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Saturday, Aug 04, 2012 - 21:33 SGT
Posted By: Gilbert

What Friends Are For

A day after a delightful rainy dinner with my former secondary school classmates at the recently-shifted Prince Coffee House, at which we had enjoyed many student-priced meals when it was still sited at Coronation Plaza (note to self: still owe sel S$3.30 for dessert), I was asked out by Mr. Ham.

This was a departure from the norm since he and I don't exactly run in the same circles, but Mr. Ham is my friend too, and thus I put on my best shirt and went, as directed, to a slightly seedy-looking drinking establishment. Mr. Ham was waiting, immaculately-dressed and puffing on a cigar:


Gabriel! ...or is it Robert? My friend! Come, come!
(Original source: ferdyonfilms.com)


Me: Hi. Anything the matter?

Mr. Ham: Nah, just wanted to meet up with you, my dear Gareth? Or is it Filmore? Duggan-Hollingsworth? Never mind, that's not important. Here, have a drink on me. What's up?

Me: Oh, some good, some bad.

Mr. Ham: I'm all ears.

Me: On the bright side, we're now officially allowed to have opinions where I live. I had sort of assumed that, but was always kind of unsure, so it's good to finally get confirmation.

Mr. Ham: That's great news!

Me: Thanks, I'm eager to make full use of my newfound rights.

Mr. Ham: Oh, and have you heard, Tom, there has been a ruling on the Hougang by-election case. The whole thing's rather long - fifty pages - but the key judgment hinges on the word "election" having multiple possible interpretations.

Specifically, the phrase "shall be filled by election" can either mean that:
  1. An election shall be held to fill a vacated seat - in which case the "all convenient speed" rider would apply
  2. Or, alternatively, that a vacated seat shall be filled by the process of election, and not by, say, the drawing of lots, the result of a first-goal-wins football game, or the annual fluctuation in the domestic pigeon population
Your take on this, Gilmore?

Me: Err... option one?

Mr. Ham: *slaps paw on knee* Hah! I always knew you had not the intellect required for the law, unlike my other, more gifted, friend Esquire Pants, or even Mr. Fish, who predicted back in April that the ruling essentially be that the PM is fettered only to the extent that they are defined by himself.

And on the little matter of a bet we had...

Me: *grumbles* I knew you asked me out for a purpose.

*Mr. Ham puffs on cigar contentedly*

Me: But let's see - if you remember the contract we drew up, all it says is that "in the event of Mr. Fish's prediction being correct, Mr. Ham shall be paid by cash, in unmarked dollar bills, the sum of... etc etc"

Mr. Ham: It is indeed so written.

Me: Ah, but note that there is no mention of when, or indeed who, pays said cash, only that cash shall be paid.

Mr. Ham: *chokes on cigar* That's preposterous! I know what it means, you know what it means, and I jolly well know that you know what it means!

Me: *smiles* Ah, but I have precedent behind me now.

Mr. Ham: *putting down cigar and looking me squarely in the eye* You know, Alfredo, you just reminded me of how I absolutely detested serpent-tongued lawyers, back in the day. The last pinstriped little shit that tried this with me ended up sleeping with the fishes.

Me: Oho, you're trying to intimidate me now?

Mr. Ham: *suddenly smiles, recovers cigar, and slaps me on the back* What? No! I can appreciate a ballsy gambit when I see one. Reminds me of myself, back when I was young and the world was fresh. And frankly, the outcome was so obvious that I felt kind of bad laying the bet. But *lowering cigar* one time only, get it? *looks up* Barkeep! This round's on me!

*Hearty cheers in background*

Me: You're unusually generous today, Mr. Ham.

Mr. Ham: *puffing away* Gerald, my friend, you think far too lowly of me. Though yes, I'm in an especially good mood, having just concluded some big business, and not the toilet sort. But I can tell that you're just dying to continue your story. I'm listening.

