Of Cabbages and Kings

There is nothing worse for native born Canadians, or any other nationality for that matter, than to find themselves in the company of a load of old Brits who suddenly, out of the blue, are reminiscing about the ‘old country’. There is something very weird, strange and esoteric about the British sense of humour. To misquote President Lyndon Johnson, it’s like pissing down your leg. We think it’s hot but nobody else does.  Sometime in early August my friend, Nigel, informed me about the photo of a lettuce on the front page of a British newspaper.

Before I get to that I have been reminded of the sinking of the Titanic in 1912. (Yes, Friends, this blog will be filled with tangents and red herrings. If I were you I would click it off now, paint a wall and spend an happy hour watching it dry!)  It was an event that shocked the world not least because it sank celebrities but more because it was supposed to be unsinkable. The confidence of the age decided that mankind had conquered nature. There was nothing that we humans could not achieve if we put our minds to it. The loss of life as we know was colossal, the loss of confidence was unconscionable.  Further more, two short years later, humanity’s ego received another kicking when World War I began. Nothing was ever the same again.

Local newspapers report local news so whether or not they have a duty to report national or international events is debatable. But at the time of the sinking, the Press and Journal, the local newspaper in Aberdeen outdid itself in its parochial outlook when it announced:-

“Titanic Sunk: Aberdeen man feared lost at sea.”

Typical of me, Dear Reader, that I cannot remember where I read this particular gem so there may be inaccuracies. But the point is that the great unwashed, the hoi polloi, do not decide what is important regarding world events. Indeed it probably takes an historian some time afterwards to give us a better, albeit not without bias, less narrow minded perspective. Over a thousand died because nemesis stuck her big nose in and asserted herself over hubris, leaving one Aberdonian dead! Any rate, Friends, I give this example because we Brits can be a smidge self-centred, filled with asinine assumptions and rocked with confusion if others don’t appreciate what we think to be the bleeding obvious. And there you have it! A generalisation, a stereotype and a monstrous slur on over 60 million people but, hopefully, Dear Reader, you will give me the benefit of the doubt given this particular context.  

Liz Truss was briefly Prime Minister of Great Britain in 2022. The Queen was dead a couple of days after welcoming her to the fold of the many British leaders she had met in her long reign. She was monarch for 70 years. Lis Truss was Prime Minister for 45 days. Quite a feat for an incoming Prime Minister, the Monarch falls off her perch two days after meeting her and the country is not far behind! At some point during Ms. Truss’ short tenure, the Daily Star newspaper produced two photographs side by side on their front page. One was a picture of the PM, the other was a picture of a lettuce (Purchased for 60 pence at a local Tesco supermarket.) The caption suggested that the lettuce would outlast her time in office. Inevitably there followed jokes about who or what could do the better job, the vegetable or the woman. Many believed in the lettuce, would have demonstrated on behalf of the lettuce and, had there been an election, would have voted for the lettuce. Ms. Truss didn’t like the joke describing it as puerile. So the newspaper and the picture had made their point.

https://www.dailystar.co.uk/news/latest-news/daily-stars-viral-liz-truss-28270860

For years, Dear Reader, I have been ‘as happy as Larry”. This caused a variety of my friends, including the forthright David Speirs* to ask who Larry is. It is a common expression in the UK. Despite trying to assure my so called Canadian friends and fellow rugby coaches that this is de rigueur, to them it is simply another example of my weirdness! Describing some athlete who was fleet of foot as ‘ mud slipping off a very, very shiny shovel’ was a wonderful compliment to the speediest player on the team. And philosophical observations like ‘if you pick up mud with woollen gloves on, the gloves get muddier, the mud doesn’t get glovier.’ Friends, these are adages which, in my opinion not only make for better rugby players but also better human beings. Sadly I fear you won’t find comments like these in any coaching manual or put forth as a modern teaching method at a Professional Development Day at the beginning of the 2023 school year, but…. come the revolution, Comrades.  Sorry, Dear Reader, I digress. Back to Larry.

