The Angry Exile: Australian bike champ in trouble with the anti-smoking lobby

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Friday 29 August 2008

Australian bike champ in trouble with the anti-smoking lobby

From the West Australian:

World MotoGP champion and Young Australian of the Year Casey Stoner is being named and shamed in an aggressive campaign by anti-smoking groups which have labelled him as a “high-speed drug pusher”.

A high speed drug pusher? Really? How so?

They say images of the 22-year-old non-smoker and his bike covered in logos of Marlboro cigarettes while racing and in the media are sending the wrong message to his fans, particularly impressionable young children.

Oh for Christ's sake, give me a break. Is he riding around the track selling drugs? Er, no. Is he riding around the track selling tobacco then? Nope. Does he occasionally sell tobacco standing still? Does he even have any tobacco? Well, since he's a NON-FUCKING-SMOKER I'd say that's vanishingly unlikely, so calling him a high speed drug pusher is wrong on any factual basis a rational person could use. All he's doing is wearing clothes with Marlboro on. Look, the guy just wants to race motorbikes and has a talent for doing so, but he's unlikely to have pockets deep enough to self-finance racing so he has corporate sponsorship. Motorbikes can be dangerous but I notice none of these Helen Lovejoys are having a pop at Ducati or calling for him to ride slowly in case children (oh won't someone think of the children) are influenced to pedal their bicycles too fast. Hmmm... actually give it time and they probably will do just that, and perhaps even demand that he changes his name because it's exactly the same as a nickname for someone who smokes a lot of pot.

I'm glad to see that Casey Stoner himself doesn't agree, and in fact his response I find worthy of admiration:

But in an emailed response to the anti-smoking groups a week ago, Stoner said that while he understood their views and as a non-smoker agreed that children should not smoke, he did not believe Philip Morris’ sponsorship of Ducati was about attracting children to smoking.

“At the same time I firmly believe that every adult human being should retain the right to make his or her own decisions in life, whether correct or not,” he said.

If I was a woman I'd want his babies for that remark. As a bloke I'm just slightly jealous that he seems to be a wiser man than I was when I was 22. Every adult human should indeed retain the right to make his or her own decisions in life, and they themselves would also bear the responsibility for making poor decisions from time to time. It's called freedom ASH and Smarter than Smoking - a word you may need to look up in the dictionary as I'm not sure how familiar you are with it. While you're about it let me remind you that, as pointed out in the West Australian, tobacco advertising and sponsorship is banned here in Australia despite being a product that is still legal to buy, sell and use, and your complaints that

...images featuring him plastered in tobacco logos in other countries are still readily seen in the media and on websites...

come close to demanding web and media censorship. Even though I am a smoker myself I concede that it's an unpleasant and anti-social habit (and for that reason I don't do it where I'm asked not to) and I probably should give it up. But I find censorship, ridiculous emotionally laden accusations and the desire to control other people's lives a far more disgusting habit than smoking. Oh, and this authoritarian control freakery of ASH and Smarter than Smoking has wound me up so much that I had to smoke a fag to help me restrain the urge to punch my laptop screen. That's a cigarette I wouldn't have smoked but for your evil influence, so sleep sound tonight in the knowledge that you've pushed me a little closer to a tar soaked grave, you bastards. Oh, does that sound ridiculous? Accusing you of influencing me to smoke? Well, yes, it's a fucking stupid thing to say, but no more so than saying that Casey Stoner is a high speed drug pusher.

My opinions, for what they're worth, are that four wheels are better than two, bike racing doesn't flick my switch, if I was into bikes I'd probably have a Honda, and Marlboro are shit fags, and in fact if Marlboro were the last cigarettes I could buy I really would give up smoking. Casey Stoner isn't going to change my mind by winning races on a Marlboro sponsored Ducati motorbike. Yes, I'm in my 30s and children might be more easily influenced, but the spectacular thing about bike racing is hurtling round a track faster than anyone else. Kids will be way too busy going wow at that to give a shit what's written across Casey Stoner's shirt.