Like many of you, I have a hangover. I do not want it, and furthermore I feel I have not deserved it. I didn't drink nearly enough to warrant this silverback gorilla of a hangover (thanks v. much Therbs). I will therefore be taking my case against this injustice to the Court of Arbitration for Hangovers in the Hague. The Hague, by the way, was originally named for the noise made by visiting American college students after nineteen Heinekens and a couple of choofs of tourist grade mull.
I didn't always get hangovers. I was young, and my liver was an open book. My first recollection of hangoverdom was post-New-Years sometime last millennium when the Famous Dawso and I made the laughably poor decision to split a $20 carton of Reschs Real. It wasn't particularly evil - the hangover I mean, the Real obviously was. For most of my 20s, my hangovers were of the 'minor annoyance' category. I can only recall one which actually prevented me functioning - the morning after Origin III in 2000, which NSW won by a million billion to nil. It was actually 56-16 or something but it felt like a million billion to nil. Particularly if you were a Blues supporter in Brisbane. Muahahahahaha.
I still have the stubby cooler from that night. It's seen better days, as have we all, but as you can see it's still helping to create hungover realities.
There are a million billion supposed 'cures' for hangovers. Caffeine. Lardy salty food. Black Aspros. Bloody Marys. The hair of the dog that bit you. A kebab and a Powerade. (Which definitely has its place in the 'preventative' column. Our traditional 'last round of drinks' on big nights at the uni bar was a detour past the 24 hour servo at the bottom of our street for a Powerade and a chicken Hero roll.) Some go for sex and Vegemite toast. In series, not in parallel. Unless you're into crumbs in the bed.
Unfortunately, the truth is there is no cure for hangovers, only prevention - drinking less. Which, as I recall, Iggy and the Stooges have an apt commentary upon.
I actually like this version more than the Stooges, for which my brother considers me a heathen. Then again he does paintings of God having a flog.
The worst part of any hangover is its timing. Not just the lengthening to two- and even three-day epics as one enters one's thirtieth summer and beyond. Just the fact they roll up on the least appropriate mornings. Like, as happened to me several years in succession, the morning of December 31st. Or even, if you're really unlucky/disorganised/stupid, the Saturday of Grand Final weekend.
Yeah, about that. Since you asked, I'm on the Bloods and Berries. For the record, that's a match prediction, not a hangover cure. My faith remains implicit in the Holy Trinity of coffee, bacon and flu tablets.
This development has made a lot of people very happy. Stone Brothers are happy, because their Ford deal was expiring at the end of the year, and this gives them certainty for the future. Erebus are happy, because they get to go racing at the top level. AMG are happy, because they get to sell Erebus-SBR a bunch of shiny new hardware. V8 boss Tony Cochrane is happy, because he gets his fat face on TV a whole lot more, and there's nothing the Coch likes more than that. Even Ford are happy, because they didn't have enough cash to splash on retaining SBR while also planning to expand their factory team to four cars, and this gives them a face-saving 'out'.
The only people not particularly happy about Mercedes-Benz joining V8 Supercars are Mercedes-Benz.
Having previously refused to take part in the series, and having seemingly tried valiantly to prevent the Erebus-AMG deal from getting up, M-B Australia made the following statement through gritted teeth:
“Our position on entering V8 Supercars has not changed, we have jointly with AMG approved to offer Erebus Motorsport the opportunity to purchase the requested technology and support via the Customer Sports program.
“Erebus is a highly valued customer and they have an existing relationship with AMG via the Customer Sports program. The Erebus Motorsport-SBR entry into V8 Supercars is an extension of that relationship.
“We are not directly involved and we have no plans to undertake any sales or marketing activities in conjunction with this effort. There is no Mercedes-Benz or AMG money inherent in this new entry, the entire project is funded by Erebus Motorsport.”
Translation: We don't fucking want to be here.
There are two rather interesting elements of this whole deal, and this is one of them: that M-B Oz, Carlos Tevez style, are basically refusing to play. Even to the extent of having 'no plans to undertake any sales or marketing activities' - even if the AMG Mercs finish 1-2-3 at Bathurst?? - which would seem a particularly snotty response to someone wanting to promote your product for free on the national stage. Erebus and SBR are clearly not muppets, they know how to prepare and run race cars, so it can't be through any fear of a badly-run V8 Supercar programme embarrassing the brand. Perhaps it's fear of success instead.
For reasons best known to theirselves, Mercedes-Benz Oz have always dodged their round when it comes to motorsport, unlike their fellow Krauty manufacturers Throughout the 1980s and '90s, BMW Oz backed a factory team in touring cars, joined by Audi in the 90s with the advent of the Super Touring formula. Audi continue to run a GT program, having won the last couple of Bathurst 12 Hour enduros with factory R8 GTs. Even Porsche, much more of a niche manufacturer in the local market, have been supporting local motorsport since the early '80s in the GT classes. M-B have never been interested. Presumably winning Bathurst doesn't mesh with their marketing aims of selling optioned-up SLK cabrios to Double Bay ladies who lunch.
