Ben Pobjie, Kelli Underwood, the difficulties of post modernist irony and the genuine satire of Keith Dunstan

(Above: : Kelli Underwood)

Who on earth is Ben Pobjie and why on earth should anyone care?

Well I care because I'd like to send a female boxer around to give him a good jab, followed by a nifty low blow below the belt.

All in the name of jolly, good humored repartee of course.

For a moment there, you'd almost think Ben is the latest in a long line of males to think that they were the ones to invent the immortal angle on women doing anything, courtesy of that line first attributed to Dr. Johnson:

I told him I had been that morning at a meeting of the people called Quakers, where I had heard a woman preach. Johnson: "Sir, a woman's preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all."

Boswell: Life

Well I guess it was the eighteenth century and they could get away with that kind of thing in those days, and it has a certain elegance.

Contrast the header for Ben Pobjie's piece: Keeping women in their place: on the Brownlow red carpet. Wearing dresses.

What is it? Dress up as Sam Newman week?

Oh wait, it's ironic discourse. Of a satirical kind. So heavy handed you'd swear Ben was the proud owner of a chainsaw.

Is this the best Crikey, home of First Dog, can do in the way of humor?

I mean I know Pobjie is just being post modernist ironic in an existential discourse. His blog tells me as much:

So climate change denialists aren't the only stunningly stupid people out there. There are also those who read humour columns. I mean, not all of them, but some.

Check out my latest, here. It's not the worst example of the "I don't get it, and I shall now prove it beyond doubt" genre, but there are a couple of prize pigs in there.

"mocking of women taking non-traditional roles". Sigh. Yes, yes, of course.

Sigh, yawn, of course. The hapless reader who upset him had the cheek to suggest his routine had been around since before Pankhurst, to which Ben replied Channel Ten didn't have the rights pre-Pankhurst. LOL.

Because it seems Ben is sending up those who get agitated about a woman caller being used to call AFL matches, namely one Kelli Underwood, pride of Adelaide. Apparently this is of some concern to people who live in Melbourne, but then if you live in Melbourne, anything can become a major concern. Like not living in Sydney.

Clever Ben. Not for a moment does he give way his savage satirical intent. Instead his piece oozes lines like this:

Now, some PC greenie-types will be saying, hey, what’s the big deal? What difference does it make whether the commentator is a man or a woman? Let me ask, have you ever heard a woman’s voice? It’s all high-pitched and tinkly, like wind chimes. Would you want wind chimes commentating on football? Can wind chimes convey the excitement of a speccy? Can wind chimes abuse an umpire? Can wind chimes bellow like a moose when a young man is knocked unconscious by a perfect hip-and-shoulder?

But is this Ben being real or Ben channeling Sam Newman? Sigh. It's so hard to tell. Because apparently a lot of people hate Kelli's voice. Or so I'm told.

Which raises a suspicion. How is it Ben does a really good job of channeling Sam, and is it irony if you only manage to evoke the standard mind set of the Melbourne male and/or male AFL follower?

Because you know I think Ben really warmed to the job of demolishing the nefarious weekend-infiltrating harpy and her high pitched voice and her invasion of male space. You know like the person you meet in a dark space in a club and they're dressed in black and reciting poetry, and the next thing you know they're talking about how they've only been in the city for a week and miss the pig shooting.

You have to go back a few years now to remember that fine flurry of feminism introduced by that upstanding feminist Kerry Packer, when he allowed Kate Fitzpatrick to join the Nine network cricket commentating team in 1983 in a bid to attract female audiences by giving the game a female perspective.

The poor sweetie was bowled over and didn't get selected for the next season.

Tip to Ben. The intertubes is big and so I'm told by the Seven network, full to overflowing. There are vast numbers of readers who've never heard of the AFL, and perhaps even vaster numbers who've never heard of Kelli Underwood, trailblazing breath of fresh air 'crashing through or crashing' the boy's club of AFL commentating.

If you wanted your readers to have some sort of perspective on your satirical musings, you should have answered a couple of basic questions.

Do you like the AFL, or do you loathe it? Do you like Kelli Underwood as a commentator, or do you think she's a misfire? Are you writing in the desperate hope she'll make the cut next year, or as a subversive way to help her on her way?

Would you rather watch Lesbian Vampire Killers than watch the AFL with Kelli Underwood commenting because (a) it's more amusing than the AFL or (b) it's more amusing than Kelli Underwood calling the AFL.

I know I'll never learn the answers, which is a great relief, because strangely the whole damn thing reminds of Melbourne and the Coodabeen Champions club and men in black leaving the streets of Fitzroy on a Saturday to go to the football!

Whatever happened to Keith Dunstan and his Anti-Football League?

Why here it is, though it seems to have sagged a little and given up the ghost a lot, under the fiendish pressure of dealing with a town besotted by nonsense. Ah well, vale Keith.

Which takes us back to Ben.

Po faced is all very well, but it took me immense time and energy to discover that the brave Kelli's already called her fourth and final game, and she won't be used in the finals, and that Channel 10 is "tightlipped on whether she will return as a caller next year."

So then the question is whether Ben's piece is parody and satire, or perhaps just insightful prophecy in which all his judgements will come to pass and his insights fulfilled?

Thereby making Kelli the Kate Fitzpatrick of her generation?

Thank the lord I'll probably never know the answer as that would involve watching assorted games of football. But I do feel like sending Ben Pobjie an invoice for ten minutes of my time.

Pretending to be a satirist when he might well be just another prophet.

Questions left unanswered:

Is listening to Kelli Underwood more desperate than watching Lesbian Vampire Killers?

Is LVK a show worse than Sex Lives of the Potato Men? Is that humanly possible? (yes and no)

Can a game of AFL football reach the standards of the potato men? (yes, and no)

Is it possible to do a satire about a culture which promotes Sam Newman as a star?(no)

(Below: Keith Dunstan burning a football at the MCG in 1972. Now that's satire).