Innovation – Stolen, without consent…

Here is a little piece by a Wellington thinker and resident caring soul by the name of Mike Sukolski. You can tell him that I have ripped him off here… Thanks to old mate “wanda” for pointing this one out…

Image may contain: hat
Image resultStolen from Mike Sukolski

Whatever Happened To
Just Doing Something Different?

It’s as if we believe we have discovered something new, and now we can’t get enough of it, this innovation thing.

We toss it about, the word at least, like confetti.

According to my dictionary, to innovate is to bring in novelties; make changes in. Really? Well, it is an old dictionary. I got it when I was fifteen. Someone must have bought it for me, it cost thirty shillings, and where would I find thirty shillings. It still serves me well.

Being a little on the old side, however, I thought I should seek a second opinion. So I did, and got this: “to begin or introduce something new.” So there you are, I said to myself, something new, that clinches it. Couldn’t be clearer. A consensus. But is this what we do when we innovate, I said to myself, I do a lot of talking to myself. (I should know.)

Apparently we need to believe it is.

Like Mike Hosking, who believes that news reading is an “artistic pursuit,” we too need to be, or to be seen as, artists. Well, creative, anyway. With grim determination we set out to innovate, as if our lives depend on it. But why? Good question.

And the answer?

Because, in most, if not all, circumstances, we have no idea what to do next.

We wait and wait, hanging around hopefully, analysing earnestly among ourselves, until all the evidence is in, but all the evidence is never in. Never can be, even though we dedicate large sums to looking for it. There always remains the evidence that comes from actually doing the thing, and this we cannot possess, not until we have done it, and found that, after all, our big idea didn’t work.

If only we had waited until all the evidence was in. Relax! We can innovate instead!

You don’t need all the evidence when you innovate, innovation doesn’t rely on evidence, it can’t do, because there there can’t be any, not of the definitive kind, anyway, if its truly to be innovation.

Because if it is truly innovation there will be no precedents, nothing that could secure the necessary foreknowledge of success, or failure. You will be left contemplating an unscientific leap of faith. Or desperation. Or self-esteem. Which doesn’t make a good business case. It won’t impress your bosses.

Luckily, that’s not what we mean, true innovation, in fact it’s the last thing on our minds. Heaven forbid that someone would dare plunge undata-ed into unknown, potentially hostile territory. Stark naked into a shark infested pool. Leave the known world behind and risk unforeseen, if not career-ending consequences. Or worse, no consequences at all.

No, that’s not for us. Not in the real world. In our heads perhaps, yes, in our heads, we do it all the time in our heads, we get degrees in doing it in our heads, there are careers to be had doing it in our heads.

Innovation, you see, is for us nowadays an assertion of personal worth, the source of our self-esteem. And when we are all doing it together, joyfully, in teams, innovation becomes an affirmation of group worth. Truly, you can’t lose! Just tell yourself, and everyone else, that you are innovating and you can safely go ahead and do what you have always done. Nothing can go wrong.

Who will dare be the little boy wondering aloud why the king has got nothing on.

Innovation is the new orthodoxy. It doesn’t matter much what you do just so long as you say it is innovative, and your peers say it is innovative and your bosses say it is innovative and their bosses say it is innovative and the minister says it is innovative.

Thus we consummate a culture of constant change where nothing ever changes. We cannot risk real change, so we innovate instead, and heap accolades upon ourselves. Glittering prizes. Brilliant careers. Truly we are leaders!

The game is a simple one, anyone can play.  And we do, we all do, because we are innovators. Aren’t we? And innovators are never wrong. No, and as we pull our hopes down over us, like a suffocation, from within the reeking hovels of our heads we imagine a new dawn breaking, the beginning of a bold new era, and we believe, all over again we believe.

We sing patriotic songs, while the seas rise around us, the air clogs with CO2, the rains turn our fields to mud, the winds tear our houses down, and a frenzy that is very likely madness sweeps us out of our collective head, but we take no notice, on we rush, triumphantly on, innovating, innovating unto extinction.


