Like a lot of people, I tend to cheer for the underdog: few things give me greater satisfaction than seeing someone who seemingly had no right to succeed do just that. This extends to my heroes or those I simply admire for their abilities in whatever field: sport, music – whatever – in that the people I’m willing on to succeed in these fields are deeply flawed; often maligned & criticised as being mere fuck ups who have worn the patience of the very people who elevated them to such lofty platforms in the first place. Rightly or wrongly, though, the caveat I attach to this admiration is that they must be humble, therefore, people such as Jason Akermanis, Anthony Watmough, Elton John…they will never make it to the list of those I admire – I can’t fucking stand them or their prima donna antics.
Some footballers put bums on seats, whether they be stadium seats or the more comfortable variety found in our lounge rooms: it doesn’t matter who they play for, there are some players you want to watch regardless & will drop everything to do so. In my case, I can rattle off names such as Darren Lockyer, Greg Inglis, Billy Slater – and then there’s Todd Carney. Here is a kid who, by all accounts, has an ego so inversely proportional to his phenomenal talent it defies belief & the evidence certainly presents itself whenever his melon pops up on the TV with a microphone in front of it; he comes across as a quietly spoken & polite young man. Put a beer in front of him though, and it’s goodnight nurse; attempting to stand between Todd Carney & a schooner glass is akin to standing between a hippo & its path to water – you’ll come off second best every time. He has a rap sheet as long as his heavily tattooed arms & all of his offences are related to alcohol. He was once banned for a year by a magistrate from setting foot in his hometown of Goulburn, such was his list of alcohol related offences. The year before last seemed to be the making of him; he’d been sacked by Canberra, de-registered from the NRL & banished to Far North Queensland to pull beers in a pub & run around playing park footy. He had to sell his properties just to buy milk. Upon his return to the big league last season & having vowed to stay away from the piss, he had a magnificent year; he played for Australia, won the Dally M as the competition’s best player & played in a grand final for the Sydney Roosters against my team, St. George. This year, though, the wheels have fallen off a bit & he’s not only found himself in trouble at his club, he’s made yet more court appearances due to alcohol. It also emerged recently that whilst in camp with the Australian team last year, he & a fellow player didn’t so much as sneak in a few schooners as much as they simply murdered every fucking schooner in sight.
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When God was handing out talent to those who would go on to dominate the alternative music scene in the 90′s, he obviously set aside a particularly generous amount for Scott Weiland. I couldn’t care less for what anyone says: this bloke has more talent in his little finger than the likes of Eddie Vedder, Billy Corgan, Kurt Cobain, Chris Cornell or Trent Reznor could ever wish to have, or wished to have. A versatile voice, ability to write lyrics, flamboyance, charisma; you name it, he’s got it in spades. He’s also got a decent constitution for self destruction. I couldn’t count the times I’ve read a headline revealing he’s managed to get himself arrested yet again for drug possession & God knows whatever else & as a result, Stone Temple Pilots have made more comebacks than George Foreman. It surely wouldn’t be unfair to compare him to Robert Downey Jr; so incredibly talented, yet for whatever reason, so incredibly prone to tearing all of his success down, or at least attempting to. I know it sounds cynical, but I couldn’t help but think, “Typical. Fuck you, Weiland,” when his time with Velvet Revolver came to an end due to him having fallen off the wagon again. I got the shits up briefly, not only because he was back on “the gear,” I’d bought a ticket for one of their Sydney shows that got cancelled as a result.
I’ll always be drawn to the flawed characters as far as those I admire goes. I’m not entirely sure why, but I suspect it has a lot to do with the fact that I myself am a bit fucked in the head. I think that makes sense. Not only that, it’s sometimes comforting when you realize that these people, enormously talented as they are, are human, too; they have weaknesses & flaws in their make up. We might not ever know why, that’s irrelevant & none of our business now that I think about it, but they do & sometimes I think that, well, there’s hope for all of us yet: you can be a bit of a fuck up & still succeed.
