Making Sport For All

Extraordinary Politicians

Politicians are past masters at making sport for the nation.  They tell themselves, of course, that they are performing Very Important Work, which in a few rare cases may be true.  And given that a large swathe of our population believes that the gummint is a minor deity it is no wonder that it swoons and gasps at the ruminations and peccadilloes of our pollies. 

Pollies are somewhere between used car salesmen and a B-grade comics.  They become more interesting as their comedic skills increase.  When they get to the point of being stupidly caught in their own nets, it can become mildly entertaining in a Three-Stooges kind of way.  But when they get us belly-laughing, they come close to earning their salaries.  After all, at that point they are dolling out the best medicine.

We have just recovered from the laughter and bemusement around the office which accompanied one pollie portentously proclaiming that he believed the momentous issue of the day was to accomplish a redivivus of the extinct moa.  The infamous Trevor Mallard has done this sort of thing before.
  Remember his nuclear cerebral explosion when he proposed just a few months before the Rugby World Cup starting in Auckland that what was needed was a stadium plonked in the middle of the harbour on stilts.  Here is a man who gives new colour to human eccentricity.  One commentator was not so kind.  He thought Mallard at his moa moment resembled a chap who had been let out for a day.  Naturally, Parliament--the place where all the pollie-comics gather for their own version of a celeb-roast--had its best event in months.  Mallard and his moa were top billing.  The best one-liner of the day was when the pre-historic Winston Peters managed to climb to his feet and one pollie-wit commented, "Look, a live moa." Peter's was rendered speechless, thus rendering him  him more intelligible than usual.


Since it is election year, pollies making sport for the people has moved up a gear.  The latest offering is uproarious.  We have commented previously on the delicious irony of a true class warrior, a veritable Boadicea of the Left who claims she was born that way, a true defender of the working stiff, has decided to return to politics in an attempt to get back into the nation's House of Comedy.  She has missed the laughs.  So, in desperation, Ms Leila Harre has become the political leader of a new party owned and funded by one Kim Dotcom, temporary New Zealand resident, fugitive from justice, filthy-rich capitalist, and exploiter of vulnerable employees and contractors.  Ms Harre has never felt so much at home.  It's an hilarious pairing of two who richly deserve each other.

Now it has been alleged that  Dotcom's NZ residency application was approved under political duress.  Some money-hungry, dirty, grubby politicians wanted his money, and so pushed to get officials to approve his application.  All that's a bit close to the bone for Ms Harre, who has been forced to adopt a holier-than-thou tone, and state that she believes the residency for Mr Dotcom ought not have been granted!  What?  Now Harre is arguing that Dotcom's presence in New Zealand is immoral and the fruit of corruption, but she will take his money and pathway back to the House of Comedy anyway.

But, it does not end there.  Poor old Dottycom has had to cast around to find some way to deflect the sniffy criticism from his new protege, so his spin on the story is that the whole affair has been a mega conspiracy.  He has been hounded by authorities.  Since it is the US which has indicted Dotcom on criminal charges, it is the terrible colonialist overlord, the United States which placed pressure upon the NZ Government to approve Dotcom's residency application because--wait for it--extradition out of New Zealand back to the US was likely to be granted.  It's easier to extradite out of New Zealand, solemnly intones Dotty.

So, why then Mr Dotcom did you seek residency in this country in the first place?  Either you are dumber than a reconstituted moa or you are spinning a lie.  Our money is on the latter, since we are loathe to impugn your intelligence.  In summary, we have a cringe comedy unfolding for our sport: Ms Harre maintaining her sanctimony while sniffily fossicking in your pockets for money, whilst you spin just-so stories that are way beyond belief.

David Brent would be impressed.  There's no doubt these pollies are talented when they concentrate upon doing what they do best--making sport for all.