Never a truer word spoken.

After spending some time wasting away my ill gotten gains of time and money working in the “addiction leadership group” can safely ascertain that those that be do not want change. But innovation?

Hell yeah. Give us more of that young NZFIEND.

Just don’t you dare change anything in the process.



Dairy of how to become a junky ADHD mess…

Anyways…Work it out for yourself…

Was going to ring you earlier but then just went to bed again… Been spending more than the usual amount of time in bed recently. It is the time of year for it – nothing to worry about. Just a little cold and winter bringing onset a wee depression, no doubt.

Promised Mum I would make her a new compost bin as Dad is dying slowly along with the rotted out fence she has been piling compost against for two decades.

Aren’t we all. Dying that is. His clock took on a new rhythm for a while recently… Just to be clear, this was not a old sixties dance hall classic number. More drumb and base poured into a blender with Motorheads final Ace Of Spades renditions…

Went down to Mum n Dads to measure up previously mention compost bin… To be made from wood, with my own hands. Would prefer to cut one from alloy and weld nowadays. Am enjoying my new tools and skills always need sharpening. Tools need sharpening and new skills? Half a dozen of one, six of the other. Some shit anyway…

Told Dad I was being operated on within four weeks of the doctor seeing my bum. Dad, as usual, without fail, without preamble, without thought for anyone outside his one square foot of universe,

“they have always got me in real quick, like the time I showed up with…..”

my judgement and memory may be clouded
with time, space and
interesting neurological experiments gone awry
nonetheless, seems like this is a reoccurring theme one cannot discount my memory and feelings as completely inaccurate)

“Dad, they only get you in quick if there’s emergency or something serious” was the somewhat necessary interruption.

Yet still he carried on about HIS operations.. Oblivious to fact, his fiction weighing heavily on the judge and jury of his own mind.

Having actually had more operating table excursions over my fourty years younger span of life, he doesn’t bother to remember anything about my issues, health or happiness. Nor, it seems, going so far as to suggest others problems have been trivial.

When he sees me wince with pain just standing still he says “oh, your back is getting like mine, hahahaha”. Yeah right, like he has had emergency spine surgery and pissed and poo’d himself walking to the hospital… Fuck he is such a self centred fuck…. Unbelievable… This is going to require a breath, a thought of something happy and a lot of self restraint. Would be nice to have that loverly Clarrissa here with some restraints, but she was already booked and tied up elsewhere…

So he tells me all about HIS for the hundredth time in as many visits. Tiresome in itself.

Interruption time again….

Must record one of these conversations. You may, even the most die hard retard apologist among you,  be sympathetic to that at least. He sure ain’t.

“So, you have any idea why they would get to me so quickly?” 

“I presume as they are quiet at the moment and I was seen in that amount of time after a doctor saw my collapsed viens in my……”

WTF? Are you serious? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuckme, fukme, f’me….. Relaaaaaaaxxxxxx…. He may be just about dead and nothing is going to change the guy now, even if he did think anything about himself and his life was not perfect.


(well, I tried. Honest)

Dad, chastised for once. Not a pretty sight as it happens…
“I never said it was about me”


“I don’t know son, they see everyone as fast as they can…”

Remaining the calmest possible, given fourty years of this sort of conversation… Hell, you people reading it are bored of it already. Imagine the effect this has on a kid growing up, or indeed the fourty year old man still trying to grow up…


(funnily enough, also known as my sister, who died of Cancer May7th a few years ago aged less than me)

“Oh yes, he seemed nice… Although your sister argued with him, he knows his stuff. Top guy, really really clever…” …OMG

Really not bothering to remain calm in face of this much narcissistic stupidity DAD, WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE SEEING THE SAME GUY AS KATE ? WHY WOULD THEY OPERATE ON ME SO QUICK ? WHY AM I BOTHERING TO TELL YOU THIS AT ALL ?


