Gosford. Bloody Gosford.

So, I went to Gosford on Saturday night.

I went with my brother, Simon, and my mate, Matt, to watch my football team (the Roosters) play a "home game" in front of a fan base that either:

a) Retired from Sydney to Gosford; or
b) Had nothing else to do with their Saturday night.

Gosford, for those unaware, is a town in the Central Coast, about an hour and a half north of Sydney. It's small enough to have a feel of everyone being completely drunk before the sun sets, but close enough to Sydney to have a big city attitude.

Supposedly, issues in Gosford involve "a range of pressures including unemployment, limited child supervision resulting from parents commuting to Sydney for work, lack of recreational and employment opportunities for young people, lack of transport and the prevalence of drug and alcohol use in the region."

Anyways, the purpose of this article is not to bag Gosford.

It's just something I want to do to get my point across.

Our plan for the evening consisted of:

• Arriving in Gosford
• Throwing a frisbee
• Watching the Super 12 Final on a TV while eating dinner
• Going to the Roosters match
• Leaving Gosford.

All in all, not a very complicated plan. Little did I realise the problems we would have in its execution.

As Roosters season ticket holders, myself and Simon are given cards that admit us into all home games. This "home game" being far from home, I wanted to see if our cards would admit us into this stadium.

It was at this point I realised that Gosford Stadium had something that I'd never seen before at a stadium.

Bouncers.

Not security staff.

Bouncers.

Anyways, I approached one of the bouncers and asked him if our cards admitted us to the match.

Bouncer - "Dunno, mate. Doesn't matter. You can't come in here with that frisbee."

Me - "OK, I'm not planning on coming in now. I just want to know if our cards work."

Bouncer - "Dunno. But you're not bringing that frisbee in."

Anyways, we went in search of someone who could tell us whether our tickets would work. Failing to find someone, Simon and Matt went to the gate and tried the cards. Lo and behold, they worked and the 2 of them walked in.

Walking out was the problem.

Bouncer - "Sorry mate, no pass outs."

This is a policy that I have never understood about sporting events. I mean, it's not like a nightclub, where if you offer ability to leave, you open the door to your patrons abusing all kinds of recreational drugs. Then again, this is Gosford...

Matt - "But this is ridiculous. We're members. We want to watch the Super 12 final."

Bouncer - "You might give your tickets to someone else."

Noting now that it was 2 hours before the match was due to start.

Matt - "Why don't we give you our tickets then?"

Bouncer (to me) - "Your mate's not doing himself any favours. One more word and he won't be allowed in at all."

The bouncer then had his attention distracted by a 12 year old girl who was trying to bring a flag into the match. Having had enough of arguing about the pass out policy of Gosford stadium, we bought some tickets and wandered into town to try and find a venue with an under-18's policy that was showing the Super 12 Final.

Which of course, was easier said than done.

The first bar I walked into was a dive. The kind of bar where, when a stranger walks in, the record needle scratches, the music stops and everyone stares.

There was a sign on the counter saying "Swearing will not be tolerated."

Freedom of speech implications aside, how dodgy does your bar have to be that you need to put up a sign saying "Swearing will not be tolerated"?

It was at that point I realised that everyone staring at me was a bikie.

Not to be deterred, I continued through to the bar.

Bartender - "Whaddaya want, mate?"

Me - "Well, my younger brother's 17 and ..."

Bartender - "Can't come in here, mate."

Me - "No, I appreciate that. I was just wondering

Bartender - "Nah. He can't come in."

Me - "OK, I understand. Is there a bar somewhere in Gosford..."

Bartender - "Dunno. Can't come in."

Me - "Yeah, but is there anywhere in town where ..."

Bartender - "Nah. Can't come in."

I needed a new approach.

Me - "What about a restaurant that's showing the Super 12 final?"

Bartender - "Dunno. Try Dinnan's up the road. Can't come in here, but."

I've never understood people who end sentences with the word "But." I shook off my confusion and we continued up the road towards Dinnan's.

Dinnan's was a brasserie style venue that appeared to be under-18 friendly. It was perfect - there were TV's, we'd watch the final and eat dinner.

Only one problem. They weren't showing the game.

At this point, our grand plan was under threat. If our situation wasn't soon rectified, the evening would be reduced to:

• Arriving in Gosford
• Leaving Gosford

So, we continued up the road to Hotel Gosford, which was a massive pub peppered with signs saying "You must be at least 18 to be in this section of the Hotel."

Walking into the restaurant section of the hotel, we sat down next to a table that had young kids sitting at it. Within 30 seconds, a security guard appeared asking us for ID.

Me - "It's quite apparent that my brother's not 18, but I'm responsible for him."

Security - "I'm sorry, he's got to be 18 to come in here. Why don't you take him to Dinnan's"

(Again, notwithstanding the kids at the next table)

Me - "Look mate, we've been all over town, we've been to Dinnan's, and this is the only place that's showing the Super 12 Final."

