Month: January 2026

Eyes on the Prize

We went to an awards night.  In Sydney, no less, having been nominated in the somewhat divergent categories of ‘Best Comedy/Novelty Song’ and ‘Best Spiritual Song’.  Had there been an award for ‘Most Bizarre Mix of Categories’, we surely would have triumphed. 

The night got off to a rough start.  We arrived to find that Katrina had been seated at table 20.  I assumed that, since we had bought our tickets together and we’re nominated together and we were attending together that I, too, would be seated at table 20.  But I was dead wrong.  Instead, I was seated at table 3; right at the front with a number of guests of honour, including the guy who sang in ‘The Cockroaches’ and went on to manage ‘The Wiggles’.  Was this deliberate?  Had they asked for me by name or was this simply a minor clerical error?  What could it possibly mean?

It quickly became apparent that spending an entire evening being seated at opposite ends of the venue was not going to be sustainable.  We approached the person in charge who, it must be said, offered to help.  She then looked at our assigned tables and double checked that I really wanted to move, noting that I was on ‘a really good table’.  There was no room for hesitation – I told her that my allegiances lay elsewhere.  Thanks to a very kind person on table 20, a swap was arranged.  Seated beside each other, we waited eagerly for our categories …

We didn’t win.  Some might be disappointed, but not us – we placed in the top 10 (twice!) and had fabulous night, no doubt aided by the fact that we were seated on the same table.  And that, you might think, is that.  Except that recent developments on the world stage have shown us that losing need not be the end of our hope of winning.

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that you don’t need to win.  Rather, you need only to convince the person who did win to surrender their award and, if possible, smile whilst they’re at it.  It shouldn’t be that hard.

I’ve started attending garage sales.  Mostly, these events are a pretty scrappy affair, with household contents scattered across the nature strip as though some giant house-gobbling monster has just projectile vomited.  There are plates, clothes, abandoned board games and world-weary furniture.  Sometimes there are old sporting trophies and school certificates.  Amazingly, these are often available at prices that are even more competitive that the events that resulted in the trophy to begin with. 

Whenever I see such items, I buy up big.  As a result of my fossicking, I’m now the proud owner of certificate for the fifty metres backstroke.  Granted, it’s in the name of ‘Stephen Bannon’, but I now legally own the certificate and, therefore, own all the attendant glory and satisfaction that goes with it.  I’m also the under-12s calisthenic champion for St Mary’s Primary School for the year 1987 and have come second runner-up in an over-70s slam poetry competition.  I have immediately added these achievements to my résumé.   

But I need more.  My thirst for achievement has not been sated with my ‘Most Improved Kick’ trophy for the Maffra under-9s from 2001.  I need something bigger. 

Having not won an award recently, my next step is obvious.  I should contact the winner and ask her to give the award to me.  This may not be quite as easy as it sounds.  It is possible that the person who won the award holds the view that she should have won the award and, therefore, should retain the trophy that confirms that she did, indeed, win the award.  But that’s mere semantics.  Because I feel I should have won, I have won; and it is, frankly, deeply unreasonable for anyone else – whether they be the winner or the judges that determined the winner – to try and stand in my way.

But whilst getting a songwriting award would be nice, it’s just the first step towards getting my achievements – both real and imagined – recognised.  That’s why I’ve just emailed actor Matt Damon, asking him to hand over the 1997 Oscar for ‘Best Original Screenplay’ that he snaffled for ‘Good Will Hunting’.  Granted, I had nothing whatsoever to do with writing it, but I feel I could have.  I’ve also seen the film several times, a couple of which were right to the end. 

Jana Wendt was, if nothing else, surprised when I emailed her demanding her Gold Logie for 1992.  But it now sits pride of place in my pantry, just next to the Garam Masala, in front of the peanut oil.  Peter Carey is, to this time, reluctant to give me one of his Booker Prizes.  Greedy.  He’ll change his tune once I invade French Island.

What I really want – more than a Logie, Booker Prize or an Award for ‘Best Comedy Song’ is a Nobel Peace Prize.  I’m not fussy as to whose name is on it, but it would look perfect hanging from my fridge.  We are, in the end, all winners of a kind.  Just not always the right kind.

