Crikey reader Tom McCardell has been less than impressed with the TV coverage of the Beijing games:
What Glenn Dyer and various gloating Channel 7 execs fail to realise is that the ratings are so strong because of the enormous public interest in the Olympics and the lack of an alternative broadcaster to watch them on. It is nothing to do with the quality of their coverage. Most viewers are torn between stabbing knitting needles in their eyes, learning Latin or watching for another half an hour to see if any events will actually be shown. More infuriatingly there are never any times given for events, unlike SBS. The vague ‘coming up’ could mean in 10 minutes, 2 hours or tomorrow. If the main events of the Games were broadcast on Community Channel 42 by a cryogenically frozen deaf moose they would still rate into the millions in Australia. Channel 7 is taking the urine sample big time.
And he’s right …. but the issue goes beyond the clunkiness of timetabling or the naffness of overawed anchors. If ever there was an event that promised ratings on a platter it’s an Olympic Games, but this time round the Australian audience has been dudded by programming choices that doff too readily to the pressure of cheap jingoism.
The tendency to present Aussie-first coverage — even if the green and gold is running so far behind it’s an effort to keep the homegrown contender in shot — to the detriment of displaying the Olympic panoply is a great pity. The games are first and foremost about the contest, and second about the supremacy of extreme individual effort, never mind the country of origin. It sells the audience short to assume their only interest is in the Oi! Oi! Oi!
Bebido si usted hace, ebrio si usted no hace, tia Maria?
Tom McCardell: You remind me of someone else; perhaps it was me, before I remembered some advice which I shall pass onto you in a minute.
I didn’t know there was any coverage of the Olympics by Channel Seven. The night of the opening ceremony I switched on said channel and had a good look at ten minutes of ads. I was so impressed by the ‘own ads’ of vacuous old people looking wistfully at the first steps taken by toddlers, presumably on the super highway to Olympic glory; followed by ‘true-blue’ Oz ads for assorted items like lavatory paper, and some form of dish washing cr*p, that I became outraged at the thought of such selfless stuff being interrupted by shots of iron jock-strapped Aussies poncing around hoping to win some coloured-tin medallions.
So outraged that I fled up to my brother Matthew’s Augustinian retreat, actually it used to be a monastery, but the old dears who ran it couldn’t keep up with capitalism, so they sold out to a Buddhist Coven. Matthew, always one to take the easy way out , changed his religion, rather than his address. Three days later I feel refreshed and lacking angst. I am so sorry to hear that you feel dudded.
But, as my great-aunt, Maria Paz Dolores, always used to say: “I warn you Venise, never look at Commercial Television; it is programmed by fools in order to cater to fools and only a fool would take it seriously!” I remember the soft smell of Jasmine wafting around on a warm day; as the words non-commercial died like a dead turd in my mouth as she said, “as for Channel Two, it is the natural habitat of politicians.” I remembered how she shuddered gently prior to sinking a large glass of my priceless 20 year old Jerez.
“Disculpame, tia Maria Paz Dolores.” I murmured as I passed her the bottle.