... and it is mine
Ahem, I have a theory - and if I can only find a way of stretching it out to a hundred pages or so, and find a few disciples who will attest to its efficacy, I could write a best-selling self-help book, and make a fortune on the chat-show circuit. After all it seems that no idea is too stupid to find an audience. First of all I should explain that my theory does not suggest that you can control events and people around you by the force alone of your mind or will. The idea that your thoughts and actions should be inner directed and that you should manipulate those around you until you get what you want is not new. It forms the basis of modern business management and personnel policies. It reaches a sort of apogee (or nadir, depending on your viewpoint) in Rhonda Byrne's current theory, contained in the film and the book yclept The Secret. According to the Law of Attraction she postulates, your mind controls external happenings and, by imagining outcomes, desires and events, you can make them happen. And the chat-show circuit treats this seriously ... I suppose, at the least, it doesn't involve overpaid performers jumping all over the furniture on your show's set.
My theory is somewhat different. It relies on no natural law, other than Murphy's, although I might be able to invent one: perhaps the Law of Restricted Choice (for reasons that will become obvious later in the rant). I call my theory: the theory of creative inaction[TM]. (I know, it needs something a little more catchy if it is going to be published by Harpo Books or one of the other high-profile lifestyle publishers.) In essence it is a modus vivendi that I followed back in the day when I was organising SF conventions. There were those who were hyper-active and wanted to get everything done yesterday and there were those that never did nothing. I was the schmuck in the middle: I contemplated what I was going to do, and then waited for events to unfold favorably. It's a method I still apply to both my avocation and my hobby activities. The ancients understood the forces of nature that apply to the theory of creative inaction. "All things come to he who waits," they said. "Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow," they added. "Good things happen to good people," they said somewhat delphicly. So that's what I do. I let events unfold ... and in the fullness of time the right thing will happen - or someone will do your work for you.
By the Law of Restricted Choice, there are only a limited number of paths down which any action can head. You can get all het up and stressed about ensuring that your events head down the path you want them to. You can even, if you are so deluded, imagine them heading down that path in the hope that the external universe will respond to your internal thoughts. (Outside the world of lifestyle publishing, and possibly Scientology, this belief is called "delusion" and, if it is exhibited in sufficient quantities, it will result in the cleaners coming to inspect your ducting. You might even find yourself a guest in a rubber room - unless you can convince Oprah or Rosie that your delusion can make them money.) But, whatever you do, the Law of Restricted Choice posits that, from the limited number of optional paths, you will eventually get action along the path you want. You just need to reject other choices as they impact on you, until you arrive at the door you want. Open it and step through. You can then wait for the next door to open. Just be careful you choose the Princess and not the Tiger - unless you really like big cats.
Anyway, at the moment I'm thinking about my theory. If I'm right, then some self-help publisher will be along with a contract any time now and my fortune will be made. I just have to do nothing and wait.
Mr Whingey Pants
Australians generally prefer their sporting heroes to be laconic and, if possible, taciturn. Ian Thorpe stretched the envelope but Cadel Evans surely breaks it. Those who have been following the bicycling race in France, known this year as La Tour du chien (first because there have been two major bingles involving cyclists and loose canines - although no dog was badly injured in the making of the race - and secondly, and most importantly, because it has been a dog of a race after three separate drug scandals forced out two teams and the rider who was leading after a fortnight of racing, and thirdly because no Frenchman was within sight of the lead, or finished in the top twenty), or more usually as La Tour de France, will, if you have persevered through the issues arising from the drug cheating and watched until the end, have noted that "Aussie" Cadel (or "Mr whingey pants" as he has become known in our demesne) finished second, only 23 seconds behind the winner. While it is undoubtedly a triumph for Australian cycling that one of our boys podiumed, after many of the world's best riders never made it to the start line because of previous drug infractions and both the favourite and the leader were rubbed out because of current drug problems, Cadel's behavior has not endeared him to us. He has in fact a version of John Howard's Syndrome, a rare medical condition that causes the sufferer to claim responsibility for all triumphs that occur in his general vicinity but for none of the diasters for which he might be directly responsible. The latter are always someone else's fault. In Cadel's case, when he failed to keep up with the best of the mountain climbers, especially Contador and Rasmussen, it was the fault of his team-mates for failing adequately to support him, or of his opponents for daring to rely on team-mates to (legally) escort them up some hills. Not only is he a catalog of excuses, alibis and rationalisations, but he utters them in a whine that amplifies the perceived sense of personal injustice visited upon him. Well done, "Aussie" Cadel, on the silver medal but "Mr whingey pants" needs to shut up and let his cycling do the talking for him.
If you can put aside all the drugs scandals that marred the last week of the race, Le Tour was again a sporting highlight of the year. In the absence of a dominant rider and a dominant team, the human drama of the multi-stage race - 21 days of cycling, averaging about 200 kilometers a day, with half a dozen stages that included killer hill climbs in the Alps and Pyrenees, and two time trials - was to the fore. The racing was exciting and unpredictable, and the race offered the best (and the worst) sports stories of the year. With the retirement of Lance Armstrong, the sport is without a Tiger or a FedExpress, and all the better for it. But, in the end, the necessity for professionals to ignore the protocols and seek, through fair means or foul, to enhance their performance, might mean that road cycling will become less and less well regarded, and more a haven for cheats. The threat to boot cycling from the Olympics may provide the impetus the sport needs to clean itself up. If it does, it will be fascinating to see how a peloton of cleanskins negotiates the difficulties and dangers of the grand tour. Tune in next year for updates.
At least cycling seems to be taking its responsibilities a little more seriously than the AFL, wherein drug cheats are excused and welcomed back to the fold. Even though this year's competition has been far more unpredictable than those of the past, those who support the Pivotonians of Geelong may be onto a good thing. Certainly, with half-a-dozen games left to play, you wouldn't want to have your hard-earned invested on the Swans, whose fans live more in hope than expectation.
First written: August 2007
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