Shockingly, for an island in the middle of nowhere with a deeply ingrained sense of tall poppy syndrome that discourages excellence wherever it’s found, Australia is cleaning up the gold so far at the Olympics - surprising everyone like your deadshit cousin did when he put down the bong and got really rich selling used cars or whatever.
But it would be naive to think that this is going to last for us. We’re a sporting people, but there’s lots of sports in which we are completely out of our depth. Unfortunately for us, the Olympics doesn’t cater to a people who spend the time they’re not running around at the beach just knocking back tinnies of cheap piss and hurling abuse at the TV.
Here’s some speculation about what events we might see at an Olympics tailored to more to the bronzed and apathetic people that make up this beautiful country:
Sculling beer out of an item of clothing that spends at least a dozen hot, sweaty hours a day on the end of probably the third biggest bacterial hotspot on the human body may seem like an insane thing to do with literally no benefit but, well: yes.
It’s disgusting and yet deeply Australian, combining our two biggest loves: getting shitfaced and being an absolute dickhead for no reason whatsoever. Given how disgusting the act is, odds are we might be the only country game enough to put their athletes at risk with this germaphobe’s nightmare.
I’m not entirely certain what the competition element would be - either number of shoeys downed in a designated timeframe or speed with which an individual shoey is downed - but I’m almost certain our nation’s finest pissheads would be sure to nab the gold if the IOC deemed it worthy of the pantheon of Olympic sports.
Lying to tourists
It’s hard to say what about our national sense of humour lends us to doing this, but compulsively lying to people who aren’t from here seems like it’s in our blood. From telling other children that we ride kangaroos, to school to warning backpackers about recent dropbear sightings in the area: seamlessly backing each other up in a preposterous lie is one of our greatest cultural strengths.
I don’t ask much from my fellow countrymen, but I expect that if I tell an American at a bar that our PM got the job because he wrestled a huge crocodile that was terrorising Townsville, that every single Australian within earshot will not only confirm this yarn but add their own details about the size and deadliness of the monster croc.
Again, not sure how this one would be measured but I’m certain with the near psychic level of collusion we can muster when spinning bullshit to people who haven’t been warned about our borderline sociopathic sense of humour, we’d get more gold medals than we’d know what to do with.
Doing burnouts in Commodores
While other countries might dominate us in motorsports, with their fancy car cultures and autobahns, there’s a certain element of the automotive arts in which we are singularly unmatched: doing sick burnouts and doughnuts in Holden Commodores and, to a lesser extent, Ford Falcons.
Consistently voted (sort of) the Most Stolen Car In Australia, the Holden Commodore is a staple of the Australian car experience. Since 1978, the Commodore has been a family sedan favourite, and has gradually been increasing in engine size as it became clearer and clearer that the primary use of these vehicles was having a hoon around with your mates.
I challenge a competitor from any other country to get behind the wheel of a 1987 VL Commodore with its straight six Nissan RB30 and commit to asphalt a burnout even half as sick as our own highly-trained hoons.
No amount of F1 experience can compete with the 20 years your mate Darren has spent doing doughnuts in front of the Maccas on Main Street at 3am on a Thursday night. The other countries might cry foul, claiming that this is a weird and highly specific pastime that no one in their right mind would have spent a lifetime preparing for, but I’ve got just one thing to say to them: have you heard of Australia, mate.