GQ wipes away tears of merriment in the company of Wil and Lehmo, the comic duo at the wheel of the best drive time show on radio
Interview: Dan Rookwood. Wil Anderson and Anthony Lehmann are seriously funny. By which we mean they take the important news issues of the day, weave in their sophisticated irreverence, and spin them into comedy gold. The pair only got together on Triple M by accident after Anderson’s popular comedy TV show ‘The Glass House’ was axed by the ABC amid rumours John Howard had expressed his personal disapproval. But that hasn’t stopped Anderson throwing stones. On his recent comedy tour, Wil of God, he upset Australian Idol finalist Shannon Noll by cracking jokes about his late father’s name, despite the fact that Neil Noll [who Anderson unfortunately called Noel] was killed on a tractor in 2001. The singer, who witnessed the accident, challenged Anderson to a fight. The comedian declined the invitation. But together with his accountant-turned-comedian cohort Lehmo, Anderson has shown more stomach for the drive time ratings wars – putting on “literally tens of listeners” since their show began in April. Here they explain how…
GQ: Describe your show in one line.
Lehmo: It’s one long rowdy pub conversation for people who want to have a laugh on the way home, but still find out everything that happened that day.
Wil: I like to think of it as a commentary on modern times and current affairs – but with dick jokes.
GQ: How does your show compare to the other drive time shows?
L: Our show is really for men of the world in their 30s. So we are our demographic. As much as I would love to relate to chicks under 30, I am not a chick under 30.
W: Clearly the biggest difference between our show and the competition is ratings. More people listen to them. But you know that things that are really popular are never cool.
GQ: Describe your normal working day.
L: It’s just changed. We were getting in by 9:30 to prepare for out 4pm show, but we had a meeting with our boss last week who said that we had been working too hard and coming up with too many ideas and suggested we come in later and prepare less. We said that we’d only do that on the condition that we get paid more.
GQ: Lehmo, on your MySpace page, it says that nearly a million people have asked you how you went from being an accountant to a comic? Is GQ the millionth?
L: No.
GQ: How many more puns are left on your name, Wil?
W: A fair few yet before I get to ‘Last Wil and Testament’, I hope. When I was just starting out, I asked a brilliant US political satirist hero of mine called Will Durst for some advice. He’d just done a show in Melbourne called ‘The Durst Amendment’ and he said: “Always put your name in the title of your show and always make it a pun.” So my first show was called ‘I am the Wilrus’ and then ‘Wilennium’ and so on. I reminded him of this when we met again at the Edinburgh Festival and he shook his head sadly and said: “I was just trying to get rid of you so I could go to the bar.” So my entire career has been shaped on some bloke trying to blow me off, if you will.
GQ: If you could make one apology, what would it be and to whom?
L: To a friend of mine’s mum for stealing her car. Fifteen years ago I was living in a share house and a housemate and I came home one night to find a set of car keys in the letterbox. It was like 3am and we were excited. We tried the keys in the flashiest car in the street and it worked. So we just decided to take it for a spin. And then we left the car in the middle of a cricket pitch with the lights on, engine running, doors open and just walked home. The next day we were woken by another housemate who was on the phone to the police. He was a mechanic and his mum had brought the car over for him to service. We were wondering whether we’d have to fess up when he said: “They’ve caught who did it”. Some kids had found it, driven off and got pulled over by the cops. Of course their story of “we found it with the keys in it” didn’t wash. That was in 1992 and I admitted the truth for the first time in a gig three months ago when the guy was in the audience. He was a little surprised. So now I need to apologise to his mum. Sorry.
W: There was a girl at school whose reputation I unintentionally ruined. I was young and sexually inexperienced and I thought she had performed a sex act on me that she hadn’t. I told all my mates and within seconds word got around. She thought I was lying, but in actual fact I was just an idiot and didn’t know the difference between a blowjob and a handy. That was 20 years ago and I still feel bad about it.
GQ: What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said on air?
W: I dropped the C-bomb live on air once. I was trying to say the phrase “Rex Hunt: uncut” which, on reflection, I probably shouldn’t have attempted. It came out as “Rex Hunt’s a cunt”. Our station manager came in and said “I heard that. This is an official warning.” And I was really scared. And he goes: “If you ever say “Rex Hunt” live on air again…”
GQ: What was your nickname at school?
L: Back home in the country my nickname was – and for some people still is – Turd. Because my brothers used to think I was a little shit. And what’s a little shit? A turd. But it caught on and caused me pain for years. Everyone called me that including adults, football coaches, everyone in the community.
GQ: Sing a song lyric that means something to you.
W: “I like big butts and I cannot lie.”
L: It’s the first line to a Weddings Parties Anything song called For a Short Time. And the line is: “Sometimes you can say more, in a drunken hour or so / Than some people get across, in a life of lying low.” It’s about the benefits of having a beer, of how alcohol can help you get to know people. You can work sitting next to someone for 30 years of your life and not know them as well as someone you meet once in the pub.
GQ: Do you have any regrets?
W: I only regret not doing more shit that people told me I shouldn’t.
L: A mate of mine, Johnny, who I met travelling, went back home after being away for 10 years. He caught up with an old mate who in that time had settled down, got a job, bought a house, got married, had two kids. His mate says: “Johnny, what are you doing with your life? You’re wasting it. You’ve got no money, nothing behind you.” And Johnny says: “Mate, when we’re 40, we’ll be sitting on your porch listening to my stories.” That’s a great line.
GQ: When was the last time you laughed till you cried?
L: Actually it was last night. My girlfriend was cuddling up to me in bed and she goes “ah come here” and she puts her arms lovingly around my neck and then all of a sudden gets me in a headlock, flips her arse around and farts on me. It was one of the most putrid stenches; it climbed out of her arse and punched me in the face. I fell out of the bed. I was suffocating with the laughter. I don’t know whether it was funny or whether it was the noxious gas that made me cry.
W: I really like Australia’s Funniest Home Videos. It’s a guilty pleasure. But it’s like porn; I can’t watch it all in one go.
GQ: Wil, why was the Glasshouse axed?
W: To this day they have never given us an answer. Critically and ratings-wise it was doing the best it had ever done. But it was the best way to go out. We were more popular dead than we ever were alive. We were like the Tupac Shakur of light entertainment. I’d much rather that than for it to fizzle out because it was shit.
GQ: In what way are you turning into your father?
W: Lehmo, you’ve started having sex with your mother haven’t you?
L: No, I’ve actually stopped having sex with my mother – just like my father.
W: There’s no-one I admire more than my dad. He’s never had a drink, never had a smoke, never taken drugs. He lives on the road he was born on and he’s very happy to do that. He married the first woman he ever had sex with, he does not swear and no-one has a bad word to say about him. I am the complete opposite. Every now and then I will phone him up and tell him that I’ve been thinking about him and that I love him. And he’ll say: “[Long pause] Good. I’ll get your mother.”
GQ: What do you hate most in the world?
W: Lehmo, don’t say blacks, jews and retarded people. Personally I hate the celebration of mediocrity. When shit is celebrated as being really good, that really annoys me. I’ve done plenty of stuff that is mediocre, but I’m not proud of it.
L: People using religion as an excuse for poor behaviour.
GQ: Describe your sartorial style?
L: Trainers, jeans, t-shirt. That’s it.
W: I have one suit for corporate gigs and court appearances. I like that I have a job where every day is casual clothes Friday. But as my girlfriend always says: “Wow, you spend a lot of money to look like shit.” I’ll pay $400 for a pair of jeans and they look like I picked them out of the bin.
GQ: Who would win in a fight between a lion and a tiger?
L: A lion without a doubt and I say that purely because I am a Leo.
GQ: Who would win in a fight between a Shannon Noll and a Wil Anderson?
W: Shannon Noll would kick my arse. That’s one of the reasons I would never fight him. I just love the idea that the first thing he thinks when he hears someone say something he doesn’t like is that he wants to fight them. But as I said to him at the time: “Can’t you challenge me to do something that neither of us are good at? Like singing.” That didn’t help apparently.
GQ: Who would win in a fight between Shannon Noll’s dad and Wil Anderson’s dad?
W: My dad would have the advantage of being alive and if I say any more than that Shannon will want to kill me.
The Wil and Lehmo show is on from 4pm-6pm every weekday on Triple M: 104.9 FM
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Saturday, August 1, 2009
Pre-nuptial disagreement
Marriage education may safeguard your heart and your house – but brace yourself for a bumpy ride. “A what!?” said Sam. “A marriage preparation course,” said I. “Why do you want us to do that?” she asked. “I don’t understand. We’re not even married yet and you want counselling? Is there something wrong?”
There was nothing wrong; at least not at that point. I’d got a well-meaning email from my father suggesting he thought it would be sensible if we sought some professional marriage guidance. Dad is a retired vicar who used to spend every Monday night running marriage preparation classes for couples getting wed in his church. Having grown up with the idea, it didn’t seem as weird to me as it evidently did to Sam.
My biggest fear about getting married is getting divorced. So much so, that for several years I considered the sense of not getting married for that precise reason. Well, if it ain’t broke…
The stats are damning. As Darth Vada might say, divorce is strong. Lifelong marriage vows now last just shy of nine years on average, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics. Roughly half of all marriages end with couples divvying up their home, CD collection and kids. Sam’s parents are divorced; her mum is on marriage number three. So you can appreciate our inherited faith in the institution of marriage is somewhat agnostic.
I want better odds of a happy marriage than 50:50 before I’ll literally bet my house on it. So if there’s a way to improve our chances of marital success by sitting in a room for a few hours with an impartial wise, professionally trained third party, why not take it? In one recent US study, researchers found that couples that attended marriage preparation classes had a divorce rate 50 per cent lower than control couples that did not. My father’s rationale is that you spend all this time and money on preparing for the big day, but absolutely nothing preparing for the years afterwards. Imagine how much pain, heartache and money could be saved.
“Don’t you think it might be fun?” I cajoled unconvincingly. “What harm could it do?” As it turned out, the answers to those questions are respectively: no, and; it very nearly split us up.
So we researched a few courses, chose an agenda-free non-religious one, and paid the $350 for three 90-minute sessions with our very own Dr Melfi called Anna.
After a few getting-to-know-you pleasantries, we spent most of the first session separate tables, independently completing a lengthy questionnaire about our relationship. It was like one big game of Mr and Mrs with questions covering everything from family background to money to religion to domestic arrangements to kids to sex… For each one we had to pick a score on a sliding scale so that our answers could be easily compared and contrasted and the results analysed in detail over the rest of the course.
Having sent the questionnaires off for analysis, session two was designed to look at the strengths of our relationship; then in the third and final session we’d address some areas that we could work on. However, session two didn’t quite go according to the script. And this is where the problems began.
I understand that when there are some impurities beneath the surface, you need to draw them out to that they don’t develop into a cyst or a tumour. That cleansing process can be painful, and it might also produce some unpleasantness. But while discussing the biggest issue of our relationship at that point – namely that Sam wanted to move to another country and I didn’t – I was unfairly typecast by Anna as an impatient, angry, lazy, dictator of a man who was too domineering. I reacted defensively, vehemently standing up for myself, until I realised that by doing so I was proving Anna’s point. And Sam began to cry.
Anna pointed out to us that Sam and I are quite different. I have a Latin temperament: passionate, enthusiastic, up and down. Sam would describe it as typical Gemini: Jekyll and Hyde. Sam, by contrast, has a classic English character: even-tempered, reserved, rational. While I am more than willing to voice my strong opinions, Sam often finds it difficult to express herself or prefers not to in order to avoid confrontation. When I get upset, I am loud; when she gets upset, she is very quiet. As a result, I never get to hear her side.
Ouch. Sometimes when someone holds a magnifying mirror up to your personality – warts and all – you don’t like what you see.
After session two, I felt bruised. I also felt distant and quiet and chastened and reflective and angry and ashamed and strangely relieved and indignant. But mostly I felt bruised. And then I began to have doubts about our whole relationship. Maybe Sam and I weren’t right for each other after all. Anna had pulled at a loose thread and suddenly everything seemed to be unravelling; big holes were appearing.
Just as turkeys don’t volunteer for Thanksgiving, I didn’t fancy facing up to session three – when we were scheduled to address our weaknesses! – for another stuffing and roasting.
That last session had left our relationship wounded, raw and open to infection. So I postponed the appointment. And then I said I didn’t want to go back at all. Nor did Sam. A couple of weeks went by and the distance between us grew. We stopped talking. This was our worst patch in five years together – and we were supposed to be getting married in a few months. It felt somewhat ironic that a course that was designed to reinforce our relationship had ended up undermining it. I began to regret having sent out those wedding save-the-date cards.
I resented Anna. I thought she was a troublemaker. I couldn’t believe we were paying for someone to chip away at the very foundations of our relationship and then point out the resultant cracks. I even wondered whether she was deliberately trying to create more business for herself – like the mechanic who fixes your wing mirror for $50 but then charges you $1050 for a complete overhaul. But as relations deteriorated, I conceded that we needed to return before the wheels completely fell off.
Anna was relieved to see us back. She could see that the last session had been painful because we’d veered away from the planned program to confront the major issue in our relationship. But she now wanted to show us how we could reduce the distance between us by meeting in the middle, and drawing closer. There was room for improvement, mainly on my side it has to be said. I had to shut up and listen occasionally and allow Sam to speak up and not feel that I would shout her down. But our questionnaires had said that we were a great match in many ways; and our differences actually complemented one another.
Anna gave us some helpful practical tips – such as setting aside a date night each week, going to bed at the same time, not turning on the TV as a default, and not letting the sun set on an argument. She also gave us some good reading material. And very quickly, that distance between us closed and we both truly believe that our relationship is stronger now.
Would I recommend marriage preparation? I don’t know. Even though on balance the happier ends justify the unhappy means, it was rough, and for a rocky few weeks there, I almost lost the love of my life. But if it means that I am more likely to keep her forever as a result of having come out the other side, then it will be the best time and money I’ve ever spent.
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There was nothing wrong; at least not at that point. I’d got a well-meaning email from my father suggesting he thought it would be sensible if we sought some professional marriage guidance. Dad is a retired vicar who used to spend every Monday night running marriage preparation classes for couples getting wed in his church. Having grown up with the idea, it didn’t seem as weird to me as it evidently did to Sam.
My biggest fear about getting married is getting divorced. So much so, that for several years I considered the sense of not getting married for that precise reason. Well, if it ain’t broke…
The stats are damning. As Darth Vada might say, divorce is strong. Lifelong marriage vows now last just shy of nine years on average, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics. Roughly half of all marriages end with couples divvying up their home, CD collection and kids. Sam’s parents are divorced; her mum is on marriage number three. So you can appreciate our inherited faith in the institution of marriage is somewhat agnostic.
I want better odds of a happy marriage than 50:50 before I’ll literally bet my house on it. So if there’s a way to improve our chances of marital success by sitting in a room for a few hours with an impartial wise, professionally trained third party, why not take it? In one recent US study, researchers found that couples that attended marriage preparation classes had a divorce rate 50 per cent lower than control couples that did not. My father’s rationale is that you spend all this time and money on preparing for the big day, but absolutely nothing preparing for the years afterwards. Imagine how much pain, heartache and money could be saved.
“Don’t you think it might be fun?” I cajoled unconvincingly. “What harm could it do?” As it turned out, the answers to those questions are respectively: no, and; it very nearly split us up.
So we researched a few courses, chose an agenda-free non-religious one, and paid the $350 for three 90-minute sessions with our very own Dr Melfi called Anna.
After a few getting-to-know-you pleasantries, we spent most of the first session separate tables, independently completing a lengthy questionnaire about our relationship. It was like one big game of Mr and Mrs with questions covering everything from family background to money to religion to domestic arrangements to kids to sex… For each one we had to pick a score on a sliding scale so that our answers could be easily compared and contrasted and the results analysed in detail over the rest of the course.
Having sent the questionnaires off for analysis, session two was designed to look at the strengths of our relationship; then in the third and final session we’d address some areas that we could work on. However, session two didn’t quite go according to the script. And this is where the problems began.
I understand that when there are some impurities beneath the surface, you need to draw them out to that they don’t develop into a cyst or a tumour. That cleansing process can be painful, and it might also produce some unpleasantness. But while discussing the biggest issue of our relationship at that point – namely that Sam wanted to move to another country and I didn’t – I was unfairly typecast by Anna as an impatient, angry, lazy, dictator of a man who was too domineering. I reacted defensively, vehemently standing up for myself, until I realised that by doing so I was proving Anna’s point. And Sam began to cry.
Anna pointed out to us that Sam and I are quite different. I have a Latin temperament: passionate, enthusiastic, up and down. Sam would describe it as typical Gemini: Jekyll and Hyde. Sam, by contrast, has a classic English character: even-tempered, reserved, rational. While I am more than willing to voice my strong opinions, Sam often finds it difficult to express herself or prefers not to in order to avoid confrontation. When I get upset, I am loud; when she gets upset, she is very quiet. As a result, I never get to hear her side.
