goofy might even give ya a Donald Duck if you’re having a good day ya cabbage loving smooth talker.

Forget about Gorgeous George though, this story’s about sport, and despite the undoubted genius at the various capers by blokes from the Bung and a couple of others scattered across the wide brown land, there is one recreational pastime at which it pains me to say that Aussie’s just aren’t much chop, at least until now anyway.

And no George, it ain’t Greco-Roman wrestling with top-shelf writer’s bead-twirling Talulahs. Nup.

It’s pinball.

The great Australian game, played back in the day in Milk Bars from the Bunger – where we used to sink a twenty cent piece glued to fishing line into the slot and play all day, leaving the Greeek Dago frying the spud scallops scratching his head and wondering why his take from the four legged steel balled flipper was so low –  all the way to Burwood and beyond, where the Bunger milk-bar owners dumb as dog-shit nephews used to rob their sexy as hell sisters money boxes to feed the machines and make the milkshake making pinball proprietors rich beyond their dreams, because the Morpheus-loving morons couldn’t hit an instant replay in a million bloody years, even if the wog bastards lives depended on it.

That sportsfans is the exact reason why the best flipper in our proud and sports-loving nation – a clown from Newcastle named Stevo Edwards, who has the same surname as that Pommy joke of a ski-jumper The Eagle – sits at an embarrassing number 66 in the world Pinball Championship rankings.


And our next best tilting tosser The Colossus, a camel named Dick Rhodes, also from Newcastle, can only jag the 77th spot.


I swear my fellow Australians, it’s a goddamn bloody joke!

But enough’s enough, and I’ve called up Kevvie and he agrees, and as a result any day now we’re gunna be taking a proposal to the big wigs of the Bunger RSL committee that we piss the pool tables off to the pokie bar, and replace em with some primo quality pinnies that young blokes with talent like yours truly can train on, so we can go forth and shock the world, and claim the number 1 spot on the globe in the process.

We’re gunna do Australia proud diggers, and don’t you worry about that.

However a spoke’s unexpectedly appeared in the wheel, for old wog boy from Sydney’s west has got wind of our plans – that bastard’s got spies everywhere, but Kevvie’s got it covered, so watch the funeral notices in the coming weeks – and now Gorgeous George wants in.


For a second or two I was gunna laugh in the big-titted bastard’s face, but then I remembered the moves that he’s been putting on the Bead Twirler of late – and they’re pretty bloody impressive moves too, I’ll give the Greek that – and so I said sure Gorgeous, get your arse into gear and let’s go.

Two birds with one stone sportsfans. I’ll get an easy kill on the 5 ball machine, and show the souvalki-sucking Romeo up as a dud rooter in the process. How bloody good will that be hey?

Yep, happy days are here again. But no matter how much pleasure I’ll get from rooting that rump-bandit in the rear over a few steel balls on the Kiss machine, it’s nothing compared to the pride I’ll bring our land of sweeping plains when I end the drought and take us back up where we belong.

The world heavyweight championship of pinball is ours for the taking International Flippers, and you know what? If we have to crawl over Gorgeous George’s three in a row down the guts overweight guts to win us gold, well as old Richo once famously said, it’s just a matter of whatever it bloody takes.

Bing, bang, pop!

Gotta go punters.

I just won three free games!