Me: Mr. Ham, you do know me. It's like this:


Talk Cock Until Cannot Tahan

On the depressing side, our solidly-third-world-by-broad-international-consensus media is at it again. Not content with wisely adopting an appropriate dignified silence, letting the matter rest and tracking the ongoing Olympics action, all of the arms of that overgrown octopus went full steam ahead disseminating clumsy propaganda. From glowing forum letters and commentaries in the State's Times, to deliberately provocative headlines in the national tabloid, and even on the radio, the stooges - I consider myself a reserved man, but I can think of no other title this time - made a concerted push to procure belated support with an appalling blend of unconvincing persuasion and pathetic shaming attempts.

Each of these hapless pieces deserves a detailed rebuttal, but I owe a fuller account of my own opinions first, to be fair; am I jeering our medallist? No. But does my reaction lie closer to apathy than celebration, despite my best efforts? Yes.

Oh, it was certainly an incredible individual performance. I strongly disagree with netizens when they talk down our representatives for falling at the semi-finals or quarter-finals, as a load of dedication surely goes into approaching the pinnacle of the world in any event. However, I cannot bring myself to confer any admiration to our imported athletes above and beyond the sort I have for, say, Usain Bolt, Michael Phelps or the brave stragglers who so light up the Games.

On Feng seemingly throwing her bouquet to the Chinese contingent, on which the mainstream media has been conspicuously taciturn, I can give her the benefit of the doubt that it was towards off-screen Singaporean fans. But even if it were really at the Chinese fans, how could I blame her for not forgetting her former countrymen? Actually, we could all do much to learn from her in this respect, if so.


The great mysteries of life
(Source: Demon-cratic Singapore)


And now, one by one, the reactions. A Mr. Jenkins got published in the State's Times Forum for pointing out in "Yes, cheer your champions" that a key member of their sprint cyclist team is Philip Hindes, who was born in Germany and competed in German colours as a junior, only qualifying to represent Britain in 2010, and goes on to assert that most Brits would be thankful for Hindes racing for them - so why don't those xeno Singaporeans do the same for Feng?

Without going too much into why Hindes is probably not the best example, Mr. Jenkins has very conveniently omitted to mention that Hindes' father is British, and he represented Germany because his dad married a German lady when on a British Army stint in Germany. If Mr. Jenkins cannot see the difference in the two cases, I have nothing to say. In any case, his teammates were native Britons, and as I have explained, I believe there would have been far less mumbling had Feng's teammates been native Singaporeans.

Going on to the article that Mr. Jenkins referenced, "Bronze medal should be cheered, not jeered". I can agree with the not slamming representatives, but cannot agree with the obligation to be haaaappy. To bolster his case, the witless journalist throws out facts such as "naturalised athletes... are commonplace" and "there are at least eight foreign-born athletes representing Britain", which as I shall conclusively demonstrate, are barefaced misrepresentations in the best hallowed traditions of what passes for the local press.

The Telegraph has providently done up a picture gallery on these eight foreign-born athletes, and we can thereby quickly learn a little more about their backgrounds:

  • Yamile Aldama, triple jumper - Originally Cuban, married a Scotsman in 2001, then took nine years to achieve British citizenship. Certainly wasn't rushed for a medal!
  • Germaine Mason, high jumper - British father, but born in Jamaica.
  • Julian Reid, long & triple jumper - British passport holder since birth, born in Jamaica.
  • Shara Proctor, long jumper - Born in Anguilla, a British overseas territory whose citizens hold full British passports.
  • Shana Cox, 400m runner - Both parents British, born in America.
  • Michael Bingham, 400m runner - British father, born in America.
  • Delano Williams, 200m runner - Born in Turks & Caicos, a British overseas territory.
  • Tiffany Porter, 100m hurdler - British mother, born in America.

