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Opinion & Analysis

Thursday, March 4, 2009

Dispatch Number One of Two

Lining out for the Dubai sevens heaven

TONY ALLWRIGHT

ONLY A few days ago every paper and broadcast in Ireland was full of just one sporting event – the defeat of the mighty English by the plucky Irish in the latter’s quest for a first rugby Grand Slam since 1948 under the legendary try-scorer Jackie Kyle, when, coincidentally, England were also beaten by a single point.

So how could another rugby event, with a far more international flavour than a contest between a mere six countries, a World Cup no less, have glided so silently beneath the Irish radar? The quadrennial Rugby World Cup Sevens, just about to begin in Dubai, is one of the world’s great unsung competitions, and this time it’s not just for the boys.

A parallel competition has brought 16 women’s teams to Dubai to battle (minus burkas) for an inaugural Women’s Cup, with the Irish currently ranked sixth in the world (and ahead of England and France).

Sevens rugby is played on a full-size pitch, but each team has only seven players – three forwards and four backs – and each half lasts just seven minutes; yellow cards mean two minutes in the sinbin. Apart from that, the game follows the same laws as the 15-a-side version, but is played at a much more frenetic pace which is only for the super-fit.

Matches follow each other at strictly choreographed 22-minute intervals, which allow for stoppage time and changeover.

This means spectators gorge on a non-stop feast of fast, skilful, international rugby, for 2½ crazy days, interrupted only when attendants bring food and refreshment to your seat. It’s almost like getting up to go to work every day, except that every night is party time, which can make it hard to get up in time for the first game.

Bar a handful of games, the whole tournament takes place in a single stadium, which means not only do you see every knockout contest, but you never have to miss even a pool game.

The men’s 36 pool games occupy the first day and a half, after which a points system divides the teams into three groups of eight. On the third and final day they compete in three knockout battles for a bowl, a plate and the big one, the 2009 Rugby Sevens World Cup. In the midst of this, there is a break for a big parade of all the players and match officials and some extravagant entertainment.

The Sevens are being staged at a just opened stadium called, er, The Sevens, located on the outskirts of Dubai, a half-hour’s drive from downtown. It sports a permanent grandstand with 4,000 seats, plus temporary stands for a further 36,000 people. The complex has a secondary pitch which caters for 5,000 spectators where some of the men’s and most of the women’s games will be played, plus a further four.

It also incorporates changing rooms, hospitality areas, broadcast and medical facilities, as well as a 30-metre wide rugby promenade, featuring cafes and food outlets. Though intended to become the new new home of rugby in the Middle East, it will also target cricket, football, basketball and netball.

There is no doubting from the international array of colourful shirts, hats and other accoutrements on display in the streets and haunts of Dubai that there is a very big rugby event in the air.

You know it is rugby and not, for example, soccer because of the way all the men walk.

It is more of a slow, exaggerated, nautical swagger, with hips moving deliberately fore and aft while the manly shoulders sway in a kind of horizontal circle that says “I’m a tough guy, I could win this competition single-handedly, don’t mess with me”.

However, exchange a few words and they are instantly your best friend, as eager, enthusiastic and childish as you are to talk about the forthcoming games, the players, the beer, the rankings, the Fijians (current world champions), the All Blacks (everyone’s nemesis) and plans for the next competition in four years. And no player has even kicked a ball yet.

It all begins at 5pm today with Wales v Zimbabwe. An hour later Ireland, under manager Jon Skurr, plays its opener against a formidable Samoa. Australia and Portugal also share this tough pool.

Can’t wait.

© 2009 The Irish Times
 

Irish Times; Rugby World Cup Sevens
Published column as PDF

Irish Times; Rugby World Cup Sevens
Published columns as JPG

More on this subject, with pix, in a blog post entitled Sevens Heaven in the Middle East

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Dispatch Number Two of Two

Opinion & Analysis

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Alternative rugby brings many surprises

TONY ALLWRIGHT

OPINION: THE FIFTH Rugby World Cup Sevens hosted recently by Dubai was certainly a festival of surprises. The spectators’ unforgiving hard benches in the unforgiving open sun was one.

The parade taking place, without the combatants, on day one instead of day three as advertised was another.

A third, monumental surprise was the unceremonious dethronements of the champions (Fiji), the perennial favourites (New Zealand), the other big guns (England and South Africa) in the quarter-finals by presumed no-hopers Kenya, Wales, Samoa and Argentina, Ireland having previously taken out doughty Australia.

Then there were the sweet eventual cup-winning victory over Argentina by a deserving Wales and the gripping women’s inaugural final where the Aussies overcame the All Blacks.

The women’s World Cup competition was an innovation, which many welcomed but most found a tiresome interruption to the smooth progress of the men’s. It meant matches had to be held simultaneously on two pitches which you had to yo-yo between and still end up missing crucial contests.

