Ferenc Puskas is dead.
For those not in the know, Puskas is a footballing legend. “The Galloping Major” was the inspirational leader and talisman of the all-conquering Mighty Magyars, the Hungarian footnall team of the 1950s (How good were they? They did England 6-3. At Wembley. England’s first ever defeat at home. They still talk about it.) . He was the rock behind which the all-conquering Real Madrid of the 1960s stood when they won 5 consecutive La Liga titles and 3 European Cups, a record that stands unequalled today.
How good was he? Puskas was a striker. For a striker, a return of one goal in every three games is considered pretty damn good. The really great ones, they might score once every couple of games over the course of their career.
In 529 games for Real, Puskas scored 512 times. His 84 games in a Hungarian shirt yielded 83 goals.
I have some footage of him in action from his Real days. He is nothing short of mesmerising.
He is, unarguably, one of the 3 or 4 greatest players ever to have lived. He is easily the greatest European ever to play the game.
Football is lessened by his loss.
The second draft of The Memory of Breathing, to Producermatt. Now to wait for his Producer’s Notes, and research animal liberationists in preparation for draft number three.
And finally get on to some short stories again!
AS COOL AS PRESENTS GET
Earlier this week, Aiden presented me with a belated birthday present. He’d warned me it would be late– he had to hand it in to his teacher and get it marked first.
If there’s anything cooler than getting something handmade from your kids, I don’t know what it is.
So how great was it to be given this weird and wonderful handmade clay head? Very great indeed.
As befits a present so froody, it was made an immediate addition to my Corner of Cool, that section of the office where I keep all my bits-n-trinkets that capture my imagination. As a Bonus Parent, to receive a gift that a Bonus Child has made specially for me is deeply touching. It’s a sign that, to Aiden, I’m a genuine parent. Pride of place on the corner of the desk for this baby, let me tells ya!
Head and friends
BEING A GRANDFATHER IS HARD WORK
One of the finches escaped on the weekend: I was trying to get their water dish out of the cage, and the little bugger flew straight over my shoulder. We’ve promised Aiden a new one (what else could we do?), and thanks to a trip into Joondalup on Sunday, we know where to get it.
There’s a pet shop next door to Bunnings. And it’s open on Sunday.
And I’m not revelaing who it was that suggested we pop in and do some Christmas shopping. For the Finches.
But it wasn’t me.
All I did was choose the ladder with the rough steps to help them groom their claws. And the straw nesting box. That’s all.
I have no emotional attachment to these birds whatsoever.
CAROLE KING IS NORMAL, HUZZAH!
The ABC’s Articulate column contains an interview with Carole King, who is touring Australia for the first time. I don’t know any of M s King’s music, except for a sneaking memory that she was the one responsible for the inane soundtrack to one of the Winnie The Pooh movies my darling daughter has made me watch over and over and over and over……
A serious question: what’s the attraction with MySpace? A lot of people seem to be signing up, and seem very happy at having done so. I’ve looked at the Home/About pages, and I’m not sure I’m not missing something.
Anyone have a MySpace page? Want to tell me about it? Head to the Message Board so we can have a group back and forth on the subject.