Becka (miss_rynn) wrote,
Becka
miss_rynn

Irrepressible Sports

I wanted to write something contraversial, just for the sake of it, but I realised that was a really dumb idea. I mean, I don't have anything contraversial to say, or anything like that. I'm just being a dumb-ass, I suppose.

This weekend I came to the disturbing realisation that not even war can stand in the way of Sunday sports on Australian TV. Every chanel. How creepy is that? Mind you, I am amused that even though he was struck with serious food poisoning, Tiger Woods won his most recent tournament by 11 strokes.

And my daily dose of Gulf related musings...

One of the the strangest things I am having to come to terms with in relation to all this TV coverage is the odd flashes of familiarity and memory. The thing with the Persian Gulf is that throughout the region, the landscape looks largely the same. That, and the characteristic building structures such as mosques are also largely the same in the area.

I keep seeing tanks rolling across scrubby desert, or troops making a stand just outside a small town, and I get shivers. That kind of landscape was just down the street from me. My old school was way out in a largely undeveloped part of Dubai, surrounded by low sand dunes. Camels, big humped beasts, wandered across roads all the time. A friend of mine had camels practically wander into her front yard fairly frequently.

It's a bit like seeing a pack of heavily armed soildiers on the outskirts of Perth if you live in Melbourne.

I know it sounds a bit whiny and rather over-sensitive of me, and I know there are many, many people in the world who have it much worse than I ever did. I'm not saying that my case is particularly worth pity or any of that. I guess I'm just frightened by the very real possibility of what could have happened, or what could happen still in the world.

They showed footage of the US POWs on Iraqi TV, and one of which was a marine giving his serial number. My father did that for me once, closed his eyes and gave me his number from when he was in Viet Nam in a cold and dead voice that echoed with gunfire and fear and nightmares that I could never imagine. When I saw that poor man on Tv doing the same, the bottom fell out of my stomache and I went ice cold.

Sometimes I forget that my father is a killer. When I remember, I want to hide.
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