Ouch. Sometimes when someone holds a magnifying mirror up to your personality – warts and all – you don’t like what you see.
After session two, I felt bruised. I also felt distant and quiet and chastened and reflective and angry and ashamed and strangely relieved and indignant. But mostly I felt bruised. And then I began to have doubts about our whole relationship. Maybe Sam and I weren’t right for each other after all. Anna had pulled at a loose thread and suddenly everything seemed to be unravelling; big holes were appearing.
Just as turkeys don’t volunteer for Thanksgiving, I didn’t fancy facing up to session three – when we were scheduled to address our weaknesses! – for another stuffing and roasting.
That last session had left our relationship wounded, raw and open to infection. So I postponed the appointment. And then I said I didn’t want to go back at all. Nor did Sam. A couple of weeks went by and the distance between us grew. We stopped talking. This was our worst patch in five years together – and we were supposed to be getting married in a few months. It felt somewhat ironic that a course that was designed to reinforce our relationship had ended up undermining it. I began to regret having sent out those wedding save-the-date cards.
I resented Anna. I thought she was a troublemaker. I couldn’t believe we were paying for someone to chip away at the very foundations of our relationship and then point out the resultant cracks. I even wondered whether she was deliberately trying to create more business for herself – like the mechanic who fixes your wing mirror for $50 but then charges you $1050 for a complete overhaul. But as relations deteriorated, I conceded that we needed to return before the wheels completely fell off.
Anna was relieved to see us back. She could see that the last session had been painful because we’d veered away from the planned program to confront the major issue in our relationship. But she now wanted to show us how we could reduce the distance between us by meeting in the middle, and drawing closer. There was room for improvement, mainly on my side it has to be said. I had to shut up and listen occasionally and allow Sam to speak up and not feel that I would shout her down. But our questionnaires had said that we were a great match in many ways; and our differences actually complemented one another.
Anna gave us some helpful practical tips – such as setting aside a date night each week, going to bed at the same time, not turning on the TV as a default, and not letting the sun set on an argument. She also gave us some good reading material. And very quickly, that distance between us closed and we both truly believe that our relationship is stronger now.
Would I recommend marriage preparation? I don’t know. Even though on balance the happier ends justify the unhappy means, it was rough, and for a rocky few weeks there, I almost lost the love of my life. But if it means that I am more likely to keep her forever as a result of having come out the other side, then it will be the best time and money I’ve ever spent.
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The heart of the matter
Ten out of every ten people die. On this cheery note, Dan Rookwood was forced to consider his own mortality I hit it pretty hard in my early twenties; the way you’re supposed to when you’re arrogantly indestructible and consequences and responsibilities are irrelevant. To paraphrase someone famous (WC Fields or Lindsay Lohan, I always forget which) I drank with impunity and whoever else invited me. It was bloody brilliant.
Then one morning after a particularly epic night before, I had a suspected heart attack. Age 26. Fuck.
I remember it now only too well, in the present tense. I wake up in bed with a searing pain on the left side my chest – the home where the heart is. The sensation is shocking, terrifying, all consuming. It takes my breath away. It leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. And then it eases off slightly, but it’s still there, it’s still hard to breathe. So I lie perfectly still, trying to be calm. Tying myself up in unpickable knots, trying to be calm. Trying not to think about the triple heart by-pass my dad had earlier that year, trying to be calm. Then the pain comes back and I clasp a hand desperately to my chest, convinced that yes, I’m having a fucking heart attack.
Go, they always tell you. Go and see a doctor. But we are men; we are strong and proud. We can’t go and see the doctor every time we want to wag school or be excused from a Powerpoint presentation.
I learned my lesson early on that score. When I was nine, I hated school and the sick days mounted suspiciously, Ferris Bueller-style. One morning my father called my bluff and took me and my ‘stomach ache’ to our local GP. I saw the doctor exchange a wink with my father as he concluded there was nothing wrong with me. But just to rule out appendicitis, would I piss in a jar and drop it into the surgery on my way to school? I did. A couple of hours’ later, my father came into class to whisk me off to hospital quick-snippety. They’d found an unusually high amount of sugar in my urine that indicated diabetes and they needed to run some urgent tests. Twenty-four hours of panic later, the verdict came back: no diabetes. It was only then that they returned to the original piss sample. The one in a jam jar. That hadn’t been rinsed of jam properly. True story.
Ever since then, I’ve been a lot more reticent about going to see my GP. I couldn’t even tell you his name. Dr who? As men we are all bitterly ashamed of the weakness of our flesh. According to a BBC survey, me are five times less likely to visit their GP than women. We suck it up and butch it out until there’s an emergency…
Go, they say. Find out what’s wrong. But what if it is my heart? Just like it was for my grandfather. Just like it is for my dad. What if the doctor confirms all my worst fears? Then, of course, that’s all the more reason to go.
So I don’t go. And neither does the pain. It subsides, but I can feel it there, just below the surface. It’s a dull ache that every so often jolts my body like a Taser gun and scares seven shades of shit out of me. I try to be brave, I try to man up by telling myself to Man The Fuck Up. But on the train one day, the pain is so visceral, I almost pass out. I start to cry out of sheer panic over a situation I cannot control. I don’t want to die. The more you have of life, the more you want of it. I’m scared. If you are not scared when you have a pain in the chest then you are suffering from two things. One is a lack of imagination, and the other is chest pain.
Something is wrong with me. Sooner or later something is wrong with all of us – it just feels like my turn has come sooner rather than later. I’ve been pushed to the front of the queue. So I go to the doctor, massaging my left tit like a sexual deviant. I babble my own diagnosis straight from TV medical dramas and the Oxford Concise Medical Dictionary and Wikipedia. “It’s probably just severe indigestion or a mild heart palpitation. I doubt it’s a heart attack, right?” But say the words “chest” and “pain” in the same sentence to a doctor and they’ll have you on a hospital gurney covered in jump leads quicker than you can say “Oh shit!” Which is pretty quick.
A technician takes a disposable orange Bic razor from its wrapper and starts shaving crop circles into my chest thatch so that she can get the sensors in place. Then she rubs freezing cold gel over my left pec and runs a probe over the area to show an ultrasound of my heart. It doesn’t look too healthy on the screen: an indistinct grainy mass of lub-dubbing muscle. The upshot? An enlarged left ventricle. Which is ironic as that’s always been my favourite one. I have a suspected cardiomyopathy – which literally means “heart muscle disease”. Which even more literally means I could drop dead at any min…
Just joking.
Cardiomyopathy is increasingly common in blokes my age who work hard and play even harder. I’m told never to take any drugs ever, to drastically cut down on booze and to adopt a healthier lifestyle incorporating such things as sleep and vegetables.
That was four years ago. In that time, I’ve had more checks than a Prague prostitute and I’ve tried to be a good boy. The fear of death is quite motivating, it turns out. Four weeks ago, I got another letter with the usual hospital stamp and the latest test results. More of the same… until the last entirely unexpected line: “I have discussed Mr Rookwood’s case in the post-clinic meeting and it was decided to discharge him from our clinic in view of the stability of his studies on consecutive follow up visits.” Eh? I tried to read it again, but it was a bit blurry through my tears.
Life has never seemed more beautiful, more fleeting, more precious. My health reprieve has left me deliriously happy but strangely fatalistic. After all, ten out of every ten people die and I now know how I’m probably going to go. It’s true what they say: you don’t appreciate what you’ve got till it’s gone. And now that I’ve got my health back, I’m a bit more careful about keeping it. It’s not like I skip down the street smelling the roses, smiling beatifically and telling waifs and strays I love them. I’m just grateful, that’s all. And life is the richer for it.
Let’s drink to that.
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Then one morning after a particularly epic night before, I had a suspected heart attack. Age 26. Fuck.
I remember it now only too well, in the present tense. I wake up in bed with a searing pain on the left side my chest – the home where the heart is. The sensation is shocking, terrifying, all consuming. It takes my breath away. It leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. And then it eases off slightly, but it’s still there, it’s still hard to breathe. So I lie perfectly still, trying to be calm. Tying myself up in unpickable knots, trying to be calm. Trying not to think about the triple heart by-pass my dad had earlier that year, trying to be calm. Then the pain comes back and I clasp a hand desperately to my chest, convinced that yes, I’m having a fucking heart attack.
Go, they always tell you. Go and see a doctor. But we are men; we are strong and proud. We can’t go and see the doctor every time we want to wag school or be excused from a Powerpoint presentation.
I learned my lesson early on that score. When I was nine, I hated school and the sick days mounted suspiciously, Ferris Bueller-style. One morning my father called my bluff and took me and my ‘stomach ache’ to our local GP. I saw the doctor exchange a wink with my father as he concluded there was nothing wrong with me. But just to rule out appendicitis, would I piss in a jar and drop it into the surgery on my way to school? I did. A couple of hours’ later, my father came into class to whisk me off to hospital quick-snippety. They’d found an unusually high amount of sugar in my urine that indicated diabetes and they needed to run some urgent tests. Twenty-four hours of panic later, the verdict came back: no diabetes. It was only then that they returned to the original piss sample. The one in a jam jar. That hadn’t been rinsed of jam properly. True story.
Ever since then, I’ve been a lot more reticent about going to see my GP. I couldn’t even tell you his name. Dr who? As men we are all bitterly ashamed of the weakness of our flesh. According to a BBC survey, me are five times less likely to visit their GP than women. We suck it up and butch it out until there’s an emergency…
Go, they say. Find out what’s wrong. But what if it is my heart? Just like it was for my grandfather. Just like it is for my dad. What if the doctor confirms all my worst fears? Then, of course, that’s all the more reason to go.
So I don’t go. And neither does the pain. It subsides, but I can feel it there, just below the surface. It’s a dull ache that every so often jolts my body like a Taser gun and scares seven shades of shit out of me. I try to be brave, I try to man up by telling myself to Man The Fuck Up. But on the train one day, the pain is so visceral, I almost pass out. I start to cry out of sheer panic over a situation I cannot control. I don’t want to die. The more you have of life, the more you want of it. I’m scared. If you are not scared when you have a pain in the chest then you are suffering from two things. One is a lack of imagination, and the other is chest pain.
Something is wrong with me. Sooner or later something is wrong with all of us – it just feels like my turn has come sooner rather than later. I’ve been pushed to the front of the queue. So I go to the doctor, massaging my left tit like a sexual deviant. I babble my own diagnosis straight from TV medical dramas and the Oxford Concise Medical Dictionary and Wikipedia. “It’s probably just severe indigestion or a mild heart palpitation. I doubt it’s a heart attack, right?” But say the words “chest” and “pain” in the same sentence to a doctor and they’ll have you on a hospital gurney covered in jump leads quicker than you can say “Oh shit!” Which is pretty quick.
A technician takes a disposable orange Bic razor from its wrapper and starts shaving crop circles into my chest thatch so that she can get the sensors in place. Then she rubs freezing cold gel over my left pec and runs a probe over the area to show an ultrasound of my heart. It doesn’t look too healthy on the screen: an indistinct grainy mass of lub-dubbing muscle. The upshot? An enlarged left ventricle. Which is ironic as that’s always been my favourite one. I have a suspected cardiomyopathy – which literally means “heart muscle disease”. Which even more literally means I could drop dead at any min…
Just joking.
Cardiomyopathy is increasingly common in blokes my age who work hard and play even harder. I’m told never to take any drugs ever, to drastically cut down on booze and to adopt a healthier lifestyle incorporating such things as sleep and vegetables.
That was four years ago. In that time, I’ve had more checks than a Prague prostitute and I’ve tried to be a good boy. The fear of death is quite motivating, it turns out. Four weeks ago, I got another letter with the usual hospital stamp and the latest test results. More of the same… until the last entirely unexpected line: “I have discussed Mr Rookwood’s case in the post-clinic meeting and it was decided to discharge him from our clinic in view of the stability of his studies on consecutive follow up visits.” Eh? I tried to read it again, but it was a bit blurry through my tears.
Life has never seemed more beautiful, more fleeting, more precious. My health reprieve has left me deliriously happy but strangely fatalistic. After all, ten out of every ten people die and I now know how I’m probably going to go. It’s true what they say: you don’t appreciate what you’ve got till it’s gone. And now that I’ve got my health back, I’m a bit more careful about keeping it. It’s not like I skip down the street smelling the roses, smiling beatifically and telling waifs and strays I love them. I’m just grateful, that’s all. And life is the richer for it.
Let’s drink to that.
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Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Craig Johnston Interview
“It was like an out-of-body experience. It wasn’t just scoring a goal, it was a culmination of everything.”
Liverpool v Everton
FA Cup Final, Wembley Stadium, London
May 10, 1986
Australia’s Craig Johnston played a vital role in the most hyped FA Cup final in living memory.
Back in 1980s, when football was a game for “sheilas, wogs and poofters” to borrow the title of a famous book about Australian soccer, Craig Johnston was blazing a lone trail at Liverpool, the only Aussie
in the English top flight. His success – five league championships, three league cups, one FA Cup and one European Cup in seven years with Liverpool – did a great deal to advance the game in this country.
The personal highlight of Johnston’s glittering career was scoring a crucial goal in the first all-Merseyside FA Cup final to clinch the league and cup double over bitter rivals Everton.
“The hype, emotion and pressure had been building and building for a month,” recalls Johnston. “Living in a city completely obsessed with these two football teams, there was absolutely no escape. I couldn’t walk down the street without someone saying: ‘Ah, Craig, I love you, my wife loves you and my daughter loves you’ and then a second later someone else would come up and say: ‘You’re a wanker. I fucking hate you, you’re a fucking twat.’ They both really believed what they said. How do you live with that?”
The most intense rivalry in domestic football had reached its pinnacle. “Liverpool had just pipped Everton to the league title so this cup final had become the biggest game the city has ever known – like the Superbowl, the Masters and the Ashes rolled into one. You could see it in the media, you could see it on the streets, you could see it in your team-mates’ eyes. I couldn’t wait for it to be over.”
Liverpool were one-nil down at half-time. Ian Rush equalised with a goal that an over-enthusiastic Johnston very nearly poached, famously sliding into the goalmouth. “It’s a good job I didn’t touch the ball before it was over the line or it might have been chalked off for offside,” says Johnston. “That doesn’t bear thinking about.”
Johnston didn’t have long to wait to score a legitimate goal, an instinctive tap-in at the far post. “It’s indescribable, almost an out of body experience, like what I used to dream about when I was a kid. I didn’t hear the crowd at all at that precise moment, it was almost silent in my head. And then when I put it in, it all rushed back, the sound, the colour, the speed. I wheeled away saying: ‘I did it’. It wasn’t just scoring a goal, it was a culmination of everything: moving from Newcastle NSW to England, joining Liverpool, getting to the cup final, scoring a goal. And it all came down to a tap-in.”
Johnston has preserved what blurred memories he has of the match by not watching it again. But he will never forget what his player-manager Kenny Dalglish said to him after the game. “We got in the elevator together back at the hotel on our way down to join the rest of the lads for a big night out. The elevator got stuck and it was a bit awkward because he was the boss, he was King Kenny. He broke the silence by saying ‘Enjoy it son, it doesn’t get any better than this’. And it didn’t.”
Read more...
Liverpool v Everton
FA Cup Final, Wembley Stadium, London
May 10, 1986
Back in 1980s, when football was a game for “sheilas, wogs and poofters” to borrow the title of a famous book about Australian soccer, Craig Johnston was blazing a lone trail at Liverpool, the only Aussie
in the English top flight. His success – five league championships, three league cups, one FA Cup and one European Cup in seven years with Liverpool – did a great deal to advance the game in this country.
The personal highlight of Johnston’s glittering career was scoring a crucial goal in the first all-Merseyside FA Cup final to clinch the league and cup double over bitter rivals Everton.
“The hype, emotion and pressure had been building and building for a month,” recalls Johnston. “Living in a city completely obsessed with these two football teams, there was absolutely no escape. I couldn’t walk down the street without someone saying: ‘Ah, Craig, I love you, my wife loves you and my daughter loves you’ and then a second later someone else would come up and say: ‘You’re a wanker. I fucking hate you, you’re a fucking twat.’ They both really believed what they said. How do you live with that?”
The most intense rivalry in domestic football had reached its pinnacle. “Liverpool had just pipped Everton to the league title so this cup final had become the biggest game the city has ever known – like the Superbowl, the Masters and the Ashes rolled into one. You could see it in the media, you could see it on the streets, you could see it in your team-mates’ eyes. I couldn’t wait for it to be over.”
Liverpool were one-nil down at half-time. Ian Rush equalised with a goal that an over-enthusiastic Johnston very nearly poached, famously sliding into the goalmouth. “It’s a good job I didn’t touch the ball before it was over the line or it might have been chalked off for offside,” says Johnston. “That doesn’t bear thinking about.”
