Tim+Yauta+Tulete


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**Text one: (Stereotype)** A Friendly Game of Football by George Edward Dyson (1865-1931) Australian writer We were challenged by The Dingoes – they're the pride of Squatter's Gap To a friendly game of football on the flat by Devil's Trap. And we went along on horses, sworn to triumph in the game, For the honor of Gyp's Diggings, and the glory of the same. And we took the challenge with us. It was beautiful to see, With its lovely curly letters, at its pretty filigree. It was very gently worded, and it made us all feel good, For it breathed the sweetest sentiments of peace and brotherhood. We had Chang, and Trucker Hogan, and the man who licked The Plug, Also Heggarty, and Hoolahan, and Peter Scott, the pug; And we wore our knuckle-dusters, and we took a keg on tap To our friendly game of football with The Dingoes at The Gap. All the fellows came to meet us, and we spoke like brothers dear. They'd a tip-dray full of tucker, and a wagon load of beer, And some lint done up in bundles; so we reckoned there'd be fun Ere our friendly game of football with the Dingo Club was done. Their umpire was a homely man, a stranger to the push, With a sweet, deceitful calmness, and a flavour of the bush. He declared he didn't know the game, but promised on his oath To see fair and square between the teams, or paralyse them both. Then we bounced the ball and started, and for twenty minutes quite We observed a proper courtesy and a heavenly sense of right, But Fitzpatrick tipped McDougal in a handy patch of mud, And the hero rose up, chewing dirt, and famishing for blood. Simple Simonsen, the umpire, sorted out the happy pair, And he found a pitch to suit them, and we left them fighting there; But The Conqueror and Cop-Out met with cries of rage and pain, And wild horses couldn't part those ancient enemies again. So the umpire dragged them from the ruck, and pegged them off a patch, And then gave his best attention to the slugging and the maatch. You could hardly wish to come across a fairer-minded chap For a friendly game of football than that umpire at The Gap. In a while young Smith, and Henty, and Blue Ben, and Dick, and Blake, Chose their partners from The Dingoes, and went pounding for the cake. Timmy Hogan hit the umpire, and was promptly put to bed 'Neath the ammunition wagon, with a bolus on his head. Feeling lonely-like, Magee took on a local star named Bent, And four others started fighting to avoid an argument: So Simonsen postponed the game, for fear some slight mishap Might disturb the pleasant feeling then prevailing at The Gap. Sixty seconds later twenty lively couples held the floor, And the air was full of whiskers, and the grass was tinged with gore, And the umpire kept good order in the interests of peace, Whilst the people, to oblige him, sat severely on the p'lice. Well, we fought the friendly game out, but I couldn't say who won; We were all stretch out on shutters when the glorious day was done; Both the constables had vanished; one was carried off to bunk, And the umpire was exhausted, and the populace was drunk. But we've written out a paper, with good Father Feeley's aid, Breathing brotherly affection; and the challenge is conveyed To the Dingo Club at Squatter's, and another friendly game Will eventuate at this end, on the flat below the claim. We have pressed The Gap to bring their central umpire if they can – Here we honestly admire him as a fair and decent man – And we're building on a pleasant time beside the Phoenix slums, For The Giant feels he's got a call to plug him if he comes.

The poem "A friendly football game" the author is using perspective of australia from a friendly football game and the language techniquies that the author is using is
 * Commentary for Text One: **

Text Two: (Subvert-Stereotype)

Text Two: **The dame game**

THERE'S another Australian poet called Patterson, and although most of Sir Les Patterson's poetic efforts cover the sort of territory that footballers aspire to on Mad Monday and cannot be repeated here, there's no doubt he's been a pivotal sporting influence, having helped win the 2000 Sydney Olympics bid in his capacity as cultural ambassador at large. Wikipedia also lists one of his many government appointments as: Minister for Sport with special responsibility to keep sports rampantly heterosexual and blokey - a role that perhaps Jason Akermanis could fill upon retirement from the AFL. And if you've ever been in any doubt about Sir Les' sporting prowess, just search on YouTube for Sir Les and boxers. Sir Les' other cohorts, and poets in their own right, Barry Humphries and Dame Edna Everage have also weighed into Melbourne's sporting scene over the years with the dame first coming to public prominence as a hostess for the 1956 Olympics. Edna's appearance at the 2005 grand final and on the MCG big screen during the 2006 Commonwealth Games closing ceremony were also marked by poetic moments. Her Games ditty //We've Made The Most Of Melbourne// showed that even a megastar understands sport's place in the city's cultural landscape. //We've proven here today, That Melbourne loves to play, And sport is// not a sin … It's not as small as Adelaide, Compared to Canberra, it's bliss, And if you've been to Melbourne, You can give Sydney a miss. Visual Text:

Text Three: **Tug O heart**

WHILE Henry Lawson was known more for his, let's say, post-match celebrations than his exertions on the field, there's little doubt the old fella had a genuine inkling into the place of sport in a romantic heart. While racing fans might plumb for Lawson's //Grog-an'-Grumble Steeplechase//, the more melancholy among us find it hard to pass //The Tug of War// - a sentimental yet timeless ode to the pride of a sportsman honouring a loved one with a win. //''Twas in a tug-of-war where I - the guvnor's hope and pride - Stepped proudly on the platform as the ringer on my side; Old dad was in his glory there-it gave the old man joy; To fight a passage through the crowd and barrack for his boy … The boys were losing surely and defeat was very near, When, high above the mighty roar, I heard the old man cheer! I felt my muscles swelling when the old man cheer'd for me, I felt as though I'd burst my heart, or gain the victory!// He barracks for his boy no more-his grave is old and green, And sons have grown up round me since he vanished from the scene; But, when the cause is worthy where I fight for victory, In fancy still I often hear the old man cheer for me. Pretty heavy stuff, is it any wonder old Henry enjoyed a drink?

Tim,

This is terrible: you need to post up your analysis of these texts asap please

Tulete’s Wiki Evaluation

By Daniel Paterson

Tim’s Wiki started strong, with his first text on the list, But it was lacking as a complete, full analysis Two hands was all I needed, to count the words he had Eighteen words in all, now that is bloody sad I scrolled down some more page and found that something was a lackin’ He had not thought to add in the poem he was yappin’. The analysis was there, but his English was subpar It seemed that he had written it one late night at a bar Tim’s poetic devices were not used to improve it It could cause an English teacher to plunge into a fit. Without a good sound structure to base his commentary on It was as vulnerable and naive as a new born fawn Tim’s third and final try was as barren as before If this is not improved, his work could be perceived as a bore The body of the commentary was used up in half By a quote from the fabled text that looked like a draft If you asked him to recite a piece of what he had written He would say something like, “I guess I have forgottin”