Security - "Oh... you want to watch the rugby? Yeah, no worries, he can stay."

The Australian Identity

In summary...

1. Small towns need to hire bouncers at football stadiums because everyone is drunk
2. A frisbee is a weapon
3. Rational, logical thought is impossible. Discretion tending towards common sense is non existent.
4. Listening and compassion are irrelevant
5. Rugby is a perfectly good excuse for breaking the law.

Some might argue that the above is a perfect example of how Australians have lost our way. To argue this, it is first necessary to understand what our way is, or was, and how it became our way.

A large part of the Australian identity was formed back in the days when we were a convict colony. Australian ideals that prospered include getting a fair go, mateship and being a larrikin. This is the reason that our national heroes include individuals like Ned Kelly (a champion of the people, enemy of the state), Errol Flynn (the man responsible for the expression "In like Flynn") and Chopper Reid (a convicted criminal who killed drug dealers but defined it as garbage disposal).

Often, these ideals are subsumed by large quantities of alcohol.

From the Aussie backpacker in London - "I'm a bloody Australian, mate, and it's because I'm a bloody Australian that I'm getting on the grog" to my well educated mate studying a post-graduate degree at a prestigious university in the US - "it is incumbent for Australians to be seen at all events where alcohol is involved!" it is apparent that alcohol consuption is an imporant part of our culture.

After all, is David Boon remembered more for his exploits on the cricket pitch, or for his beer drinking record between Sydney and London?

To a certain extent, I question whether alcohol transforms the larrikin Australian into one who is dumb, dodgy and ignorant.

In fact, there is no better example of this than in Gallipoli. Gallipoli was more than just a battle - it was a moment of nation building, a history point where Australians could draw on the characteristics that were shown under adversity, of mateship, of larrikinism, of a fair go, and say "I am proud to be Australian."

Much commentary was made of the behaviour during this year's Anzac commemorations, including references to drunk Aussies who littered this historical site whilst sleeping on graves.

How much can we blame use and abuse of alcohol for the "ugly Australian"?

During my annual pilgrimage to Byron Bay, I met 3 people within 24 hours. (This was the 24 hours before I departed from reality for about a week). Each of these I met under entirely different circumstances and each had something in common.

Lumpy the miner

Lumpy was a friendly guy I met in Brisbane just prior to the Dave Matthews show. He had been living in London for a couple of years, working as a handyman, and had a general gripe against Londoners. His complaint was that he had quite a heavy work belt to carry and that every time he had to walk through a crowd to get to a bus, Londerners wouldn't get out of his way.

Of course, it was a matter of time that such a congestion incident occurred within moments of him having left a pub. What was less predictable was his reaction, where supposedly, he starting swinging his sand grinder through a crowd of people, clearing his path to the bus and injuring enough people that it made the next day's newspaper. Lumpy left London fairly soon after this incident.

At this point, Lumpy stepped up to buy our table 2 jugs of beer.

Thommo from Lismore

I picked up Thommo as a hitchhiker whilst on the way to Nimbin. He was a pretty nice bloke who lived quite close to Lismore.

Anyways, Thommo was laying quite low at that point in time. Apparently, his brother had gotten into an argument with a group of Aboriginal men. Having had a few beers, Thommo thought it a good idea to throw a full garbage bin at the group.

At this point of the story, we reached Thommo's house. He gave us a couple of dollars for petrol.

The trucker

On the way back from Nimbin, (just after I'd left reality for the next week), we were driving down a fairly nondescript road. I waved an oncoming truck down to ask him for directions.

The driver was a youngish bloke and extremely friendly. He gave us directions and asked us if we were "jumping" (apparently referring to the gates of the music festival we were attending).

He seemed disappointed when I told him that we'd actually bought tickets.

That didn't deter him from raising the Rum and Coke can that he was drinking, as if to say "Cheers." Then he said,

"Cheers. Just remember, when you jump, make sure you've had plenty to drink beforehand," as he droveoff.

3 stories. 3 Aussie larrikins. 3 good blokes.

3 dodgy, dumb, criminal incidents.

The common link - alcohol.

So, is alcohol the problem?

Does alcohol cause Australians to revert from mateship minded larrikins to dumb, dodgy criminals?

No.

Events of the past week have seen a 27 year old Australian girl jailed in Indonesia for 20 years for the importation of 4.1 kg of marijuana.

The purpose of this article is not to judge whether or not Schapelle Corby was guilty of the crime for which she was convicted.

After all, I, like most Australians in Australia, have no idea as to the intricacies of the case, the trial or any of the evidence.

Of course, that didn't stop many people from forming an opinion.

Don't get me wrong here. Personally, I don't believe marijuana should be illegal at all. If it is, I don't believe she should have gotten 20 years. And notwithstanding her guilt or innocence, I feel extremely sorry for the girl.

