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The Moment I Sinned
No sooner had I signed off on my last column and sat back to listen to the cricket than I heard that Michael Hussey had a nice leave. I assumed this meant he'd enjoyed his holidays as a welcome break from his busy schedule. Not so. The commentator went on to explain that it meant he didn't try to bat every ball. Just as a good writer knows what to leave out, a good bat like Hussey knows which balls not to bat; that is, to leave. So, Hussey (who was originally a batsman, became a batter a few years ago, and is now a bat) has a good leave.
Lest you feel I am over-reacting to all this, I can report that this morning's West Australian reported that Britian's Tiffany Porter, having run second in the 60 m hurdles at the World Indoor Athletics Championships, was nonetheless happy with her podium. An online report I saw later said she was happy with her podium showing.
I started to make some racy remarks about my liking her podium too, especially when it was showing, but realised I was confronted with nothing more than the latest in-word for athletes. Once upon a time, they used to say that they hoped to win or to at least get a place and we didn't worry too much when 'to place' became their verb of choice: I hope to place.. More recently, however, (which probably means a decade ago) they started wanting to medal. And now they're happy if they podium.
Perhaps the next step, certainly for those not destined to podium, will be to Championship (that is, to make the team) or, in the case of London 2012, to Olympic.
Speaking of which (a week later), I see in the Australian (16 March 2012) that young Stephanie Rice, needing to podium in Adelaide to get a chance to Olympic, has declared herself ready to medal because she'd finally got a really good block in. I was immediately reminded of that time in the Ogaden when the camel meat was 'off' and for days afterwards I needed every block I could find in the medicine kit. The imagery was far too scatological for the breakfast table; I was happier thinking about the possibilities of her podium showing. But, plug for alternate imagery though I did, Freudian slips kept me at the bottom line: I had no idea what she meant.
Was this the new swimming term for a race? Or a block of good training swims? Or a good start to a race? Did it mean Miss Rice had pushed off from the starting block quickly and smoothly, with good thrust from her strong thighs? (I did say I was trying for better imagery.)
In the end, we don't know what she was saying and there is no justification for causing such confusion. This is a language that can add an 'e' and an 'h' to scatological and raise our minds from matters of dung and the lowest filth to matters of the highest theological level, in death and salvation. Any language that can do that deserves a bit of respect. No ifs or buts about it.
This increasing use of a related term to mean something it doesn't mean is not just in sports. The Macquarie Dictionary has selected 'dairyness' as one of its new words for 2011. 'Dairyness' describes a cow's productivity, 'the quality and quantity of its milk, assessed by udder shape and size, pedigree, genomic screening and other factors', to quote Michael Quinion's World Wide Words blog. By implication then, dairyness tells us how dairy a cow is.
The word has been in use in America since the 1950s and Macquarie is obviously keen to see it here soon. Why, I cannot imagine. It used to be that a dairy might be said to have good cows. 'Dairyness' invites us to see a cow with a good dairy. This is silly. What follows? Dogs with good kennel? Horses with nice stable?
But I digress. This column was supposed to be about a word-moment I had last month – one of those moments when life twilight-zones into a familiar scene, and you have the sheer and silly joy of using a favourite line.
Think of the moment when a love that never faded walks back into your life in a bar where the piano player is called Sam (or should be). Or you call the dear girl Frankly and tell her you don't give a damn. Or you say goodbye forever on the beach and you tell him it was nice and call him Dwight Lionel.
My moment wasn't remotely romantic but wonderfully enjoyable nonetheless. I was helping Peter Baillie, now President of AAPG Asia Pacific branch, with the regional final of the AAPG Imperial Barrels Competition.
Teams of students from various universities in the Asia Pacific region compete against each other by interpreting and presenting geological and geophysical data over a prospect. The presentations are made online to three judges who award points for the quality and thoroughness of the work and presentation.
We had nine teams: two each from China, India, Indonesia and Pakistan, and one from Thailand. Each had been given a data package from the North Sea, the Cooper Basin or the Gulf of Mexico. The work was very impressive, incorporating everything from seismic amplitudes to economics and risking. Khan Kaen University in Thailand were winners by a milliDarcy and will be flown to the AAPG Conference in Long Beach, California, where they will compete against the winning teams from the other AAPG regions.
Unfortunately, on the last day of judging, I had a morning meeting and I advised the co-ordinator that I would miss the first talk but be available for the University of Sindh after lunch. Was I sure I had Sindh covered, she emailed me. My moment had arrived.
Peccavi, I replied.
For those without their June 2002 PESA News handy, I should explain that it all began in 1843 when British General Sir Charles Napier controversially conquered the Sindh region of what is now Pakistan and reportedly telegraphed the Foreign Office in London with a single word: Peccavi.
It is Latin for 'I have sinned'!
Unfortunately, as John Scott pointed out to me back in 2002, Napier did no such thing. A British woman, no doubt an erudite young thing with a good podium, wrote to Punch magazine and suggested this pun might have been the General's report. The Punch editors reported it as 'fact' in the Foreign Affairs section, and it has been a popular story ever since.
Of course, my message made no sense to the co-ordinator and I had to send an explanation and admit to showing off, but I had thoroughly enjoyed so sinning.
Peter Purcell
