Australia’s swimming crisis needs Smith
Australian swimming: consider yourself officially within the filthy confines of that tabloid-created sinister wasteland. That’s right, our dolphin factory is officially in crisis.
The blind pimple that slowly developed during the Olympic campaign in London finally came to a head last week, with all of the explosive and greasy qualities that the bursting of a badly infected pore brings.
Every local patriot and his dog stepped up to apply the pressure of the two index finger squeeze to the booming zit, with administrators, former greats and even disgruntled team members coming forward with their opinions on the evaporated team spirit and shaved-down punk-ings from the Games.
As the week wore on, the furore gradually grew more feral as the rush to vent the goss intensified.
Watching those involved ripping hamstrings in the sprint towards any waiting microphone was tough to watch. It was unsightly scenes for a one-time eternal stronghold of squeaky cleanliness that now finds itself being followed by pesky bad vibes, like a special blue cloud hounds a pool urinator.
Understandably, the governing body is beans-keen to get this sorted out quick-sticks. The abrasive tarnishing of one of the nation’s most respected sports, as well as the potential PR disaster of having reduced numbers of candidates for Uncle Toby’s adverts, has the superiors on the lookout for a rapid-fire refurbishment of reputation.
Will they go for the classic knee-jerk and flush the bad seeds from the ranks? What about an audacious poaching of athletes from other water sports? Or why don’t we nick a blueprint for success from one of our many arse-kicking rivals, provided it’s not the Brits?
These are all feasible options straight from the bible of fresh starts. However, for effective relief, I believe we need to look left of centre and in-house.
The job is prime for a man who can sweep a place clean like Dick Van Dyke before applying some deputy principal-style muscle and discipline.
Swimming Australia needs the services of the rebuild king, and that man is Brian Smith.
Forget for a moment about a long-term messiah. We know Smith has a definite shelf life, so give him the reins on a ‘knock em down, drag em out’ two year deal, which allows him to come in with a whistle and a grimace and simply extract the cancer from the organisation.
Think about the possibilities.
His distinctive style of mind-muddling philosophising and back pocket micro-management would have the egotistical creases in the Australian shirt ironed out in quick time. The disruptive pool fools would be thrown into a chlorinated haze of confusion with his regular changes of race plans being delivered by text at inappropriate times.
The cockiness of youth would be quelled and replaced by puzzled minds desperately trying to determine what the day’s training would entail. “Is it my start? Or my tumble turns? Is it kickboard work? Perhaps waxing?”
Poisonous influences such as Magnussen-style swagger and D’Arcy-like imprudence would be consigned to distant memory as Smith ruled with an iron fist.
There’s also the possibility that a major international meet falls within his usual honeymoon period of the first six months, resulting in an unlikely spike in fortune that sees the green and gold catapult back to the apex of a medal count.
And with his track record of choking at the big dance, he would fit in perfectly with our recently developed silver culture.
It’s a perfect fit, like a pair of spray-on budgie smugglers. The fact that he’s currently on the lookout for work should have the Aussie pool people selling him the benefits of the black line right as we speak.
The answer is simple. Get in BS to filter out the floaters in the Australian swimming pool.
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