Johnston didn’t have long to wait to score a legitimate goal, an instinctive tap-in at the far post. “It’s indescribable, almost an out of body experience, like what I used to dream about when I was a kid. I didn’t hear the crowd at all at that precise moment, it was almost silent in my head. And then when I put it in, it all rushed back, the sound, the colour, the speed. I wheeled away saying: ‘I did it’. It wasn’t just scoring a goal, it was a culmination of everything: moving from Newcastle NSW to England, joining Liverpool, getting to the cup final, scoring a goal. And it all came down to a tap-in.”
Johnston has preserved what blurred memories he has of the match by not watching it again. But he will never forget what his player-manager Kenny Dalglish said to him after the game. “We got in the elevator together back at the hotel on our way down to join the rest of the lads for a big night out. The elevator got stuck and it was a bit awkward because he was the boss, he was King Kenny. He broke the silence by saying ‘Enjoy it son, it doesn’t get any better than this’. And it didn’t.”
Read more...
Monday, June 1, 2009
“Sydney, ich vill play your shvantzes like didgeridoos!”
First came Ali G, then Borat. Now, fashionably late, welcome Brüno – star of the most
outrageous movie of the year. In a world exclusive interview to celebrate Brüno's visit this month, Time Out Sydney asked international and local celebrities to come up with the
questions. Here are the answers our lawyers allowed us to print. Compiled by Dan Rookwood
Scarlett Johansson asks: Brüno, how long does it take you to get ready in the morning? It can take a vhile deciding vhat to wear. Once ich took five hours choosing vhich of my little dogs vent best vith my shirt. In ze end zey vere taking up so much time, I had zem put down.
Miranda Kerr asks: Who is your favourite fashion designer in the world and why? Ich cannot say because all ze others vill kill themselves, und ich don’t vant zere blood on mein hands. Unless zat is zis week’s look.
Wayne Coper asks: Why are the best designers in the world all men? Ze same reason zat men give ze best blowjobs – practice.
Nicole Richie asks: Who is more talented – Dolce or Gabbana? Ich could not choose. It is like choosing between Paris Hilton und Kim Kardashian.
Kim Kardashian asks: Since you’re always on TV, what are your beauty tips to keep you looking so good? Ich put ein pillow in front of ze toilet und sing ‘Bulimian Rhapsody’.
The Chaser's Chris Taylor asks: Which Sex and the City character are you most like and why? Ich am most like Carrie because she has ein man’s face.
Australia's Next Top Model presenter Jonathan Pease asks: You meet Karl Lagerfeld at a party – what is the first thing you ask him? Ich vould say “Ve are so similar – you have hair like a pony, und ich am hung like ein horse!”
Mischa Barton asks: Yourself aside, who is the most fashionable person in the world and why? Ze Pope. Because he just keeps going vith his own look.
Model agency diva Janice Dickinson asks: Who is the world's hottest model? It vould be Tiger Voods. He looks great in all his golfing outfits, und on top of zat he’s President of America!
Jerry Springer asks: Which religion is the most fashionable? Ich vas going to say Buddhism, but ich could not support ein religion zat encourages over-eating. Zere Pope, Buddha, is so fat he can only vear underpants.
CELEBRITY HAIRDRE SSER BRAD NGATA ASKS: Blonde mohawk to floppy highlights – where is your hair going next? Predicting vhat ich vill do vith mein hair is like trying to predict ze weather. It cannot be done.
Wil Anderson asks: I am going to Austria next month. What key German phrases should I try out? “Ich wollen du bleachen mein arschenhaller.”
UK designer Sir Paul Smith asks: Who is your style icon? Ich am always inspired by amazing people. Like vhen Princess Diana visited zose African children vith ze landmines. Ich vas inspired to be as thin as zem.
SIXTIEs supermodel Twiggy asks: What will be the hot look of 2010 in your opinion? Ich vould like to be vearing ze thighs of ein young Brad Pitt clone.
Former British heavyweight box er Frank Bruno asks: Which Bruno would win a fight – me or you? Me. Ich hast fought harder over belts zan you ever did!
The Chaser's Julian Morrow asks: Has your neo-post-uber-crypto-retro personal fashion philosophy ever landed you in trouble with the authorities? Ich had ein problem at customs in New York vhen ich was going through a phase ich called “Taliban Chic”.
Lauren Weisberger, author of The Devil Wears Prada, asks: How do you cope with a bad hair day? Ich don’t know. Ich have never had one.
The Office's Rainn Wilson asks: What colour is Tuesday? Vell Tuesday is mein colonic day, so for me it’s every colour of ze rainbow!
Perez Hilton asks: You called your baby OJ. What other names were in the running? Pimp Baby. Ebony Spirit. Nubian.
Justin Hemmes, owner of ivy, asks: If you ran a club, what would the dress code be? Ich don’t care vhat people vear as long as zey are famous. So in Sydney, zat’s a pretty empty club.
HEIDI MIDLETON, CO-CREATOR OF SASS & BIDE, ASKS: What are you wearing right now? Ich am wearing only ze sweat of ze Filippino who came in to clean mein room.
Dita Von Teese asks: To what lengths would you go to get into a hot party? Ich hid in ein discoball und rolled my vay up a disabled ramp into ein pool party vhere ich nearly drowned.
NOVA 969’s Roso asks: Imagine Lindsay Lohan asks you for a date. What do you say? “Nein, you hast ein vaginen like ze waste bin at ein Chinese restaurant.”
RUSSEL BRAND asks: What do you look for in a pair of underpants? Ze usual – cocken, ballen, arschen, luben.
BOB DOWNE asks: How do you fend off a man with two dildos? Unless you have two arschenhallers, it ist going to get ugly. Joan Rivers asks: Who the hell is Brüno? Who is Brüno? Zat is fine coming from you. You’ve had so much surgery ze question should be: "Vhat is Joan Rivers?" MTV VJ Ruby Rose asks: What message do you have for the people of Sydney? Brüno will be in town, come und vorship at mein big gay church! Ich vill play your shvantzes like didgeridoos!
Read more...
outrageous movie of the year. In a world exclusive interview to celebrate Brüno's visit this month, Time Out Sydney asked international and local celebrities to come up with the
Scarlett Johansson asks: Brüno, how long does it take you to get ready in the morning? It can take a vhile deciding vhat to wear. Once ich took five hours choosing vhich of my little dogs vent best vith my shirt. In ze end zey vere taking up so much time, I had zem put down.
Miranda Kerr asks: Who is your favourite fashion designer in the world and why? Ich cannot say because all ze others vill kill themselves, und ich don’t vant zere blood on mein hands. Unless zat is zis week’s look.
Wayne Coper asks: Why are the best designers in the world all men? Ze same reason zat men give ze best blowjobs – practice.
Nicole Richie asks: Who is more talented – Dolce or Gabbana? Ich could not choose. It is like choosing between Paris Hilton und Kim Kardashian.
Kim Kardashian asks: Since you’re always on TV, what are your beauty tips to keep you looking so good? Ich put ein pillow in front of ze toilet und sing ‘Bulimian Rhapsody’.
The Chaser's Chris Taylor asks: Which Sex and the City character are you most like and why? Ich am most like Carrie because she has ein man’s face.
Australia's Next Top Model presenter Jonathan Pease asks: You meet Karl Lagerfeld at a party – what is the first thing you ask him? Ich vould say “Ve are so similar – you have hair like a pony, und ich am hung like ein horse!”
Mischa Barton asks: Yourself aside, who is the most fashionable person in the world and why? Ze Pope. Because he just keeps going vith his own look.
Model agency diva Janice Dickinson asks: Who is the world's hottest model? It vould be Tiger Voods. He looks great in all his golfing outfits, und on top of zat he’s President of America!
Jerry Springer asks: Which religion is the most fashionable? Ich vas going to say Buddhism, but ich could not support ein religion zat encourages over-eating. Zere Pope, Buddha, is so fat he can only vear underpants.
CELEBRITY HAIRDRE SSER BRAD NGATA ASKS: Blonde mohawk to floppy highlights – where is your hair going next? Predicting vhat ich vill do vith mein hair is like trying to predict ze weather. It cannot be done.
Wil Anderson asks: I am going to Austria next month. What key German phrases should I try out? “Ich wollen du bleachen mein arschenhaller.”
UK designer Sir Paul Smith asks: Who is your style icon? Ich am always inspired by amazing people. Like vhen Princess Diana visited zose African children vith ze landmines. Ich vas inspired to be as thin as zem.
SIXTIEs supermodel Twiggy asks: What will be the hot look of 2010 in your opinion? Ich vould like to be vearing ze thighs of ein young Brad Pitt clone.
Former British heavyweight box er Frank Bruno asks: Which Bruno would win a fight – me or you? Me. Ich hast fought harder over belts zan you ever did!
The Chaser's Julian Morrow asks: Has your neo-post-uber-crypto-retro personal fashion philosophy ever landed you in trouble with the authorities? Ich had ein problem at customs in New York vhen ich was going through a phase ich called “Taliban Chic”.
Lauren Weisberger, author of The Devil Wears Prada, asks: How do you cope with a bad hair day? Ich don’t know. Ich have never had one.
The Office's Rainn Wilson asks: What colour is Tuesday? Vell Tuesday is mein colonic day, so for me it’s every colour of ze rainbow!
Perez Hilton asks: You called your baby OJ. What other names were in the running? Pimp Baby. Ebony Spirit. Nubian.
Justin Hemmes, owner of ivy, asks: If you ran a club, what would the dress code be? Ich don’t care vhat people vear as long as zey are famous. So in Sydney, zat’s a pretty empty club.
HEIDI MIDLETON, CO-CREATOR OF SASS & BIDE, ASKS: What are you wearing right now? Ich am wearing only ze sweat of ze Filippino who came in to clean mein room.
Dita Von Teese asks: To what lengths would you go to get into a hot party? Ich hid in ein discoball und rolled my vay up a disabled ramp into ein pool party vhere ich nearly drowned.
NOVA 969’s Roso asks: Imagine Lindsay Lohan asks you for a date. What do you say? “Nein, you hast ein vaginen like ze waste bin at ein Chinese restaurant.”
RUSSEL BRAND asks: What do you look for in a pair of underpants? Ze usual – cocken, ballen, arschen, luben.
BOB DOWNE asks: How do you fend off a man with two dildos? Unless you have two arschenhallers, it ist going to get ugly. Joan Rivers asks: Who the hell is Brüno? Who is Brüno? Zat is fine coming from you. You’ve had so much surgery ze question should be: "Vhat is Joan Rivers?" MTV VJ Ruby Rose asks: What message do you have for the people of Sydney? Brüno will be in town, come und vorship at mein big gay church! Ich vill play your shvantzes like didgeridoos!
Read more...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Timely Tim
Tim Cahill has never been one to shirk a challenge. In his most candid interview ever, the talismanic Socceroo tackles tough questions about his jailed brother, the prospect of a move from Everton to a European super club, and whether Australia has any chance at next year’s World Cup
Interview: Dan Rookwood
The secret to Tim Cahill’s success is all in his timing. A consistent goal scorer from midfield, he judges his runs
into the box perfectly, and for such a small player at 5ft 10in, ‘Tiny Tim’ is superb in the air. Moreover, he knows precisely when he needs to be at his peak for club and country.
Cahill’s innate sixth sense to be in the right place at the right time in life has served him well to date. His sparkling performance at the 2006 World Cup in Germany – during which he famously came on to score two late goals and set up a third against Japan to overturn a 1-0 deficit – helped to earn him a prestigious Ballon D’Or nomination that year as one of the world’s top 50 players. He has since cemented his reputation as one of the most coveted attacking midfielders in Europe, with Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger known to be a particular fan.
Born in Sydney to a Samoan mother and a British father, Cahill struggled for several years to win the right to play for Australia, having initially represented Samoa as a teenager. After a protracted appeal during which he let his football do the talking, he finally made his debut for the Socceroos in 2004.
A loyal, committed team player and firm fans’ favourite, Cahill wears his big heart in the art on his sleeve in the form of a tattoo that tells his family history. There have been downs as well as ups – notably the six-year jail sentence given to older brother Sean in January last year for grievous bodily harm following a fight outside a south London nightclub that left a man partially blind. Cahill, who often dedicates his goals to worthy causes, attracted criticism for making a handcuff gesture in support of his brother after scoring against Portsmouth.
At 29 and in the form of his life, Cahill has yet again timed his run to perfection. April presents him with the opportunity to help secure Australia’s qualification for next year’s World Cup finals in South Africa and to get through to the FA Cup final should Everton overcome Manchester United in their semi-final at Wembley.
You must fancy your chances of another FA Cup final.
Yeah, when I was at Millwall we lost in the final to Man Utd in 2004. Hopefully this time I can go that one step further and maybe win it. We’ve already beaten Liverpool and Aston Villa [and Middlesbrough] so we’re happy to take on anyone. This is a massive opportunity. At the moment I am enjoying some good form, feeling fit and playing good football.
Your FA Cup run with Millwall really lit the blue touch paper on your career, didn’t it?
Yeah, I suppose so. It put me out there and I guess people finally got to know who the real Tim Cahill was. Grabbing that winning goal [in the semi-final] against Sunderland, people were proud of the Australian who got one of the lower league clubs to the final. It’ll probably never happen again in Millwall’s history. It was one of the finest moments in my career.
You’ve been playing up front a lot this season. Do you feel like you’ve playing out of position or do you even prefer being a striker?
I’m very thankful for where I play or wherever I play. I’m very physical but as a striker my body is taking a bigger toll of whacks and knocks playing against 6ft 4 giants and I’m having to find ways to beat them in the air or knock them off the ball or get in behind them. It’s about enjoying the challenge – can I step up? I’ve had it all my life, people thinking I was too small or not fast enough, not strong enough. But I feel that I can play anywhere.
You’re a big game player. You’ve come up with important goals when it’s mattered, notably against Japan in the last World Cup. That must have made you pretty proud.
The proudest I have ever been. The whole of Australia can probably say right now they know exactly where they were when those two goals went in the back of the net. For me, that’s something that I can share with every single person who is Australian.
Fourteen goals in 31 internationals: not a bad return from someone who is predominantly a midfielder, is it?
All I do when I cross that white line for Australia is think about scoring the winner. Same as I do with Everton. My goal is to try and win the game as soon as possible. The appetite and fight for winning a game outweighs any other thoughts. My belief is just to win and nothing else comes into my mind.
There are a fair few midfielders in the Premiership who bag a lot of goals – Cristiano Ronaldo, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard. You’re now in that bracket.
Yeah.
How does that make you feel?
It’s unbelievable. Someone told me the stats the other day that I’ve scored 100 goals in 400 games so it’s one in four from midfield, although I’ve been playing as a striker just recently. I’m very privileged and honoured that I can be in this situation and being Australian that people can look up to me and want to follow in my footsteps.
You were nominated for the Ballon D’Or in 2006. Was that a bolt from the blue for you or were you expecting to make that list?
A bit of both. I was just happy to be involved in it. It shows just how far Australians and Australian football has come. It was a reward for everyone who has been part of my football career. It was an honour and it’s amazing.
Getting knocked out of the World Cup thanks to a highly dubious penalty decision against Italy must have really hurt.
Yeah, but I look back on that tournament with pride. I can hold my head up high, I did all I could, so did all the lads, and we went out to the champions of the world. If we get another chance at another World Cup, we can hopefully go that one better.
You are at your peak now. But some of the rest of the squad look a bit past it. Do you really think you’ve got enough quality around you to do better in South Africa?
I hope so. Every single player will be giving everything and I think that’s the most important thing. As long as every single player has the same mindset and belief to go out there and win then nothing else matters. The quality is there in the Australian national team. The players are getting better in the A League, more players are in Europe. Of course we’ve got the chance of going one better but it’s whether we can produce it at the right time.
You’ve probably become Australia’s most consistent senior player now, would you agree?
I’m at the stage now where people rely on me a lot for always coming up with the big goals in big competitions. It’s something that I like and I take with open arms because this is what I am there for. I want people to rely on me. I take that as a compliment. Obviously we’ve got Harry Kewell, and Lucas [Neill] and Schwarzy [Mark Schwarzwer]. Hopefully they can do the same.
It’s fair to say you ought to have played more than 31 times for your country, isn’t it?
Yes, definitely. Everyone knows my scenario and the fact that I played for Samoa and we had to wait for my court case to get cleared. My dad always said: “Good things come to those who wait” and I couldn’t have waited for a more perfect time to play for Australia. I’m lucky enough that I am part of this revolution in Australian football that has helped change the view of the game.
Did you think you might never get the chance to play for Australia because of the complications with Samoa?
Of course. I can remember being in tears, blaming my old man, blaming officials and I feared that because of a lack of common sense I might never get my chance. But I was making the right noises in England at Millwall, getting to an FA Cup final, winning a promotion, and people took note and said: “Look this kid’s doing really well. Let’s talk, let’s get things going.” In the end it got turned around. They couldn’t block my dream. Faith prevailed.
Do you think the struggle made you hungrier?
I’ve always been really hungry because my family sacrificed so much to give me this opportunity. I still to this day feel like I owe them something. That’s what keeps me strong. It was hard for me to come to England; my parents had to get a loan to get me over here for a trial. I've made sure since then that I've paid them back and they've never had to work since the day I got my first contract.