Summary:
  • "Foreign-born" as percentage of full British Olympic contingent: about 1.5% (8 of 541)
  • "Foreign-born" representing Britain due to blood ties or being under British jurisdiction: 100%
  • "Foreign-born" actively scouted for sporting glory for Britain with monetary incentives: 0%
  • Singapore mainstream media intentionally twisting facts to fit agenda probability: ~100%
  • Singapore mainstream media thick-skinnedness metric: ~100%

To further show that they are trying to compare apples to desperately-filed-down Cat Mountain King Durians, what about Bernard Lagat, who represented Kenya for five years before switching to the United States in 2005? Well, it was where he met his wife - and how many dozens of native-born U.S. track representatives were there for each Lagat?


But they are directly comparable!
(Source: askmelah.com, originally State's Times)


The other oft-cited precedent for foreign sporting talent is that of the 1998 French team that won the World Cup. However, a closer examination reveals that there were actually only four players in that 22-man squad who could be said to be foreign, and that is after stretching the definition to breaking point:

  • Zinedine Zidane - Born in France to Algerian immigrants.
  • Marcel Desailly - Born in Ghana, moved to France as a four year-old.
  • Patrick Vieira - Born in Senegal, moved to France as an eight year-old.
  • Lilian Thuram - Born in Guadeloupe (an overseas territory of France), moved to France at nine.

Summary:
  • "Foreign-born" as percentage of full super-cosmopolitan French squad: about 18%; roughly that of the proven-to-be-well-loved Singapore Lions Dream Team
  • "Foreign-born" shamelessly scouted with monetary incentives after becoming a top football star (or even after showing glimpses of talent): 0%
  • "Foreign-born" renouncing citizenship practically pasted on him after sporting career, ratio to Singapore (N.B. I don't blame Grabovac or Goncalves at all): 1 to infinity
  • Apples-to-durians false equivalence measure: ~100%
  • Ultimate talking ridiculous cock power: ~100%

I really want to feel shiok leh, but cannot, what to do?

One other thing the mouthpieces have blissfully ignored is that mass immigration has always been a (very understandable) source of tension in societies everywhere. Even the actually-very-French (as we have seen) World Cup winning side had 36% of French respondents reject them as being "too foreign" in an official survey. Also, contrary to Mr. Jenkins' writings, Tiffany Porter, who as we have seen is of British parentage, has had to take criticism (very unfairly) as a "plastic Brit".

And we are the mean and unreasonable ones?

Realistically, how many places not awash with oil money have abided a near-40% non-citizen population for long without repurcussions? Gee, if maintaining GDP growth by packing more people in were so easy, I wonder why nobody does it to this extent. There, I just had to say it, lest polite grudging acquiescence is taken and declared to be concealed bursting enthusiasm by the spinmasters yet again.


Whew, Done.

Mr. Ham: Woah! It's a rare newspaper that can bring a smile to my jaded sensibilities, and I've just been to North Korea!

Me: I don't know if I should care anymore. The Hindes example objection is too obvious not to pick up on - it is near certain that somebody will reply to the Forum on that point. Whether it gets published without major edits is, of course, a completely different question.

Mr. Ham: *panting and rubbing eyes* Ah, ah! Really, I haven't had such a good laugh for a long time. I can only hope that my own tale is as entertaining to you.

Me: Me too, I really need a pick-me-up.

Mr. Ham: I'll begin. With the Cult Leader business getting to be a bit risky here, I thought I had best lie low. Not one to be idle, I scoured the want ads for some amusing jobs - I don't need the money, mind. Well, one thing led to another, and eventually a contact got me this assignment in London, which he thought was suited to my... particular skills.

Me: London, smack in the middle of the Olympic Games?

Mr. Ham: Oh, that was the entire point. I was sent to distribute some fliers and recruit some talents. Hey, I should have one of those fliers left over in my wallet somewhere. *digs into pocket* Ah, here it is:




*I spat out my drink*

Mr. Ham: You think it was easy? Heck no! I thought it wouldn't be that hard myself, the offer being so eminently objectively attractive, and I honoured the hosts, with whom we have strong shared historical connections after all, by giving them first bite at the cherry. After making a few calls under... assumed identities, I managed to set up a meeting with a few Lords and Peers on the Olympic committee.

