Ya ever heard of a joint called Kurnell sportsfans?

Or do you know of a joker named Isaac Smith?


No worries.

Don’t be feeling like a dry as a dead dingo Swaggie who’s plodded 100 miles barefoot only to lob in at the Pub With No Beer either punters, because not too many Aussie battlers outside of the well-educated borough of Geebung have.

It’s a bloody shame really – I guess the lefty’s would call it a modern tragedy or a national stain, but that’s because they’ve been to university, and know all the wanky phrases – because Kurnell is the birthplace of the modern multicultural Australian nation, and the marking point for the beginning of the end of 50 000 years of autonomous Sunburnt Country self-rule by the myriad of indigenous clans and their members who’d been running the Aussie show since well before dusky diggers like the Mesopotamian’s and the Egyptians and that type of crowd were even a glint in their allegedly Middle-Eastern mythical creator’s biblical eye.

They don’t teach the kiddies this at school – probably because the teachers are so busy posting saucy stuff on social media during class time – but this here is where the whole sh*t-show started sunshine lovers, and Kurnell is the most important historical site in whole Wide Brown Land, bar none.

You see sportsfans the pontoon at Kurnell is the place where on the 29th of April in the year of one thousand seven hundred and seven zero a chap named Mr Captain James ‘Cookie’ Cook from Pommyland pulled up his punt and landed on Aboriginal-owned soil, did a  triple blackflip off the side of the tinny with his footy under his arm, and kicked off the white Steeden to set the game we know as Australia in play.


Well, to be perfectly Francis, it wasn’t actually Cookie who did the backflip and became the first Pom to step on our golden soil. The Captain didn’t want to get his garters wet, and you can’t blame him either ‘cos they had a socks up and no replacements rule back in those days, and if your pull up Bonds got soaked then you were playing the rest of the game with frozen feet, and that was that.

So Cookie made a captain’s call and instead of jumping into Botany Bay and taking the hop, skip and jump over the rocks to become the first bloke to step on the Kurnell sands, he sent his wife Liz’s first cousin, a young rich c*nt called Isaac Smith who had just kicked off his career as an officer in the Naval Game, and therefore had to do what he was bloody told even if it meant playing the full 80 minutes with his boots squelching.

That’s right students, Cookie wasn’t the first white pommy fella to plant his size 10 RM Williams on Terra Australia at all, despite what they teach you at the Pauline Hanson One Nation State Primary School at Pinkenba.

It was Isaac bloody Smith. Better known to the punters of the green and gold sporting nation as Neville Nobody. Or simply by his nickname ‘Who’

The history books were right about one thing though, because Cookie did actually correctly call heads on the toss, elect to run in a waterly direction, and decide to kick off the pill.

Poor old Isaac himself couldn’t, because he’d sustained a small injury during the warm-up, and had to be stretchered off the field five minutes before the first whistle blew.

Geez the poor bugger was disappointed to miss the big match, and the old-timer’s down the Botany Bay Bowls Club way say that Smithy’s heartbreak was the direct reason he soon thereafter became a desperate junkie who contracted Hep C from a dirty needle a couple of decades later, effectively f*cking up his once-promising career just like so many Harry the Horse lovers have before and since and probably forevermore.


Apparently these were the words that Cookie and the Crew rapped as their rampaging tinny rocked in to Botany Bay

Cookie didn’t help Smithy’s cause though, don’t you worry about that, for what most people don’t realise is that the old Captain was a cruel c*nt of the highest order and never missed a chance to shiv a bloke in the back when given half a shot.

And so under the cover of honoring the sacrifice and sadly missed opportunity of his wife’s young cousin Isaac – who he secretly hated like poison, because Cookie had shagged the young blokes Mum, and Smithy had the polaroids to prove it – the Captain named the birthplace of our nation in his honor.

“What the hell’s wrong with that Archie ?’ I hear you ask. ‘Why the hell are you slagging off Cookie for carving the young bloke’s name in history?’

It’s a fair question. And keeping a long story short I’ll give ya the answer.

You see, about three seconds after Smithy performed the triple back-flip off the side of the tinny and landed with both feet parallel and no wobbles – the judges gave him a 9.9 – relief at pulling off both the leap and the landing overcame both he and his bladder, and so like blokes do across the length and breadth of the Wide Brown Land he pulled out the old fella and let rip in what he thought was a pre-dug dunny kindly laid on by the locals for visiting invading imperial forces .

Bad mistake white boy. It was actually a holy white clay pit, regarded as sacred by the locals in much the same way as Geebung boys and girls revere the RSL.

You don’t piss on the plaque bearing Albert Jacka’s name at the Bunger do you sportsfans? And so you don’t go emptying the over-full onion bag into a white clay pit beloved of the good Gweagal people of Botany Bay either.

So the local anti-VLAD law Kurnell Boys gang leader had no bloody option other than to do what he did punters, which was to pull out his spear and thrust it full bore into the slashing Smithy’s right foot.

The Limey stood in shock for a millisecond as the sharp edge of serrated sandstone entered his dorsum pedis and exited his sole.

And then as Cookie’s Crew rolled around the Kurnell sand laughing their Pommy heads off poor old Smithy screamed.


And thus a legend was born.

Although a local councillor on the Sutherland Shire later successfully petitioned to have the ‘Far’ dropped from the suburb’s name – on the basis that it would discourage Japanese tourists and that Doubting Thomas had advised that any reference to the former ‘Far East Asia’ was potentially in breach of the long-standing Section 18c of the Racial Discrimination Act of 1975 – the suburb still today retains the name first spoken by the first white Junkie ever to have a pick pierce his skin end enter his vein in the land of Vanessa Amarosi, our man Smithy.


May every Australian now know its name.