You strike me as captain material for both club and country. That hasn’t come your way so far. Do you think it might still do in the future?
Yes, most definitely. But I don’t need an armband to captain my team; I feel I am already a captain. In the big games or the big moments domestically or internationally, I always come up with the goods and if people can see that I am always leading, it doesn’t matter that I don’t have the armband. But I know that if the armband did come up for grabs, I would take it with open arms. I’m not someone to shy away from responsibility.
It’s been a pretty impressive World Cup qualifying campaign, hasn’t it?
Yes definitely. It’s down to the Pim [Verbeek] and the way he instils respect – he’s highly regarded by all the players. He knows exactly what’s going on 24/7, he has surveillance on every single player throughout the world so when it comes to camp there’s no stone unturned. He’s worked out exactly where we need to be and he deserves a lot of credit for coming in and filling someone’s shoes in Gus Hiddink.
Hiddink’s was a tough act to follow.
It shows the mark of a man who is fearless. People forget that Pim is a very successful person in football and he has his own very powerful personality that comes across to the players. He is a great man-manager who understands the players. I love playing for a manager who knows exactly what he wants.
Who is the best manager you have played under?
Difficult, that. At international level, Gus and Pim are two very different people and I respect them a lot. But [Everton manager] David Moyes has affected my career in a big way. He’s someone that took a chance and paid 1.5 million quid for me and played me to the death.
Moyes doesn’t seem like the kind of man you’d want to get on the wrong side of. Have you ever had an argument with him?
Whether you’re a mechanic or you build houses or you work in an office, you don’t have to like your boss. But I’m lucky that I’ve got a great relationship with my boss. We’ve got a great understanding. He is like a mentor.
Is he a shouty, sweary manager?
A few things get kicked around and you get told a few words here and there. But the beauty of it is how you react as a player. You can shy away from it or you can take it on the chin. Good managers get a reaction out of the players. That was something Gus Hiddink was very good at too, spurring us on.
As an Australian playing in England with the distances involved, have you ever been put under pressure to choose your club over your country?
I suppose to a certain extent. The easiest answer to that is I can’t be asked to choose because either I want to play for Australia or I don’t want to play for Australia. It’s a simple as that. I always want to play for Australia so you’ll see me on that plane regardless. I feel that the gaffer [Moyes] knows the type of personality that I am that I want to do as well as I can domestically and internationally.
Some players end up choosing their club over the country. Jamie Carragher at Liverpool and Paul Scholes at Manchester United spring to mind. What matters more to you: Everton or Australia?
Easy: they both matter equally the same. If I wasn’t playing brilliantly for Everton then Australia wouldn’t pick me. I need to be playing at the highest level possible. I’m very passionate about both and I respect the opportunities that both give me.
Can you explain why you’ve become such a cult hero at Everton?
Every time I score the passion comes out and I try and relay that back to the fans and to the players and the staff at how grateful I am to be playing for such a good football club. The fans have taken well to me. I am part of the furniture at Everton but I don’t take it for granted.
And you’ve stayed humble and loyal.
I can’t be any other way. When I go home to Australia I’m with all the same people, same friends. I feel the same thing here in England. All I do is play football, eat, sleep, play with my kids, play football – there’s nothing else to do. If kids see you on the street and they want an autograph, that’s a big honour so I spend half an hour before I get in the ground and 40 minutes to an hour after the game with the Everton fans signing autographs. They are the people that made me who I am now and I’ll never forget it.
It could be argued that you embody Everton, in that you punch above your weight. Is that fair or is that a slight on both your character and that of Everton?
It doesn’t matter. I take compliments and I take constructive criticism. Not everyone loves you. It’s the way you react as a footballer. I use it all to make me play better.
Tell me about the tattoos on your arm. You’ve got MFC and EFC…
I’m very traditional person. The tattoos are about my grandmother dying and they tell the story about my mother and father, my brothers and my sister, my kids. It’s pretty much a family tree on my arm with my life in football too. I’ve only ever had two football clubs – Millwall and Everton – and they are the only two football clubs that mean a lot to me. That appreciation is something I carry on my arm as a mark of respect. Who knows what will happen in the future? The story is obviously not finished. There’s still a lot to be told because I am only 29 and I’m looking to have a bright future and win trophies and do as much as I can.
So will you finish your playing career at Everton?
Who knows? I want to do as well as I can. I’ve got a chance of the FA Cup. I’ve got a lot of years left at Everton and hopefully I can make it longer, but it depends what the club thinks of you.
Do you think you might finish your playing days in Australia?
Yeah, you never know. I’m 29 now and I can’t see myself quitting before I’m 35 or even longer than that. I’m a very fit individual. I pride myself on playing a lot of games. I’ve played 400 games now at 29 and I hope to play another 200, 250 maybe. It’s all about the way I look after my body. I’ve got a very fond attachment to Australia but I won’t be rushing home too soon because I want to get as much football at the highest level of football as I can before I come home.
What do you think of the A League now?
It’s catching on slowly. I watch the highlights here. It’s slowly, slowly getting there, they’re adding more teams, the level is getting better. All in good time, we’ll get there.
Which club did you support as boy?
I did support Sydney Olympic because obviously I used to go to the games and I played for them when I was a kid. But my team was AC Milan: Gullit, Savicevic, Boban, Rijkaard, van Basten, Maldini, Baresi, the list goes on. It was probably the best team the world has ever seen. I loved watching those players on SBS. They used to play all the best goals from one player to a musical montage. That was the best thing ever.
Who is your favourite player now?
I’d have to say Cristiano Ronaldo. He’s a player that can do anything. Playing against him, he’s someone that can never be marked. Lionel Messi [at Barcelona] is another one. I also like unsung heroes like Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs.
Who is the player you least like playing against?
It used to be Roy Keane but now? Being a striker it would have be someone like Alex [Chelsea central defender]. He’s a big boy and very strong and I’ve bounced off him a few times and he’s bounced off me. He’s very difficult to play against.
Do you think you might have won more honours and more recognition if you’d gone to a bigger club?
You’ve got to ask: is the grass always greener? Is it the right situation for you and your family and you as a player? Opportunities arise. I feel that I am achieving a lot at Everton, qualifying for Europe. I feel I get the same rewards as players at other clubs do actually winning something. It’s unfortunate that I haven’t won them big awards. But who knows? Maybe one day. But beating Liverpool is like winning an FA Cup. People might think that’s not a high aim to set but once you’ve played for Everton and know what it is to be a blue, then you know what it means to beat Liverpool.
You’ve had good battles in the Merseyside derbies. Those games seem to matter to you more than any other?
Definitely. I hold the record now with Dixie Dean for being the only Everton player to score three Merseyside derby goals at Anfield. I still hope to better it. Things like that, the fans never forget. [Ex-Liverpool striker] Ian Rush said that games like that make you a legend forever and that is something to me means a lot more than going to a club and just being fizzled out and being part of a trophy but not really recognised. It means a lot to be in the same calibre as Dixie Dean, Graeme Sharpe and Duncan Ferguson at a club like Everton.
Would you ever consider a move to Liverpool if they came in for you?
Never. Never, never. No money in this world could convince me to play for Liverpool. And that’s not a lack of respect for Liverpool supporters or the football club. It’s for the respect for the Everton supporters. You just can’t do that. Morally it’s not right. It goes against everything that I stand for. So no chance.
Arsene Wenger is a big fan of yours. What about going to somewhere like Arsenal?
It’s a different story when it comes to things like that. But out of sheer respect for Everton when you’re talking about Liverpool, then definitely not. Opportunities arise and you either turn them down or you take them. The best thing for me now is I’m at a club that really likes me.
What’s the story behind your trademark celebration of boxing the corner flag when you score?
It’s from [fellow Socceroo] Archie Thompson. Archie did a kung-fu celebration one match against Jamaica and I said: “That’s quality, I love your celebration.” And he said: “Do it. Take it to the Premiership.” So I adapted it and it’s stuck now. I’ve trademarked it. Archie’s trying to buy it back off me but he can’t have it.
You like to dedicate goals. You dedicated your FA Cup goal against Aston Villa to the people affected by the bush fires in Victoria.
As an Australian, it’s difficult to see what’s been happening at home when you’re playing football. People mourn in different ways. I just felt I had to put that [black] armband on and go on that pitch carrying Australia on my arm. And then when I scored, [Everton captain] Phil Neville is pointing to my arm and the lads are cuddling me and it felt so magical; it felt like the weight had been lifted off my shoulders just for those few seconds.
Your loyalty has occasionally got you in trouble – notably last year when you made the handcuff gesture upon scoring in tribute to your brother after he was sent to prison…
People love me one minute and people hate me the next. You can only stand by your family and you can only stand by your country. You just have to take it in your stride and show your respects at every level that you can. People know what I am all about. I don’t hide; I always put myself out there.
Do you regret that handcuff gesture now or do you still stand by it?
It’s over now so it doesn’t really need to be brought up again.
Do you visit your brother in prison often?
I feel that we don’t need to talk about that. It’s not going to change anyone’s lives whether I do or I don’t.
OK, let’s move on. Tell me about the football academies you’re setting up in Australia.
It’s still early stages. There’s a lot of work in trying to get the right foundations for these kids. Once I’ve got it right, I’ll talk more about it but basically I just want to give these kids the same opportunities that I had and lead them in the right way. And hopefully one day they’ll strive to be like me. And if not, they’ll just enjoy their football and be good kids.
What do you want to do after you have finished playing?
I want to work with kids and help develop them, show them the right way, the right morals and attitude into how to become a better footballer. I want to set up academies across Australia, trying to produce great Australian talent. Australia has so many different cultures [but] I’d like to bring in the indigenous style, and bring their competitiveness, their athleticism and raw ability into the frame as well. I feel that with the right training we can find some more superstars who can help to make Australia an even stronger force.
Note: The following quotes are all my own except for the ones in italics which are in the public domain. SBS and Fox Sports are the equivalent of the BBC and Sky Sports in the UK
David Moyes, Everton manager
“When I was manager at Preston, he was at Millwall. We used to play against them a lot and he impressed me. So when I moved to Everton I thought he would be able to make the step up to the Premiership. A lot of players can’t, but Tim proved very quickly that he could.
“It’s impossible to say how important Tim is to Everton Football Club. He’s very humble, he’s a team player, he’s happy to do the work. It’s not all about Tim Cahill; it’s all about the team. That’s why the Everton fans love him. And that goes the other way too. I think Tim has found a club, a team, a manager, a set of fans that are perfect for him. It’s home. His style is moulded to Everton’s.
“I came to Everton seven years ago this month and Tim has been here for about six. Pound for pound he’s probably the best signing I’ve ever made. I paid £1.5 million for him and he must be worth more than 10 times that now. But I would never sell him. It’s not just about a monetary value; it’s about the value he adds to Everton. You can’t put a price on that.”
Pim Verbeek, Socceroos coach
“Tim is a wonderful player and fantastic character in the team. He is an integral part of the squad and a highly valuable player. He is playing at a high level and playing regularly and that is the most important thing for me.”
Sam Allardyce, Blackburn manager (picked up from UK press)
"Tim Cahill uses his body and it's not often he concedes a free-kick, but most of the time we see him playing the man before the ball. Every player commits fouls. It's whether the referee sees it and sometimes they don't if a player is as clever as he is. It's certainly very difficult to spot from their point of view and the spectators' point of view. But you pick up on it if you have been in the game as long as we have. I'm not saying he's a dirty player, he just uses his assets very well."
Arsene Wenger, Arsenal manager (picked up from UK press)
"Tim Cahill is a fantastic player. Tactically, he is very good, very intelligent and if you look at all the defenders in the league, they are all a head higher than he is, but he always pops up with a header. He has something that you can't give to anybody. He knows where to be on a football pitch."
Simon Hill, Fox Sports anchorman
"He's quite simply the most important player Australia has at the moment. You can make a case for Harry Kewell being the country's biggest star, but Harry has struggled with injury, and for me, Tim is the most consistent top-level player Australia has at the moment. He has the knack of making telling contributions in big games - Japan at the World Cup, Oman at the Asian Cup... he's crucial. More than that, he's a great ambassador off the field too - kids love him, and he's one of the reasons the game has grown so massively in recent years."
Craig Foster, former Socceroo and SBS chief football analyst
“Right now Cahill is Australia’s form player and the stand out star of the group. He will be the key man for us in South Africa next year. The battle that he had to make it as a top class footballer is a wonderful story of courage and perseverance in the face of tremendous odds. He is the greatest ambassador the game has right now and he’s clearly shown he has the ability to be Australia’s greatest ever player. I would just like to see him go to a better club. Everton has done magnificently for Timmy Cahill but he’s now has outgrown them. The question is does he want to remain the star of a team that is always struggling to get into Europe or does he want to go and play with guys who are at the very highest level? I hope it’s the latter. He would be the perfect addition to a top level European side. I think he would fit in at a place like Arsenal.”
David Basheer, SBS commentator
“He is the most important Socceroo at the moment in terms of his ability to change a match. He’s a classic impact player, a match winner with a big-game temperament. He thrives on the big occasion; he doesn’t show any signs of anxiety. But I actually think Everton is the perfect club for him. It’s big enough to be knocking on the European door, but not too big like Manchester United. When you consider that Carlos Tevez is fourth choice striker at United, there is no way Tim Cahill would get a sniff at Old Trafford under Alex Ferguson. It just wouldn’t happen.”
Frank Farina, the Socceroos coach who gave Cahill his first cap
"Timmy is something special. I have no doubt he could play with any club in the world, bar none. He has something you can't coach. It's a natural gift. You are born with it. He knows when to make runs into the box, he scores from midfield, he is superb in the air. He is just about the complete player. Most of all, he has that mental approach that separates the good players from the great ones."
Rale Rasic, former Socceroos coach
“Cahill is far and away the greatest footballer Australia has produced. I have huge respect for guys like Mark Bosnich, Ray Baartz, Mark Viduka, Harry Kewell, John Kosmina and whoever else you want to name. But, for me, Cahill is a phenomenal talent and stands above all of them. He is miles ahead. He is the complete footballer. He has presence, poise and the ability to read the game. He is great in the air, his heading is exceptional. He is an extraordinary goal-scorer and he just knows where to be at the right time. You can't coach that in a player. Everton are a different team without him. When he plays, the whole team lifts. Having a player who can inspire that is priceless. I don't know how long he has to go at Everton, but it wouldn't surprise me if some of the biggest clubs in the world want him. What I really like about Tim is that he has so much pride for his country. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. He would crawl over broken glass to play for the Socceroos."
Tim Times
1979 Born in Sydney to a Samoan mother and English father
1993 Plays for Samoa, aged 14
1997 Moves to England, aged 17. Joins Millwall from Sydney United
2004 Scores winner in FA Cup semi-final against Sunderland but loses 3-0 to Man Utd in the final; Makes debut for Socceroos; Moves to Everton for £1.5m; Becomes Oceania player of the year
2006 Scores Australia’s first World Cup goals in 3-1 victory against Japan; Nominated for the Ballon D’or
2007 Becomes first Australian to score at Asian Cup finals
2008 Makes hand cuff gesture in tribute to older brother Sean in prison
2009 Equals Dixie Dean’s Merseyside derby goals record; Sets up football academies in Australia; Inspires Australia to World Cup 2010 qualification and Everton to FA Cup final?
Read more...
Interview: Dan Rookwood
The secret to Tim Cahill’s success is all in his timing. A consistent goal scorer from midfield, he judges his runs
into the box perfectly, and for such a small player at 5ft 10in, ‘Tiny Tim’ is superb in the air. Moreover, he knows precisely when he needs to be at his peak for club and country.
Cahill’s innate sixth sense to be in the right place at the right time in life has served him well to date. His sparkling performance at the 2006 World Cup in Germany – during which he famously came on to score two late goals and set up a third against Japan to overturn a 1-0 deficit – helped to earn him a prestigious Ballon D’Or nomination that year as one of the world’s top 50 players. He has since cemented his reputation as one of the most coveted attacking midfielders in Europe, with Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger known to be a particular fan.
Born in Sydney to a Samoan mother and a British father, Cahill struggled for several years to win the right to play for Australia, having initially represented Samoa as a teenager. After a protracted appeal during which he let his football do the talking, he finally made his debut for the Socceroos in 2004.
A loyal, committed team player and firm fans’ favourite, Cahill wears his big heart in the art on his sleeve in the form of a tattoo that tells his family history. There have been downs as well as ups – notably the six-year jail sentence given to older brother Sean in January last year for grievous bodily harm following a fight outside a south London nightclub that left a man partially blind. Cahill, who often dedicates his goals to worthy causes, attracted criticism for making a handcuff gesture in support of his brother after scoring against Portsmouth.
At 29 and in the form of his life, Cahill has yet again timed his run to perfection. April presents him with the opportunity to help secure Australia’s qualification for next year’s World Cup finals in South Africa and to get through to the FA Cup final should Everton overcome Manchester United in their semi-final at Wembley.