In the flurry of important things like teaching and coaching, the problem of Larry was submerged in the busyness of business. But the truth shall out, Dear Reader, even when every stone is left unturned in its pursuit. Larry lay dormant for years, nursing his brooding existence in some unknown, isolated cave; monk-like in a solitary cell; washed by turbulent seas; a forlorn figure, a martyr to his cause. (Hmm, does Larry have a cause!?).Larry bided his time. Until, Dear Friends, until!

 The Collingwood rugby team was on tour in Australia as is the case every two years , Covid permitting. So there we were being hosted by Aussie coaches in Sydney or the Sunshine Coast or in Central New South Wales when one of their number let slip that he was as ’happy as Larry to see us’. If you can’t read my excitement as I write this then surely it is evident inferentially, you must feel it. Dear Friends, I had a moment. Actually that’s not true. I had THE moment!  In that one phrase; that throwaway  expression, I felt that I was no longer an outsider wandering about on the planet’s left field, never getting a look at the ball, no more an outcast kicking the heads off dandelions on the fringes of society. No, now I was the centre of the action. It proved once and for all that Larry is not just the figment of one man’s imagination but a worldwide phenomenon; a cosmopolitan celebrity. In that moment of recognition it suddenly flashed across my mind that Larry can never be the victim of scandal; he can never fall from grace; he can never drop off the high pedestal of his renown; he can never be indicted for instigating a riot; he can never be accused of trying to interfere in the democratic process. Larry, Dear Reader, can never do any wrong.  Why? Because nobody knows who the hell Larry is!!

Back to Liz and that lettuce.  

When the Roman generals were successful in battle and returned to Rome, they were granted a triumphant entry into the city. It was the open topped bus, ticker tape parade of its day. But there was a difference 2.000 years ago. Standing next to the “Caesar’ in his chariot as he was rapturously greeted by thousands of people, was a slave. It was the job of the slave to whisper periodically to the hero of the hour, “You’re only a man”. I think of Lis Truss’ lettuce as being her whispering slave. (Although 45 days as leader is hardly a triumph!) But the point is that if we reach the top at anything it is only human to think that we are the best thing since sliced bread. Flattery is great as long as we don’t inhale.  Wisdom tells us that it is a hard slog to the top of the mountain but an easy careless slip to the bottom. For example, as my good friend Dermot wisely advocates with his favourite Shakespearean quotation,

“Scorn not the base degrees by which you do ascend”.

 I further believe, that the wedding vows should be changed because they encourage hubris in the man and humility in the woman. Rather than Irene having to swear to ‘love, honour and obey” me (Let’s face it two of those promises are impossible to keep ), she should have been asked,

“Do you, Irene Mae Pennicuick, solemnly swear to tell Peter James Davidson when he’s being bloody stupid, to stop him preening himself  when he has completed the most simple of household chores, to park his nonsensical observations at the door and to leave the last piece of pizza until the morning?”

That is definitely a realistic and necessary expectation.

But, Dear Friends, I chose this title for this blog, believe it or not, to make a serious point. There are some regimes in the world where journalists would have been banged up in some god forsaken clink; sent to some choking hellhole; poisoned by some agent of the state;  shot down in an aeroplane by an immoral thug; exiled to a barren cold wasteland. All because their leader can dish it out but can’t take it and cannot bear that comparison to a vegetable.  But I believe that every leader must be faced with the scurrilous irony and ego –biting caricatures of a free press. In short, every King should be compared to a cabbage.

“The time has come,” The Walrus said,

“To talk of many things

OF shoes—and ships—-and sealing wax

Of cabbages—–and kings

And why the sea is boiling hot

And whether pigs have wings.”      Lewis Carroll

Thanks for reading. 

 Larry.

*David Speirs was a starter for the Canadian rugby team in the quarter-final of the 1991 Rugby World Cup against New Zealand. He and his team-mates are in the BC Sports Hall of Fame. In addition he and his esteemed colleague, Roger Hatch, have been responsible for building a rugby programme par excellence at Collingwood School. This alone is an outstanding feat .  His teams have achieved 10 provincial rugby titles over the years. Dave has been involved in them all which, in itself, is worthy of entry into the Hall of Fame in my opinion.