Being offended has become something of a national sport in this country. That said, there have been a few things of late to be legitimately offended about.
Greg Ritchie could probably work on some new comic material, given the unsurprisingly negative response to his allegedly side-splitting zingers about kaffirs, and how he keeps Muslim children locked in the boot of his car. Alan Jones offended many people, myself included, with his cruelly twisted suggestion that Julia Gillard’s recently dead father died of shame over his daughter’s lies.
Being offended by Ritchie or Jones is one thing. Advocating that they be fined, banned from speaking or sacked from their jobs is something else altogether.
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Sportsman’s luncheons are turgid affairs at the best of times. Indeed, you can pretty much bet that any lunch with the pompous suffix “eon” will have a post-meal speaker as tasteless as the soggy function food.
Of course there’s tasteless and there’s plain offensive. Greg Ritchie crossed that line big time on Friday, when the former Test cricketer delivered a string of appalling comments of the type he’s been making for years under the guise of humour. Funny they were certainly not. Worse, his comments were plain stupid given they were made at a venue hosting a visiting, multi-racial cricketing power.
Calling Greg Ritchie a bigot and a racist misses the broader point, which is that the bloke is an unfunny wanker, and has been for years. He used to have a character called “Mahatma Cote”, a portly, turbanned subcontinental stereotype with a niece called Fatima Pants. Yeah, we get it Greg. You think erections and black people are funny.
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