Moreover, apart from the final few games, the standard of the women’s matches was mostly akin to primary schoolchildren’s and great if you enjoy the delights of slow play, knock-ons and dropped catches, but at least you could follow what was going on more easily.

Predictably, curmudgeonly chauvinists far preferred the troupe of leggy cheerleaders with their black and orange outfits and silver pompoms. With the same verve and energy as the players, they danced and leapt and cartwheeled all over and alongside the main pitch whenever there was a brief respite in the rugby.

The day one parade was very well choreographed and entertaining: half a dozen gaily-bedecked camels haughtily strutting their stuff like catwalk models, bare-chested kung-fu tumblers performing impossible acrobatics, Arab drummers in traditional robes providing a thrilling beat, children in beautiful Graeco-Roman tunics dancing in perfect unison, the lovely cheerleaders, of course, and other black-clad children releasing clusters of coloured helium balloons and rocketing streamers.

Within the compound outside the stadium, franchisees in huts and marquees sold their coffee, pies, chips and beer and ice creams, having, of course, ensured that everyone at the entrance gates had first been frisked of all food and drink. You had to buy coupons to effect payment.

An amusing sign in the bars admonished you not to drink and drive, while advising that the only way to dispose of unused coupons was by taking the car to a particular alcohol outlet in the distant fellow-emirate of Ras al-Khaimah. A merchandising store sold multi-coloured, overpriced rugby shirts and hats emblazoned to commemorate the event, which were irresistible.

Back within the stadium, we were regularly exhorted to join in with what has become the de facto anthem of big Sevens tournaments everywhere, Hey, Baby, will you be my Girl?, which has as much relevance to rugby as The Fields of Athenry. But similarly, when belted out with gusto to the non-existent rafters, you cannot but feel uplifted.

Disappointingly, the Irish crowd was so small and scattered that Athenry was never heard, except from my own spindly throat.

But what was heard roaring round the stadium, especially once Wales had secured the mantle of world champions was Tom Jones’s Delilah, that curious paean to violent domestic abuse (“I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more”).

But as Wales gloried on noisily, in the distance you could faintly hear disappointed Fijian, New Zealand, South African, Australian and English accents with their plaintive wail: “Why, why, why, Delilah?”

© 2009 The Irish Times
 

Rugby World Cup Sevens - Dispatch nbr 2
Published column as PDF

Rugby World Cup Sevens - Dispatch nbr 2
Published columns as JPG

More on this subject, with pix, in a blog post entitled Why, Why, Why? (It's Just So Unfair)

Alternative link to this page: http://tinyurl.ie/09-7s

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 What I've recently
been reading

The Lemon Tree, by Sandy Tol, 2006
“The Lemon Tree”, by Sandy Tol (2006),
is a delightful novel-style history of modern Israel and Palestine told through the eyes of a thoughtful protagonist from either side, with a household lemon tree as their unifying theme.

But it's not entirely honest in its subtle pro-Palestinian bias, and therefore needs to be read in conjunction with an antidote, such as
The Case for Israel, Alan Dershowitz, 2004

See detailed review

+++++

Drowning in Oil - Macondo Blowout
This
examines events which led to BP's 2010 Macondo blowout in the Gulf of Mexico. 

BP's ambitious CEO John Browne expanded it through adventurous acquisitions, aggressive offshore exploration, and relentless cost-reduction that trumped everything else, even safety and long-term technical sustainability.  

Thus mistakes accumulated, leading to terrifying and deadly accidents in refineries, pipelines and offshore operations, and business disaster in Russia.  

The Macondo blowout was but an inevitable outcome of a BP culture that had become poisonous and incompetent. 

However the book is gravely compromised by a litany of over 40 technical and stupid errors that display the author's ignorance and carelessness. 

It would be better to wait for the second (properly edited) edition before buying. 

As for BP, only a wholesale rebuilding of a new, professional, ethical culture will prevent further such tragedies and the eventual destruction of a once mighty corporation with a long and generally honourable history.

Note: I wrote my own reports on Macondo
in
May, June, and July 2010

+++++

Published in April 2010; banned in Singapore

A horrific account of:

bullet

how the death penalty is administered and, er, executed in Singapore,

bullet

the corruption of Singapore's legal system, and

bullet

Singapore's enthusiastic embrace of Burma's drug-fuelled military dictatorship

More details on my blog here.

+++++

Product Details
This is nonagenarian Alistair Urquhart’s incredible story of survival in the Far East during World War II.

After recounting a childhood of convention and simple pleasures in working-class Aberdeen, Mr Urquhart is conscripted within days of Chamberlain declaring war on Germany in 1939.

From then until the Japanese are deservedly nuked into surrendering six years later, Mr Urquhart’s tale is one of first discomfort but then following the fall of Singapore of ever-increasing, unmitigated horror. 