In short, M-B's apprehension about V8 Supercars can be summated in three words: Here Be Bogans.
The other interesting factor in this whole deal is the driving force behind it. As discussed, it's not Mercedes. It's not Ross or Jimmy Stone, and it's certainly not the Coch. It's Erebus owner Betty Klimenko.
Betty's the one on the left
At this stage, even diehard motorsport aficionados are going 'Betty Who?', which is better than going 'Betty Boo' because she just mimed to a backing tape which apparently was a crime in 1989, before becoming compulsory for all pop singers sometime in the 00s.
Ms Klimenko is a successful property developer, daughter of the bloke who co-founded Westfield with Frank Lowy. She likes her tatts and her Goth-black frocks, and she loves her AMG Mercs - enough to set up a race team to run the awesome SLS AMGs in the GTs and the Bathurst 12 Hour. It's been the refusal of Ms Klimenko to take 'Bugger off' as an answer - and the keenness of AMG Customer Racing to expand on their existing relationship with Erebus - which has gotten this deal off the ground.
Admittedly, second-gen property developers don't have a great history in V8 Supercars - most recently Craig Gore, son of Joh's old white-shoed mate Mike, ran his own WPS team in the mid '00s, until the financial wheels fell off/he hurt his hearing in a helicopter prang and had to avoid loud racecars (strike out which version you prefer). WPS were Wright Patton Shakespeare, Gore's financial services, company, but most around pitlane figured it stood for We Produce Safetycars given the regularity with which their entries found themselves in the scenery.
Which is yet another example of how, as anyone in motorsport knows, the only sure way to make a small fortune out of racing is to start with a much larger one. But Klimenko and her team, whether on the racetrack or in the boardroom, have demonstrated they can discern their arse from their elbow without reference to an annotated copy of Gray's Anatomy.
The fascinating thing about this arrangement - the 'merger' of Erebus and SBR, effectively a takeover in all but name - will be how the personalities interact of Klimenko and the Stone Brothers, a pair of typically staunch, taciturn Kiwi blokes whose Australian reputation was built on being the technical nous behind Dick Johnson Racing in their successful Sierra days, before striking out on their own in the mid-90s. You couldn't find a more diverse melding of personalities if you tried to cast one for reality TV.
Actually, there's an idea for free. Bugger this Shannons Supercar Showdown shite Ch7, get some camera crews into the Erebus-SBR garages over the off-season...
I'm not a big metalhead. I wouldn't know Glenn Danzig from Tony Danza. Which, if not justifying the piss-awful mondegreen of this post's title, does go some way towards explaining it to the court, m'lud. It seems that over the years, metal has splintered and fragmented into yet more sub-genres - thrash/death/nu/hair/black/grey/Norwegian Blue (innit, lovely plumage) - proving that music, like the major schools which underpin crazy-straw design, is fractal in structure. Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them, and little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum.
All of which is very interesting, but this is a blog about Queenstown.
I went to Queenstown this week. I tend to do this every year about this time, partly just to see if it's still there, and has as such not yet disappeared up its own glittery Aspen-meets-Surfers ringpiece. But mostly for SCIENTS and beers. The final week in August is the traditional home of what has now become Queenstown Research Week, encompassing QMB, MedSci, the AWBCR and enough satellites to recapture the entire of Google Maps. Being a semi-retired man of SCIENTS I went to precisely no talks and instead took the Monsters to see if we could freak out any Deathstar pilots on descent to Queenstown Airport with Monster v1.0's Ben 10 ray gun.
No, of course I'm kidding. There was cloud around. At least one. No way they'd fly in that.
Frankton Arm
Which kinda brings me to my point (yes I have one). Queenstown seemed to be crammed full of Strayans over here for a bit of powder action. As well as QRW it was also Gay Ski Week, which explained the hairdo on the bloke in the supermarket coldroom who asked me whether Tui was drinkable, as well as the accent. And why not come over - flights are cheap, the AUD is strong, and the locals are friendly. (I assume.)
Well here's a reason. There's no fucking snow.
Compare and contrast:
Remarkables, 2012
Remarkables, 2011
Remarkables, 2010 (from the Gondola)
And...
Walter Peak, 2012 (cloud-obscured, but clear of snow in upper Frankton image)
Walter Peak, 2011
Walter Peak, 2010
I don't ski - something to do with having the grace and balance of a concussed hippo on PCP - but this, to my inexpert eye, would appear to be a shit season. Still, cheers for coming over and wasting your money in Central, boarders and plankers of Straya. By the way, that's a great haircut, dude. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
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