Journalistic Xaviour

It is the very early morning of Thursday November 25 and twenty-eight year old Tasmanian spinner Xavier Doherty is lying in his hotel room, surely wide awake, preparing for his test debut. Twenty-eight is not a young age for a maiden test in this modern age. The circumstances of the call-up could not be more unexpected, controversial or vitally important. On the same day a 20 year old sports nut, with more experience and years in the field of passion and enthusiasm than any Australian first class player's career today, sits as a budding professional. My debut in the blogosphere is equally as unexpected and as belated.

Tomorrow (or in fact today now I think about it) yet another Ashes series begins. It feels like only yesterday that Stuart Broad's amicable Fast-Medium had magically become an international threat and was running through our hapless middle order. The desperate need of that day to vent, rant, sensationalise and various other forms of opinionated vitriol that passes for journalism nowadays remains just as vivid. Nor do I complain about this bias. I am nothing but walking, talking bias and opinion, and I would be concerned for anyone without such passion for his chosen field. I have that passion and will use this space to talk about the issues of the day in the sporting world, in both its basic newsmaking form and, I openly admit, from the position of the fan and sports lover, enamoured by the most memorable triumphs and miffed by what I find incorrect or worthy of spoken opinion.

Cricket, the local football codes of the great state of New South Wales and the excessive world of international motorsport are of greatest priority in my fancy, but any range of interesting stories will be reported on and dissected. Hopefully with the assistance of others who feel animated or even boringly reasoned in their desire to express views, these stories can be discussed and argued long into merry mornings.

With my primary degree at University now finished and with an eye on a hopeful career within sport in the future, the time is ripe for me to get writing, and what could be a better time to start than on the eve of arguably the greatest contest in all of Australian sport.

Anyone reading this and thinking if I deserve a job in the print media, come on. Look at the title of this post. My command of the punny cliche is second to nun.