I got to the conference room early, dressed to the nines, and after exchanging some pleasantries, got to the heart of the matter. Would they, I appealed to their logical faculties, consider yielding us some of their lesser-known athletes in exchange for cash and other mutually-beneficial considerations? The athletes didn't even need to have won a medal, so it wouldn't even be a loss to them. Heck, they could even quietly convert back when their time was up.

Bloody heck! I completely didn't expect their reaction! One of them stood up, eyes flashing, and said that he didn't need to hear any more of this rubbish. Stung by this breach of protocol, I turned to the rest of the group for support, only to see barely-hidden disdain and hostility in their eyes. Then they said very hurtful things like: "Dreadful little hamster", "Completely devoid of both class and sporting etiquette" and even "Another former colony gone completely down the drain"

Well, I wasn't about to take any of that either, so I got my hat and left in a huff. I later realised that I had left my handphone in the room, but they ignored my demands to be let in again. What lousy manners!

It was Plan B, then. Using some of my old tricks-of-the-trade, like fence-climbing, wire-cutting and lock-picking, I attempted to get into the Athlete's Village, but security was tight and I barely managed to get away each time. Finally, I settled on befrending and sneaking in with a group of rowers after some beers. Once inside, I was stopped by a guard for not having proper identification, but this time I made such a huge ruckus about them being xenophobic against hamsters, that they apologized and assigned me a special access pass.

That done, I bought some newspapers to get a full list of medallists and finalists, and went about my assignment. Hey, I've been in sales for awhile myself and know that rejection is part of the game, but I just can't wind my head around just how rude nearly all the athletes were at after listening to the deal. One wrestler lost control and began screaming "are you trying to buy me?", but I ended up getting the better of him.


Now, son, where's the bastard who tried to take you away?
(Source: forum.bodybuilding.com)


Me: You managed to beat a world-class wrestler? Somehow I doubt that.

Mr. Ham: At long-distance running, I did.

Thankfully, there were some nice people who didn't immediately slam their doors in my face. For example, there was this bunch of very chill beach volleyball gals who came to my defence after I got kicked to the curb in the middle of a sales pitch - I hadn't even got to the rate for silver! They very kindly agreed that that was a mean thing to do, and we struck up a conversation, and they were so nice that I threw in a recruitment bonus on my own dime if they would convert.

At that, they didn't turn violent or anything, but one of them made a funny face and asked, you really do that? Seriously? I affirmed that yes, we are doing that, and her friend spluttered, oh my, oh my, I didn't know that, I can't really believe that, and began turning to passers-by and exclaiming, you know they actually do that? Sheesh, you would think that they would be more circumspect, with all the hanky-panky going on.

Credit to the other pair of girls, they didn't laugh, but they did look kind of sad. One of them asked if we really needed to do that, and I said, don't ask me, I'm just the agent. They still looked sad, so I hastened to add that not to worry, the authorities will do all they can in their power to get the people to cheer for them. But they just said in a soft voice that that was even sadder than they thought, and walked away.

I ended up wasting the whole day without getting any leads - I thought that I had hit the jackpot when I found this gold-medal weightlifter who looked positively dreamy at my promises, but then some fellow whom he whispered was his "minder" walked by, and after getting somewhat agitated he apologized and said that sorry, he couldn't, he still had family back home.

Me: So did you recruit anybody in the end?

Mr. Ham: Well, I did manage to get a couple of has-beens interested, though they looked kind of guilty and checked that nobody was watching before stuffing my flyer into their pocket. Oh, there's always them, but we already have an ongoing long-term partnership there, so I can hardly take credit for that. It's fine by me, though, since I negotiated a hefty up-front payment for services rendered.

Me: ...Please excuse me while I cry into my drink.



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