Baller-in-Chief

Golf has seen its day as the sport of choice amongst Washington’s power brokers, with anyone who is anyone in the American capital dusting off their college basketball skills in the hope of being invited to shoot hoops with the “Baller-in-Chief”, President Barack Obama.

ESPN’s Wright Thompson yesterday published a fantastic piece on how everyone from members of the House of Reps to the Chairman of the Federal Trade Commission and the Secretary of the Interior are vying for the “inner, inner, inner sanctum … a pickup game with Obama” …

I’ve always had conflicting emotions about professional sport; the fact it so often promotes brawn over brains and the way we laud men of often questionable character just because they can kick, run, jump or catch.

Then I find myself at a Rabbitohs’ game screaming like a mental patient, swooning with the joy of a last minute field goal that steals victory and it all makes sense.

It’s black and white: I win, you lose, and there’s always next week.

Though we fight wars and build bridges, run governments, design aircraft and conquer mountains, some men can never shake the adolescent joy of sport so that even in adulthood and dotage, it forms an omnipresent backdrop to our lives.

It’s common ground, and though you might be from another country, religion or race, if you’re male, there’s a good chance you have an opinion on Cristiano Ronaldo, Roger Federer or Tiger Woods.

If you have any taste, you may also be able to offer your two cents worth on Big Papi Ortiz’s slump (and tentative recovery), whether Terrell Owens is Satan* or a self-promoting genius, and just how deeply evil the Yankees organisation truly is.

And when we play sport – even poorly, even in our 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond – men seem to joyously regress to the schoolyard; to the sledging, the bragging and the giddiness of victory.

Washington DC, it seems, is little different.

“This DC is a lot like junior high: The student body waits to see what the cool kids do. The president – no matter who – is the coolest kid. People eat where he eats; Obama went to a local burger joint, and now you can’t get a table there. People scheme for the opportunity of a chance encounter,” writes Thompson in his ESPN feature.

“Obama loves all things hoops. By executive fiat, the White House tennis court is being retrofitted for basketball. He mentions the game every other speech, including his controversial commencement address at Notre Dame. There’s a blog devoted to his on-court exploits called Baller-in-Chief.”

“His brother-in-law is the coach at Oregon State. His friends hoop. His personal aide, Reggie Love, hooped his way to a national title at Duke and is the gatekeeper for the presidential game. The senior staff hoops. The junior staff hoops. Four members of the Cabinet hoop. Wanna guess what comes next? There’s a new prize to be won.”

“‘What’s the hottest invite in Washington?’ former Clinton press secretary Dee Dee Myers asks. ‘Yeah, it’s great to go to White House state dinners or Stevie Wonder kinds of events. But what’s the sine qua non? It’s a pickup game with Obama. That’s the inner, inner, inner sanctum. Proximity is everything in this town. How close are you to the epicenter?’” writes Thompson.

Kevin Rudd? Well, he aint no ‘Bama, but like John Howard before him, K-Rudd doesn’t mind a brisk walk, except he tends to take his at night.

A friend of mine who has eaten at Kirribilli House with the PM said, as he left one such dinner he saw: “Some nondescript public servant sitting, waiting, in the foyer in his trackie pants at 11pm. He was clutching a manila folder, so he could go walking with Rudd and no doubt get torn a new orifice.”

In business as well as politics, sport plays a vital role.

The cliché of deals being consummated on the golf course and in corporate boxes at the rah rah, is cliché for a reason; it’s where men feel comfortable, and where we can judge each other without the mask of a suit and tie.

You can tell a lot about a man by the way he conducts himself watching a footy match, and even more if you a play a game with, or against, him.

Ditto for golf, squash, cricket, sparring, basketball and maybe even Xbox.

As I get older (and older, and older), I’m finding I socialise more with men who wanna hit a heavy bag, take a run, swim the bay or catch a Rabbitohs game, than blokes who just want to sit in the pub and sink piss.

Aerobic exercise a great leveller.

The other great thing about sport is that it allows us to forget (momentarily) that the guy opposite us can fire or promote us, or make us golden with an upcoming deal – as long as he’s on the court or the paddock, he’s just another body.

That said, we probably don’t face opponents like Jonathan Jourdane, a special assistant to Ray Rivera, head of External and Intergovernmental Affairs for Interior, who works for the US Secretary of the Interior, Ken Salazar.

“Although Jonathan Jourdane is a name you might be hearing on the evening news in a decade or two, right now he’s about as low on the food chain as you can get,” writes Thompson in his ESPN piece, describing one of Obama’s satellite pick up games.

“But he’s in Washington playing basketball with some really important people, so he must be doing something right. A little later, that bright, bright future flashes before his eyes.

“Jourdane’s and [Pennsylvania Senator Bob] Casey’s feet get tangled. Casey, a former college player who came back to basketball to play with Obama during the campaign, hits the ground hard. There’s a gasp. Oh, my god! Did Jourdane kill the senator?”

“Casey gets up, dusts himself off. The gasps turn to laughs. Casey’s one of those laughing. This is a moment that will, almost certainly, be brought up again. And again.”

“‘You tripped the senator,’ cracks Brian Screnar, Salazar’s White House liaison. ‘You’re never allowed in Pennsylvania again!’.”

Having spent a lot of time in Pennsylvania, that’s no great loss. And I’m sure Jourdane could get a job going for walkies with our PM.

*If you know anything about the NFL, click on that Terrell Owens link. It’s a new spin on an old YouTube staple, but I guarantee you at least two belly laughs.