Serepax

Because the world needs more overwrought candour.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Faction

I've never had too many pretensions about my writing - it's hasty, impression-laden stuff without overlong thought - but what I do best is write faction - heavily altered fact. Sadly, life as a local journo seemed to preclude editorialising past being the now-sole journo on the paper, and hence having almost complete control over what goes in my little baby. But then the plot thickened. About three weeks ago, my colleague took off to warmer news climes with more violence and car crashes, having brought me up to speed on my sedate area. He bequeathed me the dubious legacy of having to write sport. Put simply, I hate sport unless I'm playing it. I think sportspeople get far too much attention. They should be regarded as entertainers and treated as such. And sport bores me to tears. Win, lose or draw - without a personal investment in a team, how can you take pleasure in a paltry three possible outcomes, or even with a team to call your own, how can the three primary-coloured emotions of elation, sadness or boredom substitute for the richness of life outside sport.

The above is a brief synopsis of my thoughts as I faced up, heavy hearted and dragging my feet to my first Monday Weekend Sports Wrap Up day. I plodded through a couple of stories before having an epiphany. Sports writing was fun! You can use adjectives like guns, shooting them off all over the place with no regard. I can wank on at high velocity about - and this is the crucial bit - games that I never attended. Yep, shocking but true. Sure, the photographers go along to a footy match or two, but me, I simply scour the well-set up results websites from the comfort of my desk, zeroing in on any interesting-sounding matches with thrills, spills, third-quarter comebacks and misery and write it in faction-style: based on a real event but heavily laden in utter bilge which proves really rather fun to write. Supplemented by a brief conversation with an inarticulate coach, the story writes itself.

Sample wank:
In a devastating display of power and grace, the Eagles swooped upon their hapless victims and bore them off screaming for a rematch.
The blitz started early and the Eagles kept up the pressure throughout, with a startling 189 goals from Bogan McFuckface, noted rapist and all round good bloke.
Coach Joey Joeboy said "At the end of the day, the game is four quarters and it's a team game. We're taking it one game at a time. They gave 110%.


See how easy and fun sport is to write? It's like fiction with a limited repertoire, as if a Booker prize winner was told to write exclusively about the outcome of small wars using only hyperbole and excessive adjectives to give the impression he was actually there. Joy is a blank sports page and a thesaurus. Please, envy me.