“I don’t know Tony, they are a good hospital though…..”


Oh for fucksake, if he wasn’t already on the waiting list for the cremation table I would kill this bloody idiot…


Just in case he managed to avoid the point (as proven, he is quite bloody well capable)


THEY THINK I HAVE CANCER DAD. But I don’t. The really really really clever people and their two times through the MRI, the X-Ray, the Ultrasound, the various specialists including a muscular skeletal guy have it wrong.

However, I am going in Monday to sort out the procedure and am in Tuesday to have half the weight of my right arse cheek cut out… Will be good to get the bloody thing out. Even though it’s not cancer, it is annoying me more and more recently…


“Oh, why didn’t you tell us?”




Work it out yourself. Seriously.


October 8th, awesome day, but 9th totally fucked me.

Having just wrote four hundred words on cellphone and WordPress lost it all, I am simply going to sum up… My best mate and beauty girl has to go. Used needles, so upsetting behavior.  Awake twenty hours, splitting headache, roosters crowing and I want sleep. Am not heartbroken, am truly shattered and just needing to get this yarn out. No matter how embarrassed I will be later, fuck you all. The cellphone screen is a blurry haze and my pathetic attempts at oblivion came to nothing, as they always have.

25 years of trying to destroy yourself, you think you’d have it sussed by now…

My young friend is awesome. Her future could be so great. She cares, she took me to family court, she is beautiful inside and out.

But she is complicated and dealing with addiction and mental health issues. She is also capable of some ruthless violence. I love her, admittedly.

Have tried, truly. We have had such a brilliant two days, and then seriously almost killed eachother. We faced up in public area. I admit that sometimes I see exactly what I am going to do, and it was not pretty. She had already managed to not cut me up or rearrange my skull, I could see that. But half an hour went by and she was still so shitty she was holding back from attacking me. She pissed me off so much I saw myself doing some stuff that I needed not to do. She has never seen me angry and not giving a fuck. It may surprise her. We were so close to seriously hurting eachother. I had already decided which bit of concrete her head would break on, but outwardly I was calm. I talked and joked with staff at the premises, I stole her cellphone from her lap as she went to drive off without my tools and bags. She refrained from whatever grizzly and horrid things she had planned. Even though we sat within hitting distance (oops, that was me. She kept moving away, although she was main aggressor, odd she was so keen to be violent yet stayed away..)

And, then an hour and she was still not talking and driving and stopping at gas station for hour without saying anything.

Another half hour of this driving down the motorway and I opened the door to get out. She stopped me by grabbing me, I think. No way was I allowed out.

Why would someone who wants me gone, stop me from leaving ?

Why is this crazily beautifully hearted young lady so willing to dismember me. Why aren’t I scared in the least of her? What hell will ensue if we both are bad at same times?

fuck. it is BaD enough without broken bones and blood. We would both give a decent job at that.

Fuck this. It will be jail. She cares, but everything is about her. Sometimes the world is not all about you. Hate to burst your lovely little 20year old haze of bubble.

She is lovely.

Yet I need her out my life right now.

Condemning myself to knowing no one in the area and financial and vehicle stress is not a nice thing.

She’s my best mate

And my most dangerous addiction.

I have to make her Not My Problem.

Am sorry and sad. After such a brilliant 40 hours, her Mum came out when we drove up to make sure we didn’t fight. I love this little scrawny LEGS girl.

I tried. I moved from Wellington for less drama and for a good friend. Looks like failed on both.

For I went and stuck a needle in my arm. I was crying and confused by my young friend. I was angry. I had been to family court and they treat me like shit. She was there, looking stunning in her jeans that are more see through lace than jeans.

Fucked if I know why she is my friend.

Or was my friend. For I did not her in that capacity for a while. Now it’s really fucked.  Wish she would let me, or others, help. I care and we can compliment eachother. We can
complicate eachother.


Almost killing your lovely LEGS best mate and most trusted secret keeper is not the path I want to be on.