You must fancy your chances of another FA Cup final.
Yeah, when I was at Millwall we lost in the final to Man Utd in 2004. Hopefully this time I can go that one step further and maybe win it. We’ve already beaten Liverpool and Aston Villa [and Middlesbrough] so we’re happy to take on anyone. This is a massive opportunity. At the moment I am enjoying some good form, feeling fit and playing good football.
Your FA Cup run with Millwall really lit the blue touch paper on your career, didn’t it?
Yeah, I suppose so. It put me out there and I guess people finally got to know who the real Tim Cahill was. Grabbing that winning goal [in the semi-final] against Sunderland, people were proud of the Australian who got one of the lower league clubs to the final. It’ll probably never happen again in Millwall’s history. It was one of the finest moments in my career.
You’ve been playing up front a lot this season. Do you feel like you’ve playing out of position or do you even prefer being a striker?
I’m very thankful for where I play or wherever I play. I’m very physical but as a striker my body is taking a bigger toll of whacks and knocks playing against 6ft 4 giants and I’m having to find ways to beat them in the air or knock them off the ball or get in behind them. It’s about enjoying the challenge – can I step up? I’ve had it all my life, people thinking I was too small or not fast enough, not strong enough. But I feel that I can play anywhere.
You’re a big game player. You’ve come up with important goals when it’s mattered, notably against Japan in the last World Cup. That must have made you pretty proud.
The proudest I have ever been. The whole of Australia can probably say right now they know exactly where they were when those two goals went in the back of the net. For me, that’s something that I can share with every single person who is Australian.
Fourteen goals in 31 internationals: not a bad return from someone who is predominantly a midfielder, is it?
All I do when I cross that white line for Australia is think about scoring the winner. Same as I do with Everton. My goal is to try and win the game as soon as possible. The appetite and fight for winning a game outweighs any other thoughts. My belief is just to win and nothing else comes into my mind.
There are a fair few midfielders in the Premiership who bag a lot of goals – Cristiano Ronaldo, Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard. You’re now in that bracket.
Yeah.
How does that make you feel?
It’s unbelievable. Someone told me the stats the other day that I’ve scored 100 goals in 400 games so it’s one in four from midfield, although I’ve been playing as a striker just recently. I’m very privileged and honoured that I can be in this situation and being Australian that people can look up to me and want to follow in my footsteps.
You were nominated for the Ballon D’Or in 2006. Was that a bolt from the blue for you or were you expecting to make that list?
A bit of both. I was just happy to be involved in it. It shows just how far Australians and Australian football has come. It was a reward for everyone who has been part of my football career. It was an honour and it’s amazing.
Getting knocked out of the World Cup thanks to a highly dubious penalty decision against Italy must have really hurt.
Yeah, but I look back on that tournament with pride. I can hold my head up high, I did all I could, so did all the lads, and we went out to the champions of the world. If we get another chance at another World Cup, we can hopefully go that one better.
You are at your peak now. But some of the rest of the squad look a bit past it. Do you really think you’ve got enough quality around you to do better in South Africa?
I hope so. Every single player will be giving everything and I think that’s the most important thing. As long as every single player has the same mindset and belief to go out there and win then nothing else matters. The quality is there in the Australian national team. The players are getting better in the A League, more players are in Europe. Of course we’ve got the chance of going one better but it’s whether we can produce it at the right time.
You’ve probably become Australia’s most consistent senior player now, would you agree?
I’m at the stage now where people rely on me a lot for always coming up with the big goals in big competitions. It’s something that I like and I take with open arms because this is what I am there for. I want people to rely on me. I take that as a compliment. Obviously we’ve got Harry Kewell, and Lucas [Neill] and Schwarzy [Mark Schwarzwer]. Hopefully they can do the same.
It’s fair to say you ought to have played more than 31 times for your country, isn’t it?
Yes, definitely. Everyone knows my scenario and the fact that I played for Samoa and we had to wait for my court case to get cleared. My dad always said: “Good things come to those who wait” and I couldn’t have waited for a more perfect time to play for Australia. I’m lucky enough that I am part of this revolution in Australian football that has helped change the view of the game.
Did you think you might never get the chance to play for Australia because of the complications with Samoa?
Of course. I can remember being in tears, blaming my old man, blaming officials and I feared that because of a lack of common sense I might never get my chance. But I was making the right noises in England at Millwall, getting to an FA Cup final, winning a promotion, and people took note and said: “Look this kid’s doing really well. Let’s talk, let’s get things going.” In the end it got turned around. They couldn’t block my dream. Faith prevailed.
Do you think the struggle made you hungrier?
I’ve always been really hungry because my family sacrificed so much to give me this opportunity. I still to this day feel like I owe them something. That’s what keeps me strong. It was hard for me to come to England; my parents had to get a loan to get me over here for a trial. I've made sure since then that I've paid them back and they've never had to work since the day I got my first contract.
You strike me as captain material for both club and country. That hasn’t come your way so far. Do you think it might still do in the future?
Yes, most definitely. But I don’t need an armband to captain my team; I feel I am already a captain. In the big games or the big moments domestically or internationally, I always come up with the goods and if people can see that I am always leading, it doesn’t matter that I don’t have the armband. But I know that if the armband did come up for grabs, I would take it with open arms. I’m not someone to shy away from responsibility.
It’s been a pretty impressive World Cup qualifying campaign, hasn’t it?
Yes definitely. It’s down to the Pim [Verbeek] and the way he instils respect – he’s highly regarded by all the players. He knows exactly what’s going on 24/7, he has surveillance on every single player throughout the world so when it comes to camp there’s no stone unturned. He’s worked out exactly where we need to be and he deserves a lot of credit for coming in and filling someone’s shoes in Gus Hiddink.
Hiddink’s was a tough act to follow.
It shows the mark of a man who is fearless. People forget that Pim is a very successful person in football and he has his own very powerful personality that comes across to the players. He is a great man-manager who understands the players. I love playing for a manager who knows exactly what he wants.
Who is the best manager you have played under?
Difficult, that. At international level, Gus and Pim are two very different people and I respect them a lot. But [Everton manager] David Moyes has affected my career in a big way. He’s someone that took a chance and paid 1.5 million quid for me and played me to the death.
Moyes doesn’t seem like the kind of man you’d want to get on the wrong side of. Have you ever had an argument with him?
Whether you’re a mechanic or you build houses or you work in an office, you don’t have to like your boss. But I’m lucky that I’ve got a great relationship with my boss. We’ve got a great understanding. He is like a mentor.
Is he a shouty, sweary manager?
A few things get kicked around and you get told a few words here and there. But the beauty of it is how you react as a player. You can shy away from it or you can take it on the chin. Good managers get a reaction out of the players. That was something Gus Hiddink was very good at too, spurring us on.
As an Australian playing in England with the distances involved, have you ever been put under pressure to choose your club over your country?
I suppose to a certain extent. The easiest answer to that is I can’t be asked to choose because either I want to play for Australia or I don’t want to play for Australia. It’s a simple as that. I always want to play for Australia so you’ll see me on that plane regardless. I feel that the gaffer [Moyes] knows the type of personality that I am that I want to do as well as I can domestically and internationally.
Some players end up choosing their club over the country. Jamie Carragher at Liverpool and Paul Scholes at Manchester United spring to mind. What matters more to you: Everton or Australia?
Easy: they both matter equally the same. If I wasn’t playing brilliantly for Everton then Australia wouldn’t pick me. I need to be playing at the highest level possible. I’m very passionate about both and I respect the opportunities that both give me.
Can you explain why you’ve become such a cult hero at Everton?
Every time I score the passion comes out and I try and relay that back to the fans and to the players and the staff at how grateful I am to be playing for such a good football club. The fans have taken well to me. I am part of the furniture at Everton but I don’t take it for granted.
And you’ve stayed humble and loyal.
I can’t be any other way. When I go home to Australia I’m with all the same people, same friends. I feel the same thing here in England. All I do is play football, eat, sleep, play with my kids, play football – there’s nothing else to do. If kids see you on the street and they want an autograph, that’s a big honour so I spend half an hour before I get in the ground and 40 minutes to an hour after the game with the Everton fans signing autographs. They are the people that made me who I am now and I’ll never forget it.
It could be argued that you embody Everton, in that you punch above your weight. Is that fair or is that a slight on both your character and that of Everton?
It doesn’t matter. I take compliments and I take constructive criticism. Not everyone loves you. It’s the way you react as a footballer. I use it all to make me play better.
Tell me about the tattoos on your arm. You’ve got MFC and EFC…
I’m very traditional person. The tattoos are about my grandmother dying and they tell the story about my mother and father, my brothers and my sister, my kids. It’s pretty much a family tree on my arm with my life in football too. I’ve only ever had two football clubs – Millwall and Everton – and they are the only two football clubs that mean a lot to me. That appreciation is something I carry on my arm as a mark of respect. Who knows what will happen in the future? The story is obviously not finished. There’s still a lot to be told because I am only 29 and I’m looking to have a bright future and win trophies and do as much as I can.
So will you finish your playing career at Everton?
Who knows? I want to do as well as I can. I’ve got a chance of the FA Cup. I’ve got a lot of years left at Everton and hopefully I can make it longer, but it depends what the club thinks of you.
Do you think you might finish your playing days in Australia?
Yeah, you never know. I’m 29 now and I can’t see myself quitting before I’m 35 or even longer than that. I’m a very fit individual. I pride myself on playing a lot of games. I’ve played 400 games now at 29 and I hope to play another 200, 250 maybe. It’s all about the way I look after my body. I’ve got a very fond attachment to Australia but I won’t be rushing home too soon because I want to get as much football at the highest level of football as I can before I come home.
What do you think of the A League now?
It’s catching on slowly. I watch the highlights here. It’s slowly, slowly getting there, they’re adding more teams, the level is getting better. All in good time, we’ll get there.
Which club did you support as boy?
I did support Sydney Olympic because obviously I used to go to the games and I played for them when I was a kid. But my team was AC Milan: Gullit, Savicevic, Boban, Rijkaard, van Basten, Maldini, Baresi, the list goes on. It was probably the best team the world has ever seen. I loved watching those players on SBS. They used to play all the best goals from one player to a musical montage. That was the best thing ever.
Who is your favourite player now?
I’d have to say Cristiano Ronaldo. He’s a player that can do anything. Playing against him, he’s someone that can never be marked. Lionel Messi [at Barcelona] is another one. I also like unsung heroes like Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs.
Who is the player you least like playing against?
It used to be Roy Keane but now? Being a striker it would have be someone like Alex [Chelsea central defender]. He’s a big boy and very strong and I’ve bounced off him a few times and he’s bounced off me. He’s very difficult to play against.
Do you think you might have won more honours and more recognition if you’d gone to a bigger club?
You’ve got to ask: is the grass always greener? Is it the right situation for you and your family and you as a player? Opportunities arise. I feel that I am achieving a lot at Everton, qualifying for Europe. I feel I get the same rewards as players at other clubs do actually winning something. It’s unfortunate that I haven’t won them big awards. But who knows? Maybe one day. But beating Liverpool is like winning an FA Cup. People might think that’s not a high aim to set but once you’ve played for Everton and know what it is to be a blue, then you know what it means to beat Liverpool.
You’ve had good battles in the Merseyside derbies. Those games seem to matter to you more than any other?
Definitely. I hold the record now with Dixie Dean for being the only Everton player to score three Merseyside derby goals at Anfield. I still hope to better it. Things like that, the fans never forget. [Ex-Liverpool striker] Ian Rush said that games like that make you a legend forever and that is something to me means a lot more than going to a club and just being fizzled out and being part of a trophy but not really recognised. It means a lot to be in the same calibre as Dixie Dean, Graeme Sharpe and Duncan Ferguson at a club like Everton.
Would you ever consider a move to Liverpool if they came in for you?
Never. Never, never. No money in this world could convince me to play for Liverpool. And that’s not a lack of respect for Liverpool supporters or the football club. It’s for the respect for the Everton supporters. You just can’t do that. Morally it’s not right. It goes against everything that I stand for. So no chance.
Arsene Wenger is a big fan of yours. What about going to somewhere like Arsenal?
It’s a different story when it comes to things like that. But out of sheer respect for Everton when you’re talking about Liverpool, then definitely not. Opportunities arise and you either turn them down or you take them. The best thing for me now is I’m at a club that really likes me.
What’s the story behind your trademark celebration of boxing the corner flag when you score?
It’s from [fellow Socceroo] Archie Thompson. Archie did a kung-fu celebration one match against Jamaica and I said: “That’s quality, I love your celebration.” And he said: “Do it. Take it to the Premiership.” So I adapted it and it’s stuck now. I’ve trademarked it. Archie’s trying to buy it back off me but he can’t have it.
You like to dedicate goals. You dedicated your FA Cup goal against Aston Villa to the people affected by the bush fires in Victoria.
As an Australian, it’s difficult to see what’s been happening at home when you’re playing football. People mourn in different ways. I just felt I had to put that [black] armband on and go on that pitch carrying Australia on my arm. And then when I scored, [Everton captain] Phil Neville is pointing to my arm and the lads are cuddling me and it felt so magical; it felt like the weight had been lifted off my shoulders just for those few seconds.
Your loyalty has occasionally got you in trouble – notably last year when you made the handcuff gesture upon scoring in tribute to your brother after he was sent to prison…
People love me one minute and people hate me the next. You can only stand by your family and you can only stand by your country. You just have to take it in your stride and show your respects at every level that you can. People know what I am all about. I don’t hide; I always put myself out there.
Do you regret that handcuff gesture now or do you still stand by it?
It’s over now so it doesn’t really need to be brought up again.
Do you visit your brother in prison often?
I feel that we don’t need to talk about that. It’s not going to change anyone’s lives whether I do or I don’t.
OK, let’s move on. Tell me about the football academies you’re setting up in Australia.
It’s still early stages. There’s a lot of work in trying to get the right foundations for these kids. Once I’ve got it right, I’ll talk more about it but basically I just want to give these kids the same opportunities that I had and lead them in the right way. And hopefully one day they’ll strive to be like me. And if not, they’ll just enjoy their football and be good kids.
What do you want to do after you have finished playing?
I want to work with kids and help develop them, show them the right way, the right morals and attitude into how to become a better footballer. I want to set up academies across Australia, trying to produce great Australian talent. Australia has so many different cultures [but] I’d like to bring in the indigenous style, and bring their competitiveness, their athleticism and raw ability into the frame as well. I feel that with the right training we can find some more superstars who can help to make Australia an even stronger force.
Note: The following quotes are all my own except for the ones in italics which are in the public domain. SBS and Fox Sports are the equivalent of the BBC and Sky Sports in the UK
David Moyes, Everton manager
“When I was manager at Preston, he was at Millwall. We used to play against them a lot and he impressed me. So when I moved to Everton I thought he would be able to make the step up to the Premiership. A lot of players can’t, but Tim proved very quickly that he could.
“It’s impossible to say how important Tim is to Everton Football Club. He’s very humble, he’s a team player, he’s happy to do the work. It’s not all about Tim Cahill; it’s all about the team. That’s why the Everton fans love him. And that goes the other way too. I think Tim has found a club, a team, a manager, a set of fans that are perfect for him. It’s home. His style is moulded to Everton’s.
“I came to Everton seven years ago this month and Tim has been here for about six. Pound for pound he’s probably the best signing I’ve ever made. I paid £1.5 million for him and he must be worth more than 10 times that now. But I would never sell him. It’s not just about a monetary value; it’s about the value he adds to Everton. You can’t put a price on that.”
Pim Verbeek, Socceroos coach
“Tim is a wonderful player and fantastic character in the team. He is an integral part of the squad and a highly valuable player. He is playing at a high level and playing regularly and that is the most important thing for me.”
Sam Allardyce, Blackburn manager (picked up from UK press)
"Tim Cahill uses his body and it's not often he concedes a free-kick, but most of the time we see him playing the man before the ball. Every player commits fouls. It's whether the referee sees it and sometimes they don't if a player is as clever as he is. It's certainly very difficult to spot from their point of view and the spectators' point of view. But you pick up on it if you have been in the game as long as we have. I'm not saying he's a dirty player, he just uses his assets very well."
Arsene Wenger, Arsenal manager (picked up from UK press)
"Tim Cahill is a fantastic player. Tactically, he is very good, very intelligent and if you look at all the defenders in the league, they are all a head higher than he is, but he always pops up with a header. He has something that you can't give to anybody. He knows where to be on a football pitch."
Simon Hill, Fox Sports anchorman
"He's quite simply the most important player Australia has at the moment. You can make a case for Harry Kewell being the country's biggest star, but Harry has struggled with injury, and for me, Tim is the most consistent top-level player Australia has at the moment. He has the knack of making telling contributions in big games - Japan at the World Cup, Oman at the Asian Cup... he's crucial. More than that, he's a great ambassador off the field too - kids love him, and he's one of the reasons the game has grown so massively in recent years."
