Troppo is gaining a decidedly genteel, cerebral flavour of late. Nothing wrong with that, but for this Scots-Irish member of the oz trailer-trash class there’s a need for an occasional leavening of down-market physicality. And what better way to do it than muse about Brigid Delaney’s article in this morning’s SMH about the demise of the affair between Delta and the Scud?
Delaney quotes self-appointed experts who debunk the longstanding belief that a nookie before a big sporting event is bad for you. Sydney Uni academic Catharine Lumby dismisses it as sexist nonsense:
“That Delta has been said to be affecting Scud’s game goes to the old idea that women’s sexual powers sap men’s strength. At its heart is a fear of women.”
And Canadian psychologist Ian Shrier is equally dismissive:
“Superstitions aside, having sex before a big game or sporting event has little to do with who wins or loses.”
I can’t help wondering if either of them has ever had a good root. It’s certainly true that mediocre, utilitarian sex is usually restful: the physical release helps you sleep. But really great sex is something else again. It leaves every nerve ending tingling, and the hormones racing around the body for hours afterwards. Sleep is likely to be fitful while you linger in the delicious sensual afterglow.
It probably isn’t conducive to optimal sporting performance the next day, I reckon. Hence Solomon Haumono’s problems while intimately engaged with “Pleasure Machine” Gabrielle Richens. And Delta, despite her innocent eyes, must have similar elite-level horizontal folk-dancing skills judging by the Scud’s shithouse tennis form over the last 6 months or so.