90Percent of her is great. 10Percent leads me to smoking, needles and jail.

Can’t risk it any more. I loved some of the times together, and care for her and her problems more than she will allow me to help with.

She opens up to me like no one else, she claims.

But this old ugly man is closing the doors and locking them.

She has to be let go. But I am the one taking the fall. Sad. But house is rented to me. She has heaps of friends and family here. She should be fine.

Sent my only friend a message saying we can only spend five minutes a time with eachother and asked why she decided to care and look after and be my most trusted friend.

Got no reply.

Really sad, and not like me  but

I gotta stay out of jail, rescue some financial crisis and stay off drugs

I understand her past. She has good reason to be the way she is.

But can only grab what is in front of you by dropping whats in your hands…

Love you Legsies, good luck. Wish my friend will come back someday.

Aroha Nui girl…..

Time for this old worn out acne prone cripple to find some new friends.

But, no doubt, they will all be screwballs too

WHITE RABBITS. Sunrise. Sleepless again. Shit.


Sunrise. Goddam. Sleep woulda been nice.

Tried to re-break fractures in nose at Wellington Hospital yesterday…. Failed…

Now being booked in for ’emergency’ surgery.

Is that really necessary” says me.

“Mate, it’s a bloody complicated and extreme septum deviation. It’s really not a simple operation…. ”

Okay, thanks” says me with relief after spending the last five minutes concentrating on not passing out due to amazing pain in face and head.

General anesthesia sounds great. Pissing about trying to put bridge of nose a few mm towards the left left me with headaches and feeling pulse through nose like a hammer all night.

Knock me the fuck out and rearrange this septum…. ffs!

CCDHB is great. Although being banned and trespassed from all CCDHB grounds and environs, they continue to ignore this and provide me with world class health care.

Clarissa Broderick and her strap on are the only things at all denied to me by this “trespassing” order by the looks of it.

The trespass order is illegal in my opinion anyway, and I would love the Police to try and enforce it.

I have rung and Twitter’d #nzpolice showing them when I am “illegally trespassing” yet they have not once come to arrest me.

Clarissa and her strap on is more appealing than this headache and nose issue.

May try booking an appointment with her. I said “white rabbits” after all. Am due a good month.


Nose. Hard to tell, but it's fucked, although wasn't actually fucked...



After three full weeks with no ankle bracelet confining me to a shiity little flat in central Wellington I am lost. This young lady has been awesome, but there are always buts. Our paths cross and run parallel for whiles, but not continuously, or even long enough, to help with my feeling of lost.

Taught her to drive manual stick shift, flew in a plane, have had some excellent times. We are great together when she’s able to hang out..

Am struggling today with who I am. And the answers are blank, dull and not all that helpful.

I am not a father. I am not a drug dealer. I am not young and hot or pretty.

I almost got up and drove to Wellington to buy some methadone just an hour ago. But I don’t want to be that person.

I am a old guy and a reasonable person.

It’s not enough.

Am lost.

Moved all my stuff finally, little to no money left, and know no one living in this small place. 10Km away the young lady lives in a town of 20,000. I know only her, and she’s doing her own thing, or her family thing anyway.

Have no belief in my ability to socialise or try new things. Live a hundred metres from a great beach and have no interest in it at all.

Am lost.

Am not looking forward to finding a new me.

The path ahead looks too tiresome for this old man who has walked many similar in the past.

Feel too tired to start again all over.

But can’t go back.

Patience. If I last long enough.

Very depressed, giving up, dying, watching TRUE DETECTIVE and my high higher power….

Have been so depressed lately. Mentioning possibilities of, or the proximities to, self harm or suicidal thoughts would get me in trouble with the people whom I always say “NO” to.

** always say no to all questions regarding anything to do with hearing voices, having suicidal thoughts, having been committed to any institution or having been a drug addict.

