SECTION ONE - THE FOOL
Chapter One - The Hill
It was another beautiful day in God’s creation. SM and Cat had decided to go to the Sydney Cricket Ground to watch an international cricket match. As both of us were partial to the odd drink......or two, we had decided to stop at a bottle shop on the way to stock up. We couldn’t agree on whether to get scotch whisky or beer so we did what any self respecting alcoholics would do – we got copious quantities of both.
This was around 1978 when the World Series Cricket day/night matches had just started and attracted crowds around the 50,000 mark. To be in the midst of a large crowd watching Dennis Lillee or Thommo thunder in to bowl to batsman of the calibre of Viv Richards, with the roar of “C’mon Aussie C’mon” ringing in your ears was an experience like no other.
Now if you were civilized and loved your cricket you probably purchased a ticket for one of the many grandstands, where you could safely enjoy the game. There was one area in the stadium, however, which appealed to the more primal spectator – The Hill.
If the SCG was a rock concert, then The Hill would be the mosh pit. Nowhere else in Australia would you find a more hard drinking, hard fighting, testosterone charged collection of riff raff. The Hill would scream in unison with wild abandon at the slightest inspiration, whether it was Lillee taking a wicket or a pretty woman risking life and limb by traversing the footpath below to reach the exits. Fights bordering on riots would frequently break out, at times even eclipsing the cricket for entertainment value.
A typical exchange between two males on the The Hill usually went something like this (for best effect read with a slow Aussie drawl);
Drunken Yobbo 1 “Who do ya think you’re looking at?”
Drunken Yobbo 2 “I dunno. Who do ya think you’re looking at?”
Drunken Yobbo 1 “I dunno. Do ya wanna have a go ya mug?”
Drunken Yobbo 2 “I dunno. Do you wanna have a go, do ya?”
At this point blows would be exchanged, blood would be let, the plugs in their thongs would frequently come loose in the affray, and horror of horrors, eskies destroyed. Then things would settle down. Occasionally if the situation escalated the police would step in and drag one or two of the offenders away. Sometimes though, before blows were exchanged, the conversation would continue, after eyeballing each other for some moments, in this way;
Drunken Yobbo 1 “Aaah well, piss off then why dont’cha”
Drunken Yobbo 2 “Why don’t you piss off then”
Drunken Yobbo 1 “Dickhead”
Drunken Yobbo 2 “Dickhead”
Afterwards they would repair their thongs where necessary and continue to enjoy the game. Either way though, the interesting thing was that later the same day you could often see the same two males singing or cheering together like best mates.
Now many of those in the grandstands may have taken the view, observing from a distance, that the Hillites were carrying on like Neanderthals. But perhaps we can learn something from them. If we fought our wars with our fists instead of our technology, it would not only be more honourable , as no innocent women and children would be hurt, but it would be easier to make peace afterwards.
Men who drop bombs from stealth bombers, or guide drones from the safety of their own or allied countries, killing women and children, are not warriors. They are ill guided and without honour, unknowingly working indirectly for the oil companies and the Military Industrial Complex. So too are intelligence agents that secretly and illegally target peace activists (as well as their families, mafia style) with directed energy, psychotronic or electromagnetic weapons of torture and behaviour modification, from their hidden underground military installations.
Shadowman acknowledges that there are individuals who serve in the US military, as well as other Defence Forces and intelligence agencies around the planet, who do so with great honour, integrity and courage. Some, as a result of what they have witnessed, go on to try and enlighten the world to the true nature of war, and try to bring peace to our planet. One such individual is Tulsi Gabbard, a true spiritual warrior of impeccable values, who is both highly intelligent and compassionate, two qualities essential for the next US President. She has both SM’s respect, and admiration.
Perhaps if it was agreed that those leaders and politicians who make the decision to go to war, must first send their own families to the front lines, we would likely see far less destruction and far less corruption.
The true measure of a man is not how much pain he can inflict on others, but how much pain he can endure, while still remaining in the vibration of love. If drunken Yobbo’s have enough sense to confine their stupidity to The Hill SM doesn’t see why real warriors can’t restrict their battles to appropriate locations – like say, a desert.
But SM digresses. SM and Cat arrived and took up a position smack bang in the middle of The Hill. The game was in progress, the sun was shining, the atmosphere was electric and SM had a seemingly endless supply of icy cold beer. Things couldn’t get much better.
Swept up in the mood of it all SM continued to drink like there was no tomorrow. At some point in the afternoon SM and the Cat became separated. SM found himself at the top of The Hill next to the brick wall which was the stadium boundary. In one of those “it seemed like a good idea at the time” moments he managed to get up onto the wall, which was topped with three strands of barbed wire, to get a better view. The barbed wire was not there so much as to stop people getting into the ground, because on the other side of the wall was a sheer drop of about 2 stories, but rather to deter idiots from doing themselves a serious injury.
The wall itself was about 14 feet high. SM had used the grandstand at the left side of The Hill to gain access, as it was too high to climb. The view was magnificent and his willingness to jeopardize life and limb drew approving cheers from the crowd.
It wasn’t long before several Police Officers, alerted to his precarious position made their way through the crowd, and ordered him to get down. SM refused. They threatened him with arrest. Still, he refused.
Two courageous young Officers then made there way to the opposite ends of the wall and used the grandstands to gain access. As SM stood there, clutching the barbed wire with one hand and a cold tinny in the other, he was sufficiently inebriated to be feeling neither pain nor fear.
Watching the Officers edge inexorably closer to his position SM could see from the expressions on their faces that they had a more realistic appreciation of the risks involved and were none too happy to have been put in this position. Clearly there was not going to be coffee and donuts all around when they got SM back to the station.
Just as the first Officer got within reach and it was obvious to all that the jig was up, SM did the unexpected. He – just - relaxed - and - let - go. There followed a short peaceful whooshing sound followed by a horrendous crash as he hit the corrugated iron roof of the building below. SM bounced and rolled down the sloping roof and off the edge. There was another briefer calm whoosh and then a sort of a cross between a thwack and a thud as SM hit the concrete sidewalk.
Earlier in his life SM had been waiting at a railway station when a speeding train had passed through without stopping. SM had watched in amazement as an old wino stepped off the train, which was doing a good 40km/h. As his first foot made contact with the platform he was catapulted into the air and then he tumbled along like a plastic bag in the wind. It was apparent the old man did not tense up at all, remaining perfectly relaxed as he rolled to a stop. When he finally came to a halt, he picked himself up, brushed off his rumpled suit and staggered haphazardly towards the exit as if nothing had happened.
SM got up from the sidewalk and mentally thanked the wino. Other than a few bruises and scratches he was uninjured. After cunningly removing his shirt to change his appearance he wandered back into the SCG and located his mate Cat before enjoying the rest of the game.
Shadowman now knows that when you’re ready to let go (of your limitations) – it’s easier if you just relax and enjoy the ride.
Also, some corrugated iron roofs are quite bouncy.
Reference Songs
C’mon Aussie C’mon C’mon
The Fool on the Hill - The Beatles
Bill Hicks and George Carlin – The Big Electron