But there has to be a reason that even with a lack of knowledge of the case, an overwhelming majority (between 80% and 90%) of Australians polled believe(d) Corby to be innocent.

I would argue that most of these people formed their opinions through what they read in Australian media. Corby's trial by media, for the most part, based its case on 3 assertations.

1. She must be innocent, because no one would be stupid enough to take 4.1kg of marijuana to a country where it is less expensive than the country it originated from.
2. There is a criminal ring of baggage handlers operating at airports that smuggle drugs throughout Australia.
3. Indonesia is a corrupt country

This became self perpetuating - as reporters realised the weight of public opinion to be in Corby's favour, they became less likely to write articles that damaged her case in any way. Indeed, the chief of Australian Federal Police, Mick Keelty, was vilified through the media for comments he made that were interpreted to be adverse to Corby's case.

Essentially, the trial by media had no prosecution team. If there was a prosecution team in the media, they may have asked questions like:

"What did Schapelle do in the months prior to going to Bali?", or

"If no one would be stupid enough to take marijuana into Indonesia from Australia and given the lack of security in Indonesia, why were the airport security looking at her bag in the first place?", or

"If Indonesia is corrupt, why didn't she pay the bribe?"

These questions did not get asked by the media. Instead, the media catered to the lowest common denominator in Australian society. By virtue of our apparent distrust in Indonesia, she must have been innocent. In fact, not only was she innocent, but it was the Indonesian justice system that was on trial.

Also, she's white, they're not.

Samples taken from Sydney's radio stations effect this.

2GB (on the Indonesian President)

"I believe right now Bambam Yodhoyono is sitting up there and his hands are tied because it’s a legal matter. Wham Bam Thank You Mam Yiddi-yono is going to be called into all of these — well, that’s what he is, isn’t he — have you ever seen them? Whoa, give them a banana and away they go ..."

2GB (on the Indonesian judges)

Malcolm: The judges don’t even speak English, mate, they’re straight out of the trees if you excuse my expression.

Caller: Don’t you think that disrespects the whole of our neighbouring nation?

Malcolm: I have total disrespect for our neighbouring nation my friend. Total disrespect.And then we get this joke of a trial, and it’s nothing more than a joke. An absolute joke the way they sit there. And they do look like the three wise monkeys, I’ll say it. They don’t speak English, they read books, they don’t listen to her. They show us absolutely no respect those judges.

Alan Jones

"The judges she addressed yesterday don't speak English and won't get a translation of her comments until today. What's that say about justice, Balinese style. I thought she did brilliantly Schapelle Corby in very difficult circumstances...And in the fair dinkum stakes this ought to mean game, set and match."

John Laws

"What a weird person...If it was who I think it was, I think it might have been that Ron Bakir. The fellow who's promoting Schapelle... Apparently he smuggled a reporter from another radio station into her jail cell. But how the hell do you smuggle a grown man into a gaol cell? Huh? Maybe Ron Bakir put him in Schapelle's boogie board bag."

Perhaps, the most dangerous example was that taken from the Daily Telegraph, which stated "In a double standard that has outraged the Australian nation...Corby received ten times the sentence given to accused Bali terror mastermind Abu Bakir Bashir."

See if you can notice the key word in that sentence.

Accused. In fact, the 3 terrorists convicted of their role in the Bali bombing received the death penalty.

So, what has our response been?

In a word, xenophobic. Please explain?

Corby's guilty verdict was assured by virtue of the attention the media gave the case. To acquit someone caught in possession of drugs based on a defence of dodgy baggage handlers would set a precedent of making conviction of any drug smugglers impossible by virtue of the same defence. As a nation, our outrage should be with those performing the illicit activities in the first place.

The call for Australia to rescind its aid to Indonesian victims of the tsunami is brutal. The person or group who mailed a biological agent to the Indonesian embassy is a part idiot, part lunatic.

But with mass media encouraging mass racism, is there any wonder that the average Australian is unable to distinguish who is and isn't a victim?

Somewhere in Indonesia, there is a radio talkback host equivalent of Alan Jones or John Laws. He's having a laugh about the racist monkeys who live to the south of Indonesia. His listeners are calling in about how Australians have nothing better to do with their time than interfere with Indonesian judicial independence and perform terrorist attacks on Indonesian embassies.

He's drawing frank comparisons with the Australian treatment of convicted Indonesians. He's laughing at how we lock up in refugee camps, and on occasion, deport our own citizens.

He's complaining about the obnoxious behaviour the "Oy! oy! oy!" crowd of Australians bring with them when they visit.

By now, he's worked himself into a frenzy. "Australians walk around constantly drunk, incapable of rational, logical thought. They don't know how to listen, nor do they show compassion. The only time you'll see an Aussie using any part of their brain is when Rugby is involved."

Funny thing, he just described Gosford.