Fools Rush In Where Angels FIFA Tread

I’m responsible.  If only I’d said ‘yes’ instead of ‘no’, things might have worked out differently for all of us.  It was one of the those sliding doors moments where if I’d made a different split-second decision the world might be better off and I could have ended up as Gyneth Paltrow.  Truth is, I’ve been winning a lot of awards recently, and I’ve run out of places to put them.  I can barely move from one end of the house to the other without tripping over some prize or other.  That’s why, when FIFA called, offering me their inaugural ‘FIFA Peace Prize, my response was a big fat ‘no’. 

Some people – snobs mostly – have snidely suggested that FIFA has no business in giving out something like a peace prize.  Granted, their day job is to administer a sporting code, but to me it’s only natural that they should be interested in matters of international diplomacy ahead of, for example, a reasonable World Cup draw or ensuring that a bucket of chips at a match doesn’t require a second mortgage.  That wasn’t my problem.

Others have complained that the creation of a FIFA Peace Prize represents an abrupt change of course, straying far from their core business.  I disagree.  It’s not that FIFA has made up an award out of nowhere, it’s that no-one had really done enough to deserve it before now.  FIFA has been running since 1904 and I can’t really think of anyone in the past one hundred and two years who’s done more to deserve a FIFA Peace Prize than myself.  Granted, there’s been the odd individual over the past century that’s meant well, but FIFA has earned the right to be picky.

I regret saying ‘no’.  It’s just that there’s been so many other accolades coming my way recently that I may have overreacted.  There was the ‘Lego Prize for Contributions to Nuclear Fusion’ last July (I had to assemble the trophy with help from a twelve-year-old.  It took ages).  That was followed by the ‘Flora Margarine Award for Contributions to Intergalactic Harmony’ and the ‘Hairhouse Warehouse Endowment for Mathematics’.  By the time I was given the ‘Red Rooster Trophy for Achievements in Advanced Puzzle Solving Whilst Blindfolded’, I’d reached my limit.  So when FIFA reached out to me, I’d had a gutful and told them, in no uncertain terms, to get on their bike. 

Having spent good money getting a trophy built, FIFA went and gave the inaugural FIFA Peace Prize to someone else.  When I learned who they’d ultimately chosen, I immediately wondered how many other people had rebuffed FIFA before they found someone willing to accept.  I can’t be sure, but I suspect the answer to that question might be ‘nearly everyone’.

And so it is that President Donald J. Trump was given the trophy that I, and possibly everyone else, had rejected.  He seemed overwhelmed at the presentation.  Indeed, he’d reacted like someone who’d never had the thrill of getting the ‘Flora Margarine Award for Contributions to Intergalactic Harmony’.  The trophy, a golden globe balanced on the fingertips of disembodied hands, could politely be described as ‘gaudy’ and, to that extent, will blend in with the décor in the Oval Office. 

Rumours that the President refused to believe that the award was not made of chocolate and attempted to eat it are little more than a rabid left-wing conspiracy and those teeth marks belong to somebody else.  Probably Stephen Miller.

It’s not entirely clear whether President Trump realises that FIFA and the Nobel Committee are not the same thing.  I’m semi-confident that he’s mistaken Greenland for North Korea.  But a misunderstanding of that kind is nothing compared to what he thinks getting the award actually means. 

When you reach the pinnacle, where can you go?  Nowhere.  Which is why it’s best to step back and quit whilst you’re ahead.  Now that President Trump has been bestowed with the ultimate accolade that is the FIFA Peace Prize, he can retire from anything that might bare the faintest resemblance to peace.  Put simply, now that he has an award, there’s simply no point in being peaceful anymore.   

I don’t know if there’s a FIFA War Prize, but I suspect that President Trump thinks there is and he’s committed himself to winning it.  After all, what’s the point of a peace prize without a war prize to match it?  Like a saltshaker without a pepper one to match, these things really ought to come in pairs.  This, I feel, accounts for what can only be described as an ‘overtly aggressive’ start to the year.  Venezuela, Cuba, Mexico, Denmark and the Chair of the Federal Reserve are all now part of one man’s obsession to add more silver or, perhaps ‘gold’ ware to his trophy cabinet. 

It’s going to be a long, strange year.