I once had to call a time out in one of the most crucial games for a girls team I was coaching. There was less than a minute left in the game and we were tied. The girls raced off the floor to get their instructions. In the middle of revealing my urgent master plan for us to win, one of the girls interrupted … “Mrs. Appleford?”
“Yes Jana?” I admit my voice was probably not warm and inviting. I had tried to ignore her without success. She was waving at me and dancing up and down as she bobbed in and around the other players trying to get in my direct line of view.
“Ummmm …. this weekend? ” every few words ended on an up note like she was asking a question which was exactly why I was trying to ignore her. It took her forever to get out three words. “ummmmm? Like my caaaaat? she ummm????? she had kittennnns?” She was looking around at everyone, aware she was finally the centre of attention. My mind was racing to connect cat birth and basketball, to find some relevance in the words that were dropping in slow motion all over the gym floor. Meanwhile my hands were making small circles trying to hurry her along as I scanned to see how many parents were watching and worried that my smile might not be hiding how aggravated I felt . She ignored my hand movements and went slower. I started fluttering them faster and faster until I looked like a baby bird about to take off.
“Ya .. and ummm … liiiike ??… she had kittennnns? . . . and ummm???…. ” she was looking up at the ceiling and twisting the one corner of her jersey as she talked, “liiiike … 3 kitttttens? . . . and ummm? . . . one of them was blackkkk? … and ummm??? …. like … one was ummm? . . . whiiiite?” Her eyes rolled back off the ceiling to look at all of us standing there, girls sweating profusely, puffing, sucking back water, me with my clipboard and forgotten diagram tucked under my arm, waiting …. I couldn’t fake it any more.
I looked at her shaking my head in disbelief, my hands upturned towards her as if ready to catch any type of meaning. “and?????” “ya … Hehehehehehehe . . . It was soooo funny …” Jana was laughing like a clapping seal making weird snorty noises. Everyone else was just blinking . . . and blinking. “Please God, ” I prayed, “Don’t let anyone ask her about the third kitten.”
That was it. The buzzer went, timeout was over, the girls had to get back to the game.
All I could do was pray that somehow black and white kittens and the numbers 3 and 1 were code for some complex basketball play and that the other girls would know what it meant, execute it, and we would win the game.
Tony Abbott is exactly like Jana except without any fluffy baby kittens. Jana at least had half a chance of winning someone over. People can be won over if you have enough fluffy baby kittens.
Here he is, the current captain of team Australia, one of the exciting teams that has a shot at the championship and he believes he has the answer for everything, even though he has no idea what the questions are or what anyone else is talking about. He makes no sense. And I want to throttle him.
His cat had kittens and everyone else is playing basketball. He has no idea how completely ridiculous he sounds.
He is the reason mother’s everywhere should stop telling their children that they can grow up to be anything they want to be.
He is the reason why we should stop promoting the idea that everyone who shows up at the game, who sits on the team bench, has to be given a turn to play. Clearly some people should be birthing kittens instead.
He is the reason everyone who votes should not let the pencil lead be sharper than their grasp of politics, unless they are going to provide said pencil to sane people after idiots are elected so that decent human beings can poke themselves with the pencil in their eyes. It is far less painful that having to see him on the evening news while visiting Canadia.
He is the reason why speedos should be banned everywhere and proof that men’s brains are not always in their heads and that they can be damaged by wearing bathing attire that is too tight.
Perhaps, if no-one is getting into Australia while he is Prime Minister, no-one should be going out either … as in, HE should not be allowed to leave the country any more. It is called damage control.
Can we get one of those child harnesses remade to fit him? I am sure his wife knows how to crochet. Perhaps she and their women’s church group could make Tony a leash. It would truly benefit humanity and I am sure they could get more tax breaks. Tony likes church women who stay home and crochet. Who do you think does his speedos?
I have ruined more than one evening meal spewing my food when he casually announces that he can solve global warming. Funny how it is always after he has excused himself for a bit and returns looking refreshed with a bit of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
Super Tony. According to him, he can save the world from everything. Jesus said … “the dumb will speak.”
There is a reason for the speedo after all. The man is not just beefcake in latex. It goes well with tights and a cape and if people would just get out of his way, he will save us. He is standing near a telephone booth right now, waving, dancing up and down, bobbing in and out amongst the other people trying to get in your direct line of vision. He is the great white hope.
Between him and Bindi Irwin .. . they have it all in hand.