Craig Foster, former Socceroo and SBS chief football analyst
“Right now Cahill is Australia’s form player and the stand out star of the group. He will be the key man for us in South Africa next year. The battle that he had to make it as a top class footballer is a wonderful story of courage and perseverance in the face of tremendous odds. He is the greatest ambassador the game has right now and he’s clearly shown he has the ability to be Australia’s greatest ever player. I would just like to see him go to a better club. Everton has done magnificently for Timmy Cahill but he’s now has outgrown them. The question is does he want to remain the star of a team that is always struggling to get into Europe or does he want to go and play with guys who are at the very highest level? I hope it’s the latter. He would be the perfect addition to a top level European side. I think he would fit in at a place like Arsenal.”
David Basheer, SBS commentator
“He is the most important Socceroo at the moment in terms of his ability to change a match. He’s a classic impact player, a match winner with a big-game temperament. He thrives on the big occasion; he doesn’t show any signs of anxiety. But I actually think Everton is the perfect club for him. It’s big enough to be knocking on the European door, but not too big like Manchester United. When you consider that Carlos Tevez is fourth choice striker at United, there is no way Tim Cahill would get a sniff at Old Trafford under Alex Ferguson. It just wouldn’t happen.”
Frank Farina, the Socceroos coach who gave Cahill his first cap
"Timmy is something special. I have no doubt he could play with any club in the world, bar none. He has something you can't coach. It's a natural gift. You are born with it. He knows when to make runs into the box, he scores from midfield, he is superb in the air. He is just about the complete player. Most of all, he has that mental approach that separates the good players from the great ones."
Rale Rasic, former Socceroos coach
“Cahill is far and away the greatest footballer Australia has produced. I have huge respect for guys like Mark Bosnich, Ray Baartz, Mark Viduka, Harry Kewell, John Kosmina and whoever else you want to name. But, for me, Cahill is a phenomenal talent and stands above all of them. He is miles ahead. He is the complete footballer. He has presence, poise and the ability to read the game. He is great in the air, his heading is exceptional. He is an extraordinary goal-scorer and he just knows where to be at the right time. You can't coach that in a player. Everton are a different team without him. When he plays, the whole team lifts. Having a player who can inspire that is priceless. I don't know how long he has to go at Everton, but it wouldn't surprise me if some of the biggest clubs in the world want him. What I really like about Tim is that he has so much pride for his country. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. He would crawl over broken glass to play for the Socceroos."
Tim Times
1979 Born in Sydney to a Samoan mother and English father
1993 Plays for Samoa, aged 14
1997 Moves to England, aged 17. Joins Millwall from Sydney United
2004 Scores winner in FA Cup semi-final against Sunderland but loses 3-0 to Man Utd in the final; Makes debut for Socceroos; Moves to Everton for £1.5m; Becomes Oceania player of the year
2006 Scores Australia’s first World Cup goals in 3-1 victory against Japan; Nominated for the Ballon D’or
2007 Becomes first Australian to score at Asian Cup finals
2008 Makes hand cuff gesture in tribute to older brother Sean in prison
2009 Equals Dixie Dean’s Merseyside derby goals record; Sets up football academies in Australia; Inspires Australia to World Cup 2010 qualification and Everton to FA Cup final?
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Friday, May 1, 2009
Madison Readers Questions, May 2009
Twelve months ago I split up with my partner of 4 years because I met someone else. However almost as soon as we ended our relationship I knew it was a mistake. It’s taken almost a year for me to persuade him to let me have another chance but . now I’m worried that our relationship can never go back to what it was. Is it ever a good idea to try again with someone who’s heart you’ve broken?
Very rarely, as a rule. But that doesn’t stop us trying to be the exception that proves it. Hindsight can make the past look rose-tinted, but it’s important to remember that there must have been something not quite right – otherwise you wouldn’t have been tempted elsewhere. I’ve ‘gone back’ to a failed relationship before and it didn’t work out, but I always operate on the basis that if you don’t try, you will never know. And while you don’t know, you can never have closure; the if-onlys and the but-maybes will gnaw away at you. There is only one way to find out for sure and that is to try again – but do so with a realistic mindset because it will not be the same as it was before. Twelve months is a long time and a lot will have changed about him, especially if his heart has hardened up with scar tissue. He will be more fragile and guarded. You might find him a bit colder, more distant, mistrustful, occasionally hurtful. I know I was. These are self-protection measures, the actions of someone who is being careful not to let himself get hurt again. Take it slowly and be prepared to give a little more ground than you ordinarily would. But if at first you don’t succeed, try not to try again – for everyone’s sake.I recently met a lovely guy at a mutual friend’s party two weeks ago. We got chatting and after discovering we live in the same neighbourhood, he said: “We should meet for coffee sometime” However we didn’t make any firm plans and at the end of the evening he didn’t ask for my number. Was it just friendly ‘guy talk’ or should I get in contact with him. And if so, what’s a grown-up way to ask a man out?
You need to engineer another ‘chance’ meeting. Invent an excuse for a few drinks – something where you are the centre of attention, ideally – and get your mutual friend to make sure the lovely guy in question comes along. Ensure that a lot of your friends are there so you look really popular and so that it doesn’t feel like a high-pressure set up. You could let your mutual friend in on the fact that you quite like him so a subtle hint can be dropped. Guys like some encouragement so long as they don’t feel they are being aggressively pursued. Once you’ve had some Dutch courage (but before you’ve had too much), go and say hi and have a line of conversation to back up the hello. At an appropriate juncture, say: “Oh we never did arrange to go for that coffee. Here, call my phone and then I’ll save your number.” That’s casual but decisive and keeps you in control. If nothing more happens that night, leave it a full day and then text him: “Fancy meeting up for a drink?” Keep it simple and keep him guessing. Make sure you go for an alcoholic drink, though. Coffee is awkward, it makes your breath smell, neither party knows where it is leading. Alcohol removes inhibitions and sometimes clothes.
Me and my partner are due to get married in the next few months and have been putting our guest list together. He wants an ex girlfriend to come, I don’t. Who’s right?
You are – 100 per cent. You’ve already got a million things to worry about on your wedding day; you don’t need an extra one. If her being there is going to make you feel at all uncomfortable, then you are perfectly within your rights to calmly but firmly ask your fiancé to ditch the bitch. End of.
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My quarter-life crisis
Teenage angst is so 15 years ago – Dan Rookwood gets to the hurt of turning 30
By the time this magazine finds its way into your hands, I will have crossed over into a whole new tick-box on the questionnaires. I’ll be [cough] 30. It’s become as unmentionable chez moi as ‘the Scottish play’ for superstitious thespians. I’m convinced my pacifistic fear of hitting the big three-oh is making me fall apart: mentally, physically, literally.
Nearly 30 = getting old. It means that my chances of playing professional sport have well and truly receded with my hairline. And it means that I finally need to start facing up to my responsibilities. Turning 30 is a life landmark that demands you check your personal compass and look at the direction you’re heading. As such, it’s a right royal pain in the arse.
The age seesaw is virtually impossible to balance. You spend the first 21 years of your life wishing you looked older and the subsequent however-many wishing you looked younger. No sooner have you come of age than it’s gone again.
One of the bittersweet by-products of getting older is a tendency towards a fond-but-false recollection of one’s own halcyon days. “When I were a lad…” I had a golden age of invincibility from the years of 23 to 26 – after the awkward skin and skinniness stage, but before the inevitable onset of baldness and paunch – when I could eat and drink and spend and sow wild oats with impunity born of a liberating disregard for consequences. It was bloody great. I now appreciate that it’s exactly this kind of rosy-specs revisionism (and the panic it elicits) that causes middle-aged men to spunk their load on a new Ferrari and/or their secretary.
I’m tearing my hair out with worry that I’m going bald. When I brush my hair in the morning, it is off the pillow and into the bin. And I recently published a second edition of my chin. In fact, I feel like my face is on one of those time-lapse cameras they have in nature docos, ageing me before my very eyes like the Picture of Dorian Gray while David Attenborough whispers earnestly in the background.
It’s not solely about superficial vanity, of course; it’s also about a deeper, more insidious and corrosive bacterium of modern day life: status. My hang-ups about age are weighed down by a heavy, gnawing, ever-present ache that maybe I’ve not quite achieved what I ought to by this age, and that if I’m not careful, life will pass me by. Good grief, I’m nearly 30 and yet I am still fumbling through each day like a blind man patting the walls for an exit he can't find. By the time my dad was 30, he had a house and car, a wife and two kids, and an idea of what he was doing. I have none of those things.
But I do draw a modicum of comfort from the knowledge that I am far from alone. There are significant declines in the milestones today’s typical 20-somethings have reached. The often traumatic transition to adulthood is taking longer than ever before because of job-hopping, delayed marriage and a increasing tendency towards indecision – technically known as General Fuckwittery. According to census data, the average Australian aged 18-30 has had seven different jobs.
What constitutes adulthood? The significant shift from dependence to independence has not been closely studied in Australia so indulge me while I extrapolate from the American Sociological Association’s findings. Using benchmarks such as graduating; leaving mum and dad; finding a full-time job; getting hitched; having a kid; and attaining financial independence, the ASA found new trends. In 2000, 46 per cent of women and 31 percent of men had reached those markers by age 30. In 1960, 77 per cent of women and 65 per cent of men had reached those same markers by age 30. Among 25-year-old women, 70 per cent in 1960 had attained traditional adult status, as defined by reaching those benchmarks, whereas in 2000 only 25 per cent had done so.
Why? We have grown sick with affluenza. Each generation has a higher ‘life expectancy’ than the last. But the truth is, despite these great expectations, today's 20-somethings will be the first kids who won't do better than their parents. The cost and competition of living has never been higher. A university education doesn't deliver the same promises that it once did – with a 53 per cent increase in enrollment since 1970, the qualified competition for a job has intensified. Our grasping greed for instant gratification means that we are not as financially or emotionally secure and mature as mum and dad. With a record $42 billion-worth of crippling debt racked up in 2007, us Australians are living dangerously on credit – averaging $3,000 per person. Just last year, I had to ask my retired mother if she could pay off my Visa bill and I’d pay her back interest-free. I did the same thing the year I left university. So that’s nine years and no discernable financial progress. It’s embarrassing, but increasingly common. Nearly two-thirds of people in their early 20s are financially supported by their parents, while 40 per cent still receive assistance in their late 20s, according to the ASA.
One of the greatest things about being a man as opposed to a woman is that there is no alarm on our ticking biological clocks. So to a certain extent, we can take our time over getting our act together. But perhaps the absence of a natural deadline is unhelpful and unproductive. As the ASA’s stats would suggest, it is producing a Peter Pandemic, a generation of socially immature adultolescent males.
I began my 20s as a straggle-bearded idealistic revolutionary who thought he could change the world. I’m ending them as a realist who knows he can’t. But that doesn’t mean that I am powerless to get my house in order, both literally and metaphorically. To that end, I have a means: I’m finally paying off my debts and have even managed to save some money for the first time since I was about ten. My girlfriend and I will soon have enough in our joint savings account for a deposit. Oh yeah, it’s pretty rock ‘n’ roll round here, I can tell you.
Despite the onset of scintillating conversations about tracker mortgages and of increasingly painful hangovers, I’m finding that taking responsibility and control of my life at long last is making me feel better about getting older. Maybe turning 30 isn’t so bad after all. At least that’s what mummy said when I went over to pick up my washing last week.
Read more...
By the time this magazine finds its way into your hands, I will have crossed over into a whole new tick-box on the questionnaires. I’ll be [cough] 30. It’s become as unmentionable chez moi as ‘the Scottish play’ for superstitious thespians. I’m convinced my pacifistic fear of hitting the big three-oh is making me fall apart: mentally, physically, literally.
Nearly 30 = getting old. It means that my chances of playing professional sport have well and truly receded with my hairline. And it means that I finally need to start facing up to my responsibilities. Turning 30 is a life landmark that demands you check your personal compass and look at the direction you’re heading. As such, it’s a right royal pain in the arse.
The age seesaw is virtually impossible to balance. You spend the first 21 years of your life wishing you looked older and the subsequent however-many wishing you looked younger. No sooner have you come of age than it’s gone again.
One of the bittersweet by-products of getting older is a tendency towards a fond-but-false recollection of one’s own halcyon days. “When I were a lad…” I had a golden age of invincibility from the years of 23 to 26 – after the awkward skin and skinniness stage, but before the inevitable onset of baldness and paunch – when I could eat and drink and spend and sow wild oats with impunity born of a liberating disregard for consequences. It was bloody great. I now appreciate that it’s exactly this kind of rosy-specs revisionism (and the panic it elicits) that causes middle-aged men to spunk their load on a new Ferrari and/or their secretary.
I’m tearing my hair out with worry that I’m going bald. When I brush my hair in the morning, it is off the pillow and into the bin. And I recently published a second edition of my chin. In fact, I feel like my face is on one of those time-lapse cameras they have in nature docos, ageing me before my very eyes like the Picture of Dorian Gray while David Attenborough whispers earnestly in the background.
It’s not solely about superficial vanity, of course; it’s also about a deeper, more insidious and corrosive bacterium of modern day life: status. My hang-ups about age are weighed down by a heavy, gnawing, ever-present ache that maybe I’ve not quite achieved what I ought to by this age, and that if I’m not careful, life will pass me by. Good grief, I’m nearly 30 and yet I am still fumbling through each day like a blind man patting the walls for an exit he can't find. By the time my dad was 30, he had a house and car, a wife and two kids, and an idea of what he was doing. I have none of those things.
But I do draw a modicum of comfort from the knowledge that I am far from alone. There are significant declines in the milestones today’s typical 20-somethings have reached. The often traumatic transition to adulthood is taking longer than ever before because of job-hopping, delayed marriage and a increasing tendency towards indecision – technically known as General Fuckwittery. According to census data, the average Australian aged 18-30 has had seven different jobs.
What constitutes adulthood? The significant shift from dependence to independence has not been closely studied in Australia so indulge me while I extrapolate from the American Sociological Association’s findings. Using benchmarks such as graduating; leaving mum and dad; finding a full-time job; getting hitched; having a kid; and attaining financial independence, the ASA found new trends. In 2000, 46 per cent of women and 31 percent of men had reached those markers by age 30. In 1960, 77 per cent of women and 65 per cent of men had reached those same markers by age 30. Among 25-year-old women, 70 per cent in 1960 had attained traditional adult status, as defined by reaching those benchmarks, whereas in 2000 only 25 per cent had done so.
Why? We have grown sick with affluenza. Each generation has a higher ‘life expectancy’ than the last. But the truth is, despite these great expectations, today's 20-somethings will be the first kids who won't do better than their parents. The cost and competition of living has never been higher. A university education doesn't deliver the same promises that it once did – with a 53 per cent increase in enrollment since 1970, the qualified competition for a job has intensified. Our grasping greed for instant gratification means that we are not as financially or emotionally secure and mature as mum and dad. With a record $42 billion-worth of crippling debt racked up in 2007, us Australians are living dangerously on credit – averaging $3,000 per person. Just last year, I had to ask my retired mother if she could pay off my Visa bill and I’d pay her back interest-free. I did the same thing the year I left university. So that’s nine years and no discernable financial progress. It’s embarrassing, but increasingly common. Nearly two-thirds of people in their early 20s are financially supported by their parents, while 40 per cent still receive assistance in their late 20s, according to the ASA.
One of the greatest things about being a man as opposed to a woman is that there is no alarm on our ticking biological clocks. So to a certain extent, we can take our time over getting our act together. But perhaps the absence of a natural deadline is unhelpful and unproductive. As the ASA’s stats would suggest, it is producing a Peter Pandemic, a generation of socially immature adultolescent males.
I began my 20s as a straggle-bearded idealistic revolutionary who thought he could change the world. I’m ending them as a realist who knows he can’t. But that doesn’t mean that I am powerless to get my house in order, both literally and metaphorically. To that end, I have a means: I’m finally paying off my debts and have even managed to save some money for the first time since I was about ten. My girlfriend and I will soon have enough in our joint savings account for a deposit. Oh yeah, it’s pretty rock ‘n’ roll round here, I can tell you.
Despite the onset of scintillating conversations about tracker mortgages and of increasingly painful hangovers, I’m finding that taking responsibility and control of my life at long last is making me feel better about getting older. Maybe turning 30 isn’t so bad after all. At least that’s what mummy said when I went over to pick up my washing last week.
Read more...
What’s all the fuzz about?
Trimming your pubic hair is nothing to be ashamed ofHere is the news. The Australian bush is being eradicated at an alarming rate. This mass deforestation is taking place with such rapidity, it’s worthy of its own Kyoto treaty. That’s right: research suggests that few people in Australia have pubes any more.
The evolutionary scale of ‘primate change’ that goes from ape to cave dweller to Pete Sampras to modern-day GQ reader is going to have to budge up for a new age of man: a post-pubescent narcissistic waxed work who has clipped, shaved, plucked or lasered off all his body hair. Well, that’s if the latest statistics are to be believed anyway.
