While you were asleep: Assange dodges promise, hello #Ticketgate, Kyrgios out of Open (into my car)

Approx Reading Time-10Sweet, merciful Thursday. What happened while you were asleep? Well, Julian Assange will face judgement day, sort of, One Nation won their golden tickets and Nick Kyrgios rolled the eyes of a nation.


Assange responds to Manning clemency will travel to US for trial. Or maybe not.

Hoorah, and bully for our outgoing Prez-Bae Barack for springing the military analyst formerly known as Bradley, bringing a great deluge to the fountain of possibilities. As reported by our Editor, and subsequently ignored on Twitter, the general vibe was apparently thus:

With Edward Snowden still on the run, and therefore out of the race, we turned to the White House with eyebrows and palms raised, silently asking the question: “What about Jules?”

Twitter loosed it’s army of trolls, swinging their hairy clubs that cause +4 sadness, reminding Assange of his promise to turn himself over to the US if Manning won her freedom.

And this is where the story turns vague. Via Assange’s lawyer, Jules mentioned that he would indeed be sticking to his guns, and would head to the US for trial.

It’s a sentiment echoed by some news outlets, however a comparable number believe that he won’t.

I’m confused.


One Nation enters #TicketGate, TBS yearns for afternoon back.

Elsewhere in the Twittersphere, another bone was being picked. And much like the appendage I’m loosely referencing, sometimes it’s not as big as it seems, or the way its spoken about. The pickle stemmed from the wobbly sausagefest that Donald Trump’s inaugaration is set to be.

Now, the problem, as it often goes in AusPol of late, circles around One Nation; the issue at hand, whether One Nation asked for the invitations they received rejected or if they were actually invited.

As it turns out, One Nation asked for them. Repeatedly:

As much as we, the media enjoy popping the boot into One Nation, this is a giant, Everestian pile of who cares. Honestly, let us save our ire re: political rule bending apropos to the procurement of tickets to an event that people actually want to attend.


Kyrgios loses poorly, wins the hearts/minds of the truly broken.

Speaking of bandwagon ire, Nick Kyrgios has gone and done a rather silly thing. Well, sort of. For the Kyrgios completists out there, it had it all. Length, power, flair, and a severe lack of fucks to give. Although he ended up losing in five marathon sets, he seemingly lost after winning the first two sets.

In classic Kyrgioan pomp, he went out imbibing the bittersweet taste of sour grapes. Honestly, I’ve never sat through five sets of tennis (I’d rather have my testicles trampled uncontrollably by an African elephant) but tonight I remained glued. Kyrgios is drama. He’s like a three-act play in a fluro-collared t-shirt.

See, watching Lleyton Hewitt was akin to Home & Away, in that you knew how it’d start and end, and that it would drag on far too long, but watching Kyrgios is something else. It’s like that odd performance art, where the subject smears himself with effluence while making an extremely protracted point about “The System”. It’s a higher art that not a lot of people get, which is not to talk down to the tennis audience, but the casually twisted among us would much rather see the possibility of a man self-destruct at the height of his profession, rather than the rest of the tripe on offer.

It’s a fucksight better than watching old mate talk to his hand.

See you at the Open next year!


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