I walked to probation expecting to be shafted. The lady who saw me was very dubious at first, but I played her a couple of telephone recordings that had been made between myself and the mother of my daughter. The probation lady looked at me in a new light. There is a long story about this meeting to be written, but will reduce it to – FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE HANDING MYSELF IN TO POLICE TWO AND A HALF MONTHS AGO AND BEING IN JAIL, SOMEONE WITH A REAL SAY AS TO MY FUTURE LISTENED TO ME.

My lawyer, Val Nisbett, has been completely class A fucken USELESS. He expects to be paid a lot of money. WHAT ON EARTH FOR? Piss off Val, you are proving yourself worthy of trailing in your kids Mums wake as she heads up the capitalist law ladder.

I talked with this nice probation lady for over two hours. Did warn her that we may need a whole day. For the first time I talked about the role my beautifully hearted young lady friend had in the situation. The probation lady was astounded, and probably thought maybe she should have ticked the boxes for me “hearing voices” and having “irrational thoughts” after all.

This young lady (call her Legs) legged it away from Wellington mid April as she was having addiction issues of her own. She rung me when I was at the mother of my daughters house. The mother of my daughter heard me talking to her, heard me being very understanding and supportive. Heard me being a very nice and thoughtful person. Upon showing the mother of my daughter a photo of the girl concerned, there was an instant pang of some odd chemical smashing it’s way through my head. OOOOPS. There was a spark of something there. My kids Mum … well …. MAYBE I SHOULD NOT HAVE SHOWN HER THAT DAMN PHOTO. 

Upon arriving home from probation at 1:40, and having been talking and thinking hard about “Legs” half an hour earlier…. There was NO SURPRISE AT ALL when GMAIL showed me she had emailed me at 1:27. Legs, to my knowledge, did not even know my email address.

Somewhat shamefully, we have sent and received 66 emails since. Some of mine have been five thousand words. Some of hers have made more sense and been more concise (!!!)… 66 emails in four days sounds like a lot. But then, having thought it was getting out of hand, there were no emails for two 20 hours periods. So,  66 emails in four days with almost two days off. This is embarrassing. I think I bloody well like this girl. Bugger. She is far too good for me, but there are things we should learn and teach eachother. And, at the end of the day, we are able to just have some stupid shameless fun. I can, admittedly, do this with almost anyone, despite their better better sense of self worth. Whatever, it was as surprising to me as all holy fuck when I started wishing this beautiful young thing was old and ugly so we could have a relationship and fly under the radar.

Was so happy to hear from her. When last seeing her she was a little confused and walking off. No hug, no wave, no goodbye from me, as was running late to get my daughter on the Tuesday evening. I will always regret not being a little more forceful with her in some ways, but then when she rang crying her eyes out and needing a talk, there was relief in me as she re-assured me she was in a good place. 

I then spent six weeks in jail and am now stuck at home. Have been very depressed.

As has she.

Upon hearing about jail and everything, she started blaming herself for my predicament. Honestly, I have never met anyone quite like this one. I like her way too much and sending some honest emails such as “when you were asleep in my flat that morning, I took off and had a quick bonk with someone else, and you thought I was on Facebook the whole time,….”

We were never a couple at all. But, later that afternoon, when sneaking in to wake her, I sat there and thought how much I trusted her and how damn cute she is….. And…. What is this? An emotion of some sort?

I was very close to giving up and using a lot of drugs and just not giving a fuck on Monday. Then there was the drug and alcohol psych meeting on Thursday. This is part of the NZ Court system, as they consider virtually every problem in my life, or offending, to be drug related.

The drug guy was suspicious of me (forewarned maybe?) but after two and a half hours (the meeting was only two) he gave me a lift home as my ankle bracelet was giving off alarming dangerous vibrations and scheduled another appointment for Monday. AT MY HOUSE.

This time last week there was no way on this planet I would let a strange A&D psych guy into my flat. But now I am okay with it.