You always have to take these surveys with a whole sea full of salt – especially when they have been conducted by a marketing company whose job it is to create a market for the product they are pushing through ‘majority rules’. If they can convince you of a sweeping trend, then peer pressure compels the odd ones out to follow it. So when I saw a press release from Philips for their new electric razor called the BodyGroom, the cynic in me scoffed at the results of their supporting survey that claim that almost half of men admit to shaving their armpits; 41 per cent trim their crotch region; 29 per cent shave their legs. Sure. Who were they asking? Olympic swimmers? Strip-o-grams? Retired circus freaks? What a load of hairy bollocks, I thought, as I absent-mindedly scratched my hairy bollocks.
But in a comparatively agenda-free 2009 sex survey in Time Out Sydney – which I should point out up front is the magazine that I edit – 85 per cent of respondents ’fessed up to grooming their pubic hair. Admittedly this was an online poll of a thousand Sydneysiders, several of whom probably never get out of their bikinis. But when you break the results down further, they are pretty revealing: 96 per cent of women tend their lady-garden. Fur enough. But a more surprising 74 per cent of men get out the pinkie shears on a regular basis. And that number pushes 88 per cent when you look at the hairless figures of men aged 30 and under.
Emboldened by this recent consensus of pubic opinion, I can now confidently expose that I have been trimming my private privet for years. Not continuously you understand; I occasionally do other things too.
What’s the point of men trimming their body hair? Part of it is fashion: the old school 70s medallion men like George “Hairy Chest” Best have been superseded by the smoother operators of the naughties such as David Beckham. Part of it is vanity: trimming back body hair gives you better muscle definition, allows you to tan more evenly and reduces body odour and chafing. And part of it is insecurity: the real reason for pruning the foliage down there is apparently to make the stem look bigger. “Trimming back pubic hair is thought to add an extra ‘optical inch’ to your manhood,” says BodyGroom’s website. I probably get about 100 emails a week from spammers claiming they can add size to my penis. This is the first time the proposition has been bona fide. And now that people like Philips are kindly manufacturing the equipment-enhancing equipment, men no longer have to risk accidental vasectomy hoisting their ballbag over the sink and chopping artlessly at their anal beard with the girlfriend’s nail scissors.
When I was at school, pubic hair was something to be proudly cultivated. It literally separated the men from the boys. My older brother once told me to rub Blood & Bone into my crotch. Which I did. And the only reason I ate my greens was because my mum said it would put hairs on my chest. Although now I think about it, she also said that to my sister.
In You Only Live Twice, an hirsute James Bond smugly explains to a pubeless Tiger Tanaka the secret of his potent attraction to women while taking a bath with him. “Japaneshe proverb shay: ‘Bird never make nesht in bare tree,’” says Sean Connery. That may have been so back in 1967, Sean, but these days if you want a bird in the hand, it’s worth trimming your man-bush. Just ask 00-shaven Daniel Craig.
Body hair is an evolutionary hangover from prehistoric times. It used to make sense. Or rather scents: it trapped pheromones to attract the opposite sex. But now we have alcohol to do that instead. It also helped keep cave dwellers warm until the invention of things called clothes and central heating.
As anyone who ever came across their dad’s vintage porn stash as a kid will remember, pubic hair used to be big. But log on to YouPorn today and you won’t see a ‘map of Tassie’ on the girls so much as a map of Adelaide: i.e. there’s fuck-all down there. While for their part, the blokes have either had a severe BSC – a back, sack and crack wax ¬– or they have sculpted their pubes into something resembling an ornamental bonsai arboretum. You’ve not seen such ridiculous-looking bush since George Dubyer was in power. Although he didn’t need any help when it came to looking like a bigger dick than he already was.
Let me be clear: I am not for one minute suggesting that we take our grooming tips from YouPorn. Otherwise we would have a ridiculous surfeit of potty-mouthed, peroxide-blond, perma-tanned, pubeless preeners. That’s what Cronulla is for.
But done with subtlety, a little trim of the hair down there to keep things neat and tidy will give you a more flattering silhouette. The bald fact is: when it comes to your meat and two veg, going ‘organic’ doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s all about presentation. So gents, have a bit of pride and groom.
Read more...
The evolutionary scale of ‘primate change’ that goes from ape to cave dweller to Pete Sampras to modern-day GQ reader is going to have to budge up for a new age of man: a post-pubescent narcissistic waxed work who has clipped, shaved, plucked or lasered off all his body hair. Well, that’s if the latest statistics are to be believed anyway.
You always have to take these surveys with a whole sea full of salt – especially when they have been conducted by a marketing company whose job it is to create a market for the product they are pushing through ‘majority rules’. If they can convince you of a sweeping trend, then peer pressure compels the odd ones out to follow it. So when I saw a press release from Philips for their new electric razor called the BodyGroom, the cynic in me scoffed at the results of their supporting survey that claim that almost half of men admit to shaving their armpits; 41 per cent trim their crotch region; 29 per cent shave their legs. Sure. Who were they asking? Olympic swimmers? Strip-o-grams? Retired circus freaks? What a load of hairy bollocks, I thought, as I absent-mindedly scratched my hairy bollocks.
But in a comparatively agenda-free 2009 sex survey in Time Out Sydney – which I should point out up front is the magazine that I edit – 85 per cent of respondents ’fessed up to grooming their pubic hair. Admittedly this was an online poll of a thousand Sydneysiders, several of whom probably never get out of their bikinis. But when you break the results down further, they are pretty revealing: 96 per cent of women tend their lady-garden. Fur enough. But a more surprising 74 per cent of men get out the pinkie shears on a regular basis. And that number pushes 88 per cent when you look at the hairless figures of men aged 30 and under.
Emboldened by this recent consensus of pubic opinion, I can now confidently expose that I have been trimming my private privet for years. Not continuously you understand; I occasionally do other things too.
What’s the point of men trimming their body hair? Part of it is fashion: the old school 70s medallion men like George “Hairy Chest” Best have been superseded by the smoother operators of the naughties such as David Beckham. Part of it is vanity: trimming back body hair gives you better muscle definition, allows you to tan more evenly and reduces body odour and chafing. And part of it is insecurity: the real reason for pruning the foliage down there is apparently to make the stem look bigger. “Trimming back pubic hair is thought to add an extra ‘optical inch’ to your manhood,” says BodyGroom’s website. I probably get about 100 emails a week from spammers claiming they can add size to my penis. This is the first time the proposition has been bona fide. And now that people like Philips are kindly manufacturing the equipment-enhancing equipment, men no longer have to risk accidental vasectomy hoisting their ballbag over the sink and chopping artlessly at their anal beard with the girlfriend’s nail scissors.
When I was at school, pubic hair was something to be proudly cultivated. It literally separated the men from the boys. My older brother once told me to rub Blood & Bone into my crotch. Which I did. And the only reason I ate my greens was because my mum said it would put hairs on my chest. Although now I think about it, she also said that to my sister.
In You Only Live Twice, an hirsute James Bond smugly explains to a pubeless Tiger Tanaka the secret of his potent attraction to women while taking a bath with him. “Japaneshe proverb shay: ‘Bird never make nesht in bare tree,’” says Sean Connery. That may have been so back in 1967, Sean, but these days if you want a bird in the hand, it’s worth trimming your man-bush. Just ask 00-shaven Daniel Craig.
Body hair is an evolutionary hangover from prehistoric times. It used to make sense. Or rather scents: it trapped pheromones to attract the opposite sex. But now we have alcohol to do that instead. It also helped keep cave dwellers warm until the invention of things called clothes and central heating.
As anyone who ever came across their dad’s vintage porn stash as a kid will remember, pubic hair used to be big. But log on to YouPorn today and you won’t see a ‘map of Tassie’ on the girls so much as a map of Adelaide: i.e. there’s fuck-all down there. While for their part, the blokes have either had a severe BSC – a back, sack and crack wax ¬– or they have sculpted their pubes into something resembling an ornamental bonsai arboretum. You’ve not seen such ridiculous-looking bush since George Dubyer was in power. Although he didn’t need any help when it came to looking like a bigger dick than he already was.
Let me be clear: I am not for one minute suggesting that we take our grooming tips from YouPorn. Otherwise we would have a ridiculous surfeit of potty-mouthed, peroxide-blond, perma-tanned, pubeless preeners. That’s what Cronulla is for.
But done with subtlety, a little trim of the hair down there to keep things neat and tidy will give you a more flattering silhouette. The bald fact is: when it comes to your meat and two veg, going ‘organic’ doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s all about presentation. So gents, have a bit of pride and groom.
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The new age of chivalry
You hold the door open, you pay for dinner, you defend her honour. But are you wasting your time? The rules have changed, gentlemen. Have you noticed how women want sexual equality – but only on their terms, thereby nullifying the whole notion of equality? They demand to earn the same wages, and yet they still expect us to pay for dinner. There’s no such thing as “woman’s work” any more; we’re required to change the nappy and hang the washing out. That’s fine, but when the car needs an oil change or the bins have to be taken out – well, that’s “a man’s job”, obviously. Women want to have their cake and eat it – and they’re not even prepared to bake it themselves anymore.
This isn’t some chauvinistic rant about how women should know their place – mainly because I like my scrotum precisely where it is: attached to my personage. My point is that it can difficult for us blokes to know how to treat girls these days. Sorry, I shouldn’t say “girls”. I made the mistake of calling the women in my office “girls” the other day – and I nearly got lynched for being patronising. So I asked them if they even knew what the word “patronising” meant…
This helps to demonstrate what a tightrope made of eggshells us men now have to negotiate. In the bygone age of chivalry, where men were gallant knights and women were damsels in distress, we knew what our roles were and what was expected of us. They dropped their hanky and we would rush to their aid, lancing dragons left, right and centre and challenging any ne’er-do-wells who got in our way to duels at dawn.
The goalposts of gentlemanliness seem to have shifted even in my lifetime. I was brought up to treat women a certain way: to offer up my seat, to open doors, to try and remember their name the morning after a one-night stand. You know, the basics.
But now that women are our equals – at least when it suits them – the rules of chivalry have changed. Some women might want you to throw down your coat so they don’t get their shoes muddy. Others might look at you as if to say: “What the hell did you just ruin your coat for, stupid bastard?” So what are we supposed to do?
A recent incident springs to mind. We’re having lunch for a friend’s special birthday. She’s a big girl, it must be said, but it’s her 30th and she decides she’s going to have the chocolate fondant for pudding. The bloke at the next table snorts and – in the kind of affected stage whisper that he knows we will hear – says how disgusting it is that “obese people have no self-restraint”.
I see my friend’s face flush with embarrassment. I feel mine do the same with anger. There is no way I am going to let that go, especially on her 30th. My knuckles whiten, the vein in my neck pops out, but just as I begin to get to my feet to force-feed this shit-for-brains a napkin for his pudding, I catch my friend’s eye. It is welling with tears, but nevertheless it says: ‘please don’t make a scene’. She has more self-restraint than I do.
And she’s right, of course. Smacking this guy in the teeth would give his words the indelibility of a never-to-be-forgotten birthday anecdote. “And then Dan overreacted and got us all thrown out of the restaurant…” Far from helping, I’d be making it worse – rubbing salt into a wound rather than a wine stain.
The topic of table conversation is swiftly and adroitly altered by my other half, but I tune out. I sit and seethe in silence. I’m lost in a fantasy trance of what I should have said, what I should have done, how I should have dragged that punk out by his tie and punched him off the side of the wharf before coolly returning to my seat as if nothing untoward has happened. My girlfriend senses my tension and squeezes my hand like a hypnotist bringing me back into the room. When I snap out of it, I realise my heart is racing and my breathing has quickened.
Men are hard-wired to protect. Traditional, old-fashioned, throw-down-the-gauntlet, let’s-take-this-outside gallantry would have demanded that I settle this matter like a man. But that is not necessarily the best course of action. Hell, in some cultures, people get killed for dissing a woman.
Suppressing the impulse to intervene requires a strength of character that I evidently don’t have. It eats away at me later as I rehearse the incident on loop in my head. So I talk to my girlfriend about it. If it had been her that was insulted, I don’t think I could have held back. Nevertheless, I tell her I feel emasculated by the inaction. I feel less of a man. I, I, I… As I talk, I realise I’ve made it about me, about a need to feel in control, to feel like the alpha male.
You absolutely have to have a code of conduct for this kind of situation. It’s important. But you don’t have to follow it to the letter like some unwavering jobsworth with a clipboard and a ticklist.
I believe the impulse to protect is a correct one – but it needs to be harnessed, and it mustn’t be self-serving. You cannot have a Pavlovian, one-size-fits-all response. In the new age of chivalry, there are modern variables that need to be measured and weighed. You have to take the temperature of the situation. You have to feel the texture, read the context. And you have to do all this in that blinkered instant when your hair-trigger has been tripped and you just want to punch the fucker out.
Sometimes you step in, set things straight, punch fuckers out. Sometimes you don’t. And the only way you’ll know what’s appropriate is to read the situation first in that split-second.
True chivalry is not about you and your need to control the situation and make you feel like a real man. True chivalry is about her and what she needs you do. Sometimes she needs you to do nothing – and when every impulse in your body wants you to do something, that can take a lot more courage.
Months later, I speak to my friend about the birthday incident for the first time. She hasn’t forgotten. She thanks me for wanting to help but also thanks me for not weighing in, arms windmilling. She uses the word “gentlemanly”. I smile and give her a little bow. I tell her I will be there if she ever needs me. She smiles back and says that’s all a man ever needs to offer and all a woman ever needs to know.
Read more...
This isn’t some chauvinistic rant about how women should know their place – mainly because I like my scrotum precisely where it is: attached to my personage. My point is that it can difficult for us blokes to know how to treat girls these days. Sorry, I shouldn’t say “girls”. I made the mistake of calling the women in my office “girls” the other day – and I nearly got lynched for being patronising. So I asked them if they even knew what the word “patronising” meant…
This helps to demonstrate what a tightrope made of eggshells us men now have to negotiate. In the bygone age of chivalry, where men were gallant knights and women were damsels in distress, we knew what our roles were and what was expected of us. They dropped their hanky and we would rush to their aid, lancing dragons left, right and centre and challenging any ne’er-do-wells who got in our way to duels at dawn.
The goalposts of gentlemanliness seem to have shifted even in my lifetime. I was brought up to treat women a certain way: to offer up my seat, to open doors, to try and remember their name the morning after a one-night stand. You know, the basics.
But now that women are our equals – at least when it suits them – the rules of chivalry have changed. Some women might want you to throw down your coat so they don’t get their shoes muddy. Others might look at you as if to say: “What the hell did you just ruin your coat for, stupid bastard?” So what are we supposed to do?
A recent incident springs to mind. We’re having lunch for a friend’s special birthday. She’s a big girl, it must be said, but it’s her 30th and she decides she’s going to have the chocolate fondant for pudding. The bloke at the next table snorts and – in the kind of affected stage whisper that he knows we will hear – says how disgusting it is that “obese people have no self-restraint”.
I see my friend’s face flush with embarrassment. I feel mine do the same with anger. There is no way I am going to let that go, especially on her 30th. My knuckles whiten, the vein in my neck pops out, but just as I begin to get to my feet to force-feed this shit-for-brains a napkin for his pudding, I catch my friend’s eye. It is welling with tears, but nevertheless it says: ‘please don’t make a scene’. She has more self-restraint than I do.
And she’s right, of course. Smacking this guy in the teeth would give his words the indelibility of a never-to-be-forgotten birthday anecdote. “And then Dan overreacted and got us all thrown out of the restaurant…” Far from helping, I’d be making it worse – rubbing salt into a wound rather than a wine stain.
The topic of table conversation is swiftly and adroitly altered by my other half, but I tune out. I sit and seethe in silence. I’m lost in a fantasy trance of what I should have said, what I should have done, how I should have dragged that punk out by his tie and punched him off the side of the wharf before coolly returning to my seat as if nothing untoward has happened. My girlfriend senses my tension and squeezes my hand like a hypnotist bringing me back into the room. When I snap out of it, I realise my heart is racing and my breathing has quickened.
Men are hard-wired to protect. Traditional, old-fashioned, throw-down-the-gauntlet, let’s-take-this-outside gallantry would have demanded that I settle this matter like a man. But that is not necessarily the best course of action. Hell, in some cultures, people get killed for dissing a woman.
Suppressing the impulse to intervene requires a strength of character that I evidently don’t have. It eats away at me later as I rehearse the incident on loop in my head. So I talk to my girlfriend about it. If it had been her that was insulted, I don’t think I could have held back. Nevertheless, I tell her I feel emasculated by the inaction. I feel less of a man. I, I, I… As I talk, I realise I’ve made it about me, about a need to feel in control, to feel like the alpha male.
You absolutely have to have a code of conduct for this kind of situation. It’s important. But you don’t have to follow it to the letter like some unwavering jobsworth with a clipboard and a ticklist.