After a wretched journey Eastward, he finds himself part of Singapore’s big but useless garrison.

Taken prisoner when Singapore falls in 1941, he is, successively,

bullet

part of a death march to Thailand,

bullet

a slave labourer on the Siam/Burma railway (one man died for every sleeper laid),

bullet

regularly beaten and tortured,

bullet

racked by starvation, gaping ulcers and disease including cholera,

bullet

a slave labourer stevedoring at Singapore’s docks,

bullet

shipped to Japan in a stinking, closed, airless hold with 900 other sick and dying men,

bullet

torpedoed by the Americans and left drifting alone for five days before being picked up,

bullet

a slave-labourer in Nagasaki until blessed liberation thanks to the Americans’ “Fat Boy” atomic bomb.

Chronically ill, distraught and traumatised on return to Aberdeen yet disdained by the British Army, he slowly reconstructs a life.  Only in his late 80s is he able finally to recount his dreadful experiences in this unputdownable book.

There are very few first-person eye-witness accounts of the the horrors of Japanese brutality during WW2. As such this book is an invaluable historical document.

+++++

Culture of Corruption: Obama and His Team of Tax Cheats, Crooks, and Cronies
Culture of Corruption: Obama and His Team of Tax Cheats, Crooks, and Cronies

This is a rattling good tale of the web of corruption within which the American president and his cronies operate. It's written by blogger Michele Malkin who, because she's both a woman and half-Asian, is curiously immune to the charges of racism and sexism this book would provoke if written by a typical Republican WASP.

With 75 page of notes to back up - in best blogger tradition - every shocking and in most cases money-grubbing allegation, she excoriates one Obama crony after another, starting with the incumbent himself and his equally tricky wife. 

Joe Biden, Rahm Emmanuel, Valerie Jarett, Tim Geithner, Lawrence Summers, Steven Rattner, both Clintons, Chris Dodd: they all star as crooks in this venomous but credible book. 

ACORN, Mr Obama's favourite community organising outfit, is also exposed for the crooked vote-rigging machine it is.

+++++

Superfreakonomics
This much trumpeted sequel to Freakonomics is a bit of disappointment. 

It is really just a collation of amusing little tales about surprising human (and occasionally animal) behaviour and situations.  For example:

bullet

Drunk walking kills more people per kilometer than drunk driving.

bullet

People aren't really altruistic - they always expect a return of some sort for good deeds.

bullet

Child seats are a waste of money as they are no safer for children than adult seatbelts.

bullet

Though doctors have known for centuries they must wash their hands to avoid spreading infection, they still often fail to do so. 

bullet

Monkeys can be taught to use washers as cash to buy tit-bits - and even sex.

The book has no real message other than don't be surprised how humans sometimes behave and try to look for simple rather than complex solutions.

And with a final anecdote (monkeys, cash and sex), the book suddenly just stops dead in its tracks.  Weird.

++++++

False Economy: A Surprising Economic History of the World
A remarkable, coherent attempt by Financial Times economist Alan Beattie to understand and explain world history through the prism of economics. 

It's chapters are organised around provocative questions such as

bullet

Why does asparagus come from Peru?

bullet

Why are pandas so useless?

bullet

Why are oil and diamonds more trouble than they are worth?

bullet

Why doesn't Africa grow cocaine?

It's central thesis is that economic development continues to be impeded in different countries for different historical reasons, even when the original rationale for those impediments no longer obtains.  For instance:

bullet

Argentina protects its now largely foreign landowners (eg George Soros)

bullet

Russia its military-owned businesses, such as counterfeit DVDs

bullet

The US its cotton industry comprising only 1% of GDP and 2% of its workforce

The author writes in a very chatty, light-hearted matter which makes the book easy to digest. 

However it would benefit from a few charts to illustrate some of the many quantitative points put forward, as well as sub-chaptering every few pages to provide natural break-points for the reader. 

+++++

Burmese Outpost, by Anthony Irwin
This is a thrilling book of derring-do behind enemy lines in the jungles of north-east Burma in 1942-44 during the Japanese occupation.

The author was a member of Britain's V Force, a forerunner of the SAS. Its remit was to harass Japanese lines of command, patrol their occupied territory, carryout sabotage and provide intelligence, with the overall objective of keeping the enemy out of India.   

Irwin is admirably yet brutally frank, in his descriptions of deathly battles with the Japs, his execution of a prisoner, dodging falling bags of rice dropped by the RAF, or collapsing in floods of tears through accumulated stress, fear and loneliness. 

He also provides some fascinating insights into the mentality of Japanese soldiery and why it failed against the flexibility and devolved authority of the British. 

The book amounts to a  very human and exhilarating tale.

Oh, and Irwin describes the death in 1943 of his colleague my uncle, Major PF Brennan.

+++++

Other books here

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