When Trenton Oldfield, weird and wrongheaded, jumped into the River Thames last Saturday to protest the Cambridge-Oxford Boat Race specifically and elitism in sports generally, he did us all a favor. Not only did he cement his blazing idiocy in sports history, but he re-energized the debate over elitism in sports. And while doing so, gave us hard proof that it’s needed and necessary.
Oldfield, a 35-year-old Australian who lives in London and works for a non-profit, is sort of late to the debate over elitism in sports. And it shouldn’t come as any surprise that the sport of crew is steeped in elitism, or rather rowing’s best and brightest.
Since 1829, Great Britain’s most famous college-crew race has been gliding along the Thames, luring loads of spectators and, in more recent years, protesters. Usually, protesters are happy fanning their cause with banners, hoping to reach out to a televised network audience and maybe a few spectators. But nobody has yet to make a physical protest that actually halted the race as Oldfield did this Saturday.
Before the race Oldfield, who loftily compares himself to Emily Davison, the suffragette who died after throwing herself before King George V’s horses in 1913, whipped up a rambling 2,100-word manifesto on his blog, ELITISM LEADS TO TYRANNY. Elitism, he argued, has no place in sports. He announced plans to disrupt the boat race and Olympics with “guerrilla tactics.”
He complained in the posting that the banks of the Thames between the more well-heeled districts of Kew and Chiswick, where the race is held, is “a site where elitists and those with elitist sympathies have come together” and “reboot their shared culture together in the public realm.”
As luck would have it, Oldfield himself is a product of an elite British university: the London School of Economics. He also attended Australia’s most exclusive private schools.
Oldfield then goes on to suggest ways his fellow protesters can take down the elitist establishment. He encourages building janitors to set off fire alarms and cut power, urges office workers to “misplace” paperwork and clog email accounts, and for taxi drivers to take passengers the slowest and most expensive routes. He also directs restaurant staff to serve food cold, plumbers to sabotage conservative businesses” toilets, and exterminators to plant infestations in the homes of “elitist sympathizers.”
I’m honestly surprised he has not suggested public flatulence.
Elitism leads to tyranny? Nonsense. Elitism leads to better boat races. Would we rather have a lazy, mediocre, and unmotivated crew? We want the best. We want dedication. We want a good show. There’s nothing wrong with working hard, long hours to be the best. There is, however, something wrong with marring the culmination of years of hard training to prove a pointless point.
Competition in sports has always been about seeking the absolute best”in other words, the elite. But fools such as Oldfield are trying to turn the Greek Olympics into the Special Olympics.
Oldfield stole the competition from the oarsmen on Saturday when, according to one report, he told some spectators, “I just want a bit of quiet today.” Then he proceeded to take off and fold his clothes, hang his jacket on a tree, place his book and cell phone on his clothes, and plunge into the chilly Thames.
]]>
Relax, Tiger. It’s over.
The glow is gone. The media has ceased to natter over your personal affairs. Your game is still good, but not great like it once was. End your Sisyphean struggle to win back fans. They’re gone. Now you’re free to be the aloof, robotic stiff you are known to be in the players’ locker room: unapproachable, uncomfortable in your own skin, snippy, bitchy, and humorless.
But what’s worse”and weirdly telling on so many levels”is that you have been the type that practically strives out loud. And that’s rather crude and low-rent. Yet there you were from a tender young age, swinging for greatness while losing bits of your soul along the way. All this time you were like Bill Clinton, but without the sleazy charm.
Tiger’s former swing coach Hank Haney keeps the shots coming with his new book The Big Miss, painting Woods as a porn-addicted creep who coldly ignored little kids as they begged for his autograph. Nobody wants his autograph now. Or if they do, it’s not for the same reason as before.
Look at it this way, Tiger: You”re a talented, history-making golf vet, yet one with a zipper problem. It’s not bad. You should be happy. With Rory McIlroy dusting off your throne, you can now enjoy your empire of dirt, liberated to a libidinous life of queasy conquests. This means you can hover about greasy-spoon chains scribbling down the numbers of tanned, bleached-blonde bimbos in every Waffle House and IHOP from Fruit Cove to Fort Myers. And, brother, that’s ripe territory. John Daly has nothing on you.
Rory McIlroy is golf’s new Boy King. You may now fist-pump. Go nuts.
While Tiger was steely and rigid, Rory has a plucky charm. He’s affably awkward and goofy with a stoner kid curly mop begging to be mussed and a slightly upturned nose. That hair, though. Right?
Eric Davidson, an old friend, known criminal, and occasional sportswriter, says:
You could argue that most rivalries are media bullshit, but it has to exist on some level between those two. Tiger is hyper-competitive. Woods is a fallen star. It’s an episode of “Behind the Music” set to golf.
]]>