I believe the impulse to protect is a correct one – but it needs to be harnessed, and it mustn’t be self-serving. You cannot have a Pavlovian, one-size-fits-all response. In the new age of chivalry, there are modern variables that need to be measured and weighed. You have to take the temperature of the situation. You have to feel the texture, read the context. And you have to do all this in that blinkered instant when your hair-trigger has been tripped and you just want to punch the fucker out.
Sometimes you step in, set things straight, punch fuckers out. Sometimes you don’t. And the only way you’ll know what’s appropriate is to read the situation first in that split-second.
True chivalry is not about you and your need to control the situation and make you feel like a real man. True chivalry is about her and what she needs you do. Sometimes she needs you to do nothing – and when every impulse in your body wants you to do something, that can take a lot more courage.
Months later, I speak to my friend about the birthday incident for the first time. She hasn’t forgotten. She thanks me for wanting to help but also thanks me for not weighing in, arms windmilling. She uses the word “gentlemanly”. I smile and give her a little bow. I tell her I will be there if she ever needs me. She smiles back and says that’s all a man ever needs to offer and all a woman ever needs to know.
Read more...
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Russell Brand - the full interview
Incorrigible raconteur. Disreputable bon viveur. Inexhaustible shaggeur. Russell Brand is the unashamed star of UK stand-up comedy, Hollywood movies like Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and one of the biggest scandals in the history of the BBC. On the eve of his Sydney shows, he speaks exclusively to Time Out Sydney's Dan RookwoodBy Dan Rookwood.
Did you know your Enmore Theatre show sold out in 30 minutes here? I'm really proud and pleased that I can develop a following in another hemisphere, because stand-up comedy is more important to me than life. More important than eating, sleeping. I get a lot of interesting requests and comments on social networking sites from the people of Australia, some of which I'm very much looking forward to following up.
You've been to Sydney fairly recently, haven't you? Was that just a holiday? I came out to Sydney towards the end of last year and had an amazing time. I was only there for two days but it was terrific. A beautiful, clean, expansive blue-skied place. Yeah, I popped over for a few days because I was seeing an Australian woman, the ever lovely, beautiful Teresa Palmer [with whom Brand co-starred in Bedtime Stories].What happened there? Nothing, really. I still adore her.
Do you have to change your act much when you take it to different countries? Yes, Dan, but good comedy is universal, that's why great comedians have international appeal, generally speaking. If what you're doing is incredibly parochial, it's difficult to succeed, but one has to temper the language, the references and learn where certain things have to be given more exposition.
Do you still struggle to get through customs these days? Yes. I get stopped quite a lot. Even though I've not taken drugs or had a drink and haven't been arrested for over six years now, I think I still have a gait and manner of a man who might be about to do something illegal.
Did you really travel with drugs up your arse? Yes, Dan, it's a necessity as a drug addict. It's more important than your wash bag really. There's no sense going away without drugs if you're a drug addict because it's not a holiday. It doesn't matter how nice a place you go to, you will still be shivering on the beach. I know you can get drugs on holiday but as an addict you need them as soon as you get off the plane, so you can't muck about.
When was the last time you were body searched? Seven years ago, when I was thrown off a plane in Barcelona for causing a ruckus. Not full cavity, thankfully, otherwise they would have found I was carrying heroin and marijuana. I generally travelled with drugs up my arse in the belief that if customs officers decided to pursue this unsavoury line of inquiry, my day would already be ruined, and the discovery of crack or heroin couldn't make it much worse.
When was the last time you were arrested? May Day 2001 when I stripped naked at an anti-globalisation protest. I've not been arrested or had any confrontation with the police since I've been off drugs. Obviously, not a coincidence.
You've been sacked in pretty dramatic fashion from most of your previous jobs haven't you? [See 'Brand on the Run' panel.] Perhaps most notably when you turned up to work at MTV the day after 9/11 dressed as Osama bin Laden and introduced your heroin dealer, Gritty, and his eight-year-old son to our own Kylie Minogue. Kylie was our guest on the show that day. Me, Gritty and his son Edwin went into the toilet and the two older members of our party smoked some crack. Edwin didn't have any. He was just a little boy and seemed quite upbeat about life. Children don't need drugs because they have sweets. We blearily swaggered out of the disabled toilet and on the other side of the foyer I saw Kylie, all famous and everything. Before I knew it, I'd walked across the foyer, made a kind of "wooh-ooh" noise – in a mum-across-a-neighbour's-fence sort of way – and said: "Kylie, meet Gritty". And there's me standing beside them, dressed as Osama bin Laden. I thought: 'It don't get much better than this.' And it didn't, 'cos they sacked me about two days later.Kylie is royalty here. To Aussies, that was ruder than Paul Keating goosing the Queen. I would argue with that. There is no way that any transgression toward Kylie Minogue could equal what Paul Keating did to Her Majesty. What he did to our queen that day – he might as well have took a five pound note and rubbed it round the rim of his helmet.
Have you seen Kylie since? No, I've not seen dear, beloved Kylie. The last time I saw her, I was dressed like Osama bin Laden and I was introducing her to a crack and heroin dealer. That might be why it's the last time I saw her. She might be seriously avoiding me.
Just last year you resigned from your BBC Radio 2 show after broadcasting messages you left on Andrew Sachs' voicemail [the actor who played Manuel in Fawlty Towers] apologising for having sex with his granddaughter. Thirty thousand complaints and condemnation from the prime minister. Nice work. Some commentators said it was the biggest UK media story since the death of Diana. Certainly in terms of newspaper inches - if that is any way to judge anything other than the size of your willy or someone's orbs - it certainly was big.
You apologised to Sachs, but have you spoken to his granddaughter since? No. I can't envisage circumstances where that would be required.
All these scandals don't seem to have held you back. It all just seems to have made you more famous. Yes, that's fair. If people want to sack me, they should be prepared for the consequences. Really, I'm a good person, I care deeply about people, I'm just motivated by a peculiar cocktail of love and vanity.
Given that you haven't been able to hold down a single job until recently, it's pretty impressive that you now have several on the go. Are you making up for lost time? Yeah, very much. I've got to do all of it, because I was unemployed and unemployable for such a significant portion of my life. I'm trying to make up for eight to ten years.
You were bulimic and into self-harm as teenager. Have you ever been diagnosed with any mental illnesses? Yes, depression and manic depression and more latterly, bipolar. Attention deficit disorder, hyperactivity. It's difficult to know which of those diagnoses are correct because most of the time I was very young and on drugs.
Are you happier these days – or is it still up and down?
Yes, much happier. This is the closest I have got to feeling fulfilled.
Your past drug addictions are well documented. Mainly by you in your autobiography, My Booky Wook. Are you still an addict? I would never, ever be arrogant enough to say that addiction has been conquered, I just don't take drugs anymore or drink, one day at a time. Hopefully it can go into a form of remission if one pursues a programme of recovery but I think addiction is a life-long condition.
How long have you been clean for now from both drink and drugs? Six years and two months.
Do you still get the urge to take drugs? Sometimes. When you finish work late or you've just done a gig and you think "What am I going to do now? Go to bed? That's when I miss it. You feel like you need an experience, some sort of punctuation: an orgasm, an epiphany, something.
How do you manage to control that addiction now? With some sort of transient erotic experience that's both consensual and blissful and conveys nothing but glory to the participants.
You're doing a million different things all at once. Is this indicative of an addictive personality? Yes, I think it probably is an indication. I think it's very difficult not to transfer whatever proclivity that leads a person into addiction into other areas of life: romantic life, professional life or even domestic life. Sometimes I've acted like a man possessed.
Is your ambition stronger than your addictions? Yes, it certainly is, Dan. I finally gave up drink and drugs because my ambition is the most powerful force within me. So once people convinced me that behaviour might become damaging to my career, I found it easier to think of it as a flaw that needed to be remedied. I'm keen to align my ambition with activities and projects that are valuable beyond self-fulfilment, because otherwise my life would be about shallow acquisitions of accolades and tin baubles when I could make it the happiness and fulfilment of huge numbers of people with just a tiny adjustment.
Talking of the fulfilment of huge numbers of people, your sex life is also well documented. Mainly by the tabloids. Are you a sex addict? I don't know. I think I have problems with addiction as we just discussed a moment ago, and this can be transferred to most areas of my life if I'm not cautious but you know, I don't like to undermine the experiences I have by putting that tag on it. I don't think it's helpful if I imply that everything I do is regrettable in an area. Frankly it isn't. A lot of it is bloody brilliant and lovely.
When was the last time you had sex? Well, yesterday.
Do you have a girlfriend at the moment? No.
Why not? I think it is because of the momentum of my work, because I'm obsessed and devoted to my work and because I'm still not ready to commit emotionally to one person and that I don't want to put myself in the position where I have to lie to someone because I'm not ready to stop sleeping with different people... I'm not ready to make that sort of monogamous commitment. But a lot of my friends have kids now and I really love their children and I love hanging around with their children and playing with their children. And I think it would be amazing to have that kind of relationship.
So you do want to be a father one day? Very much, yeah. But given my own family history, I don't want to do that now.
You've had an interesting relationship with your own father... He did his best, groping through fatherhood without a template.
But he took you on holiday to sleep with prostitutes in South-East Asia when you were 17!
On the plane on the way home he said: "I went away with a boy and came back with a man." Some of the attributes of a man included 'I have now had a prostitute stick her finger up my arse while sucking my cock.'
You've been named The Sun newspaper's Shagger of the Year three years running – to the point they named the award after you. How do you feel about that? This shagging I'm doing is truly worthwhile and obviously world class – like when my football team West Ham retired Bobby Moore's number 6 shirt. To have the Shagger of the Year award named after me is quite an accolade – just to know subsequent shaggers who take on that mantle will always, always just have to bask in the glint of glory afforded by my enormous obstructive shadow.
How many women have you shagged then? I never, ever am going to say a number ever again in response to that question and any journalist that puts it to me will receive instead this boring speech that you are about to receive: I love and cherish all the people that are involved in my life and I would never denigrate them by reducing them to statistic on a government chart. The truth is, I just don't know, but whoever I'm with is the only person in the world. Unless there's more than one of them, and then they're the only group of people in the world.
Come on, how many in an average month? I've never had an average month. If I had my whole month that was average, I'd kill myself. I'm only interested in extreme experiences.
Is it almost too easy to seduce women now that you are famous? Well, if people sort of already know you, you don't have to do so much of the getting-to-know-you quiz most people do when they meet each other. I'm just a bloke from Essex with a terrific haircut who's been given a Wonka ticket to a lovely sex factory because of the ol' fame. I love it when I meet a woman and her sexuality is dancing across her face so it's apparent that all we need to do is nod and find a cupboard.
You say that sex is the one physical pursuit you are good at... Well, it's chemistry innit? It's not like it's table tennis or anything. I think sex, when there's a chemical connection between people, I think it can be supernatural. That's why I think it's appealing: it doesn't have to be gruntin', snarlin', curl-lipped warthogs. It can become transcendental, truly a union through the physical which is beyond the physical. You say I'm good at sex like as if I could do a video of sex moves. Although now I say that out loud – Russell Brand's Sex Moves Video – me in a leotard and a sweatband on with an erection poking through my lime green tights is what the world needs now.
What's the most ridiculous rumour you've ever read about yourself? There's loads. That I was caught waving a sword around in the London Underground, knighting homeless people with a sword. That was a favourite. A lot of them involve swords, strangely. I haven't even got a sword.
You're famed for your style. I know this is normally a question heavy breathers ask women on a sex line, but what are you wearing right now? Well, I'm having my hair done at the moment, so I've got a cape on and a towel around my shoulders, nice tight-fitting J Lindeberg jeans, a rather thick faded brown leather belt, a J Lindeberg sheer t-shirt, Stephen Webster rings on both my index fingers and a Stephen Webster crossed hammers emblem of West Ham United and I've got my hair slicked back with a conditioner in it.
Are you at your house at the moment? I am. Yes, just with the lady who does my hair and makeup and her friend who cuts my hair. I'm just walking in the bathroom to do a bit of wee out of my award-winning penis.
What are you doing with the hair these days? Still a bird's nest up top? In my normal life I don't bother to do anything to it. I just leave it as it is to do what it wants. But when I do shows I back-comb it into a ludicrous, follicular mist so it forms a nice silhouette, a nice halo.
How would you describe your style? I'm an intergalactic bejewelled pirate, a spindly sex stick, a he-witch scarecrow dressed by Dior.
You wear a lot of black. Does this reflect your inner personality? You know the Morrissey lyric: "I wear black on the outside because black is how I feel on the inside". I am very fond of that. But I think it's simply because it's easier to get dressed.
What with your quasi-camp persona and foppish appearance, people might look at you and assume you're gay. But you once masturbated a man to prove conclusively that you are not, didn't you? I did do that whilst on crack and heroin, Dan. Whilst on crack and heroin I did a lot of things as part of a TV programme. I didn't do it out of my own curiosity. Jackass was a big deal at the time and I was charged with promoting that in UK so I decided to do more of a psychological Jackass where I'd do stunts of a more cerebral nature. So I went to live with Nazis to see if I could change them, I went to live with a prostitute to see if I could make her fall in love with me and then see what it was like to have sex with a prostitute if you knew her. And I did wank off a man to see if your innate heterosexuality can be overcome by committing a homosexual act. It can't, incidentally. I also tried to seduce a little old lady and had a bath with a homeless man. It was a funny couple of months. I'm curious about the fringes of psychological experience.
You don't have to bathe with homeless people anymore, now that you are a Hollywood star. I'm in the fortunate position of being able to do things that I really want to, which means primarily concentrating on stand up comedy, movies, writing and doing less television. I've finished filming The Tempest. I am making a documentary on enlightenment with Oliver Stone and Albert Maysles. Then I am working with Judd Apatow and Jonah Hill on Get Him to the Greek in which I reprise my character Aldous Snow from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It's a buddy movie. Then I'm remaking the film Arthur, the Oscar-winning Dudley Moore film with myself in the title role. I am execuitive producing that and am involved in the writing and casting of that currently. That's being written by Peter Baynham who co-wrote Borat. And I'm writing the second part of my autobiography - My Booky Wook 2: This Time It's Personal. So that's the next year...
Do you think you have broken America now? I think it was broken when I got there. I'm going to fix it.
After calling George W Bush a "retard cowboy fella" at last year's MTV Awards, are you going to be hosting any more awards ceremonies? Yes, but I am not at liberty to say what. The one that is the most obvious thing you can imagine – that's what will happen.
The Oscars? I will present the Oscars one day.
Do you think you're capable of winning an Oscar one day? Yes. I would like to think so, otherwise there is no point acting. If people are giving out Oscars for acting and I'm doing acting I sort of think well, I'd like one.
So you're basically becoming a global Brand? It's worth striving for the extremity, Dan, for all of us know mediocrity in some form in our own lives. I don't think there's any limit to anything really. Except time.
One man Brand
Russell Brand performs his show Scandalous at the Enmore Theatre on 17 March and the Hordern Pavilion on 18 March. His autobiography, My Booky Wook, is out now; his stand-up DVD, Doing Life Live, will be released here on 5 March; and his Ponderland show will be shown on Seven later in the year.
Brand on Time Out
"Time Out was like a Bible for me as a new stand-up comedian, finding the tiny little pubs where you'd perform in front of 20 or 30 people, none of whom would be listening. I was 23 when I first did stand up, and in only my fifth stand-up gig ever I was in the finals for the Hackney Empire New Act of the Year. At that time I was properly a junkie, properly mental. Although I didn't get first, second or third place, Malcolm Hay, the Time Out London comedy critic, dedicated most of his review to my performance and compared me to Bill Hicks and really gave me hope that stand-up comedy could be a route worth pursuing. It really inspired me and it fairly contributed to my subsequent success and because of Malcolm I got the best stand-up award from Time Out in 2006 so I have a predisposition to like you and your publication."
Brand on the run: notes on a scandal
1999: Pretends to have AIDS to explain away an unauthorised holiday while working at a language school
2001: Gets sacked from MTV for introducing his drug dealer to Kylie Minogue while dressed as Osama bin Laden, the day after 9/11
2002: Makes cable TV show Re:Brand, in which he masturbates a man on camera, lives with a prostitute and a Nazi, tries to seduce an 81-year-old woman, and has a bath with a homeless man. Check it out on YouTube
2002: Gets sacked from Xfm radio for bringing a homeless man in to answer readers' letters that he would read out on air from a pornographic newspaper
2002: Gets sacked from Steve Coogan film Cruise of the Gods for using prostitutes and trying to coerce the cast into doing the same
2002: Gets arrested for the 11th time - on this occasion for stripping naked at an anti-globalisation protest
2002: Risks leg amputation when thrown through a glass door at the Edinburgh Festival after a gig turns sour.
2002: Checks into rehab for drinks and drugs
2005: Check into rehab (or "winky-nick") for sex addiction
2008: Calls George W Bush "that retard cowboy fella" at the MTV Awards
2008: Resigns from BBC Radio 2 after 'Sachsgate' receives 30,000 complaints and a rebuke from PM Gordon Brown
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