I had not heard from “Legs” for the last twenty hours. You guessed it – I get a nagging email from her about getting rid of my clutter, tidying my flat and doing some positive carpentry or painting or drawing. This email arrives just as the A&D guy ushers me to his car.

It is now Friday evening. And, having done nothing all day, I am excited.


I know this, I can feel it. It’s like my ADHD is in control slightly. My motivation has come back. The old feeling of having “ants in the pants” has returned.

Today was freezing. Got into bed and watched the whole of TRUE DETECTIVE. Was busy contemplating if I had annoyed legs a little too much as she had not emailed since 1am… When…. 7pm arrived and she emailed. She emailed during a very interesting little bit of the last episode of TRUE DETECTIVE where the guy basically dies, goes into a coma and then is sad and annoyed when he is woken up as he was with his dead three year old child whilst dead.


is People on the Same Wavelength. I have explained how this works elsewhere. But it is science based, not faith based.

The very fact that “LEGS” is being discussed and she emails for the first time within ten minutes shows that she is on my wavelength, and that all these “co-incidences” are mathematically not random events.


Was many years ago. 26 or 27 years. This is not the second time where the out of body experience has been described….

When I died the first time it was just “stopping”. There were some drugs in my system, yes. I was laying on my girlfriends bed and just “stopped”. For a few seconds it felt like the most amazing opiate sensation. Then my mind lifted out of my head, and barely noticable in time differential, the spine and all other nerves followed suit. I can never explain this bit, but you do not feel yourself turning upside down, but every time I have had this, you are looking down at yourself, although your physical body is laying face up on the bed / floor / road / river.

And then again, I cannot explain this, but the sensation of moving AGAINST gravity (ie – UPWARDS according to Einstein) and TOWARDS a bright white light is overwhelming. Yet, the sensation is more like gently closing your eyes. So, you are moving upwards, towards a white light, whilst looking downwards. Come on Einstein. Explain time, space and this little mess then.

This is where things get interesting. That white light is filling up all your vision now. The rods and cones of your eyes tell you so. There are no gates, and unfortunately not even Clarissa Broderick in skin tight red lycra and suggestively clutching a designer pitchfork make cameo’s.


You reminded me of something…. The white light fills everything. It is a three dimensional space with no boundaries. There are soft mumblings, which become distinct. It as if EVERY SINGLE CONVERSATION IN THE WORLD OF ANY TRUE WORTH is in this white space.

I could tune in to any of these conversations. Just by paying attention, or attuning to the conversation. There were some very serious feelings. Serious ebbing and flowing. Serious waves of communication. A few conversations stopped. Although being able to understand them, I felt unable to contribute and make the conversation more worthy. There were multiple examples of this.

Although being worthy, and welcomed, a few dissenting wavelengths helped make up my mind.

To be truly happy being here with these subjects the only thing to do was to come back later.

But, hey, just a few more goes at hearing what that beautiful voice is saying. Yes, that beautiful sound – the soft pink glow to the East. The dawning of a chorus which, when proper tuning on my old transistor radio in my noggin was acheived, was signing my name softly.

Upon leaving the white space, somewhat reluctantly and still undecided as to going back for another look straight away, there was my body. Again, I could see my body, but it was very close. I knew I was facing upwards, and yet I could sense where my body was.

A little like landing a lunar craft in a very early Atari game, the final docking to get back into myself was a little skilful and took my last dying gasp of available energy.

The beautiful voice turned into a thousand decibel shreeeeeeeeakk.

The pink glow to the East turned into a blood red cheek and swollen eye.

For my girlfriend had rung 111, thrown buckets of water over me, thrown me to the floor and had been jumping up and down on me SCREAMING my name at me for minutes on end.


This white light is my fucken higher power.

Unreal. It took me how long to work this out again?

I am great at re-inventing the wheel. But when it was my wheel in the first place?

What a cock.


FOOTBALL. Making me broke.

Told the kids that if someone took a corner kick, and someone else headed it into the goal I would buy everyone a chocolate bar. Thought I would be pretty safe… NOPE, a little 10 year old kid took a corner kick, landed it just in front on penalty spot where another ten year old was running EXACTLY as I had told them. And BOOOM… Beautiful header straight into the goal. Unreal. Stoked. Happiest guy, me.

And then I do this thing where I stand still and get the kids to boot the ball at my face. If they hit my face they get $5. The same guy who took the corner drove a shot beautifully right into my nose and top lip. I did lift a hand and punch the ball so it hit him back in the head. But hey, NO ONE has ever managed it before. And he had only started to learn drive shot technique two days ago with me. He also refused to kick with his left foot as it “was useless”. He is now, after just three or four hours with me and the team, using his left foot to chip and drive. Hasn’t got swinging or spinning the ball well yet, but—–

Teaching kids things and seeing it work is awesome.

Stuff what the parents think of me bossing their sprogs around.

My kid ended the training session when the other team played the ball too far in front and into her path. We had no goalies, but she put the ball into the exact middle of the goal, bouncing it on the goal line from about fourty metres. She just turned 11. Some parents and kids were surprised. Comments like “wow, there will be a few interesting goals this season” came from a few of the more knowledgeable crowd. I was more disappointed that the other team had given her the ball.

The team with the ball has the fun. So, once they stop giving it to the other team and find their own players, the coach stops interrupting and the parents may start understanding. Or not.

But hey, sometimes the kids have to actually have fun. And they manage to, despite the coaches constant interruptions.

By managing to spot some skills in each of them, we have a good little team structure. The autistic kid runs and tackles like a demon, so he has total license to run everywhere in defence. And boy, at training last night he did well. Just getting him to last a whole game could be difficult… Bloody proud of the little guy. He is fitting in well.

You know when I was a kid, the different ones got left out or teased. Nowadays kids seem to be more aware of others mental issues. I have seen almost all the kids cater to others difficulties. My daughter even gave a child a present once. Even though he had stolen her stuff and was a pain in the arse. She figured he wasn’t getting proper attention at home so was playing up and just needed to know people at school actually noticed him. My daughter was ten at the time. 

So, I have my work cut out getting these guys to work as a team.

Kicking the ball forwards all the time, even though the other team gets it, is an issue.

“HEY EVERYONE. This is a bit like life. If there is a big mountain in front of you, what do you do? If you are walking through a city and a building is in your way, what do you do?”

Ten year old boy looks up, a look of “WOW” on his face and says “you go around them”.

“Yeahp, dead right. See that player behind you, that player has a way around the team in front. You don’t. That player should have the ball”

Some of the kids really started passing backwards, even though that is not what comes naturally.

We will win some games early this season. A bunch of small individuals working together to put a stupid ball in a silly net. Feeling proud of themselves and happy to see their mates and their parents giving them attention of the best sorts.

And the coach? Well. When kids do what he says and it works, he’s the happiest guy there. He may hide it until later, but the improvements in skills, running and positions does not go unnoticed. When kids do something awesome and they look at you for approval before they look at their parents it shows you’re appreciated.

Had a bath and went to sleep after last nights training feeling good. This should work out okay.

Even though meeting with the CCDHBDSM ADHD SPECIALIST tomorrow has my undies in a twist.

(they imported someone from Europe whom wants drug urine samples from me and has made me fill out a drug and alcohol self assessment… the writing is on the wall here. I think I am going to be shafted somehow this time tomorrow…. Even the mother of my daughter thinks I am vastly better with the ritilan than without. Which is true in the sense of dealing with kids and parents whom are from a different planet than mine…. Ah well.)

Kids football training leaves my back fucked. May just go get my back tattoo’s worked on and forget about everything.


Most of the kids I trained last year are in a team three divisions above us in the grade 11 leagues. If we win a few games and win one or two by big margins, we should be up in their league by the end of the season.


Me? Competitive at footy? Nah… Never.

First game this weekend.