The Clarence Darrow of Wagga

One of the great insights of our time was pithily expressed by Tim Blair, who observed that clots coagulate via a process that sees "the world's multiple idiocies becoming one giant, useless force." It is Blair's Law and not to be disputed, so Bunyip's Law should be seen only as a refinement: With the profoundly stupid, that urge to fuse is immediate and irresistible.

Consider Fairfax for starters, which daily nails its inanity to the mast of Daily Life, the post-modern ladypages where militant vegan reformative Muslim lesbian anti-Zionists and Clementine Ford and vagina self-scrutineers and Clementine Ford fill columns with insights gleaned mostly while perched alone upon the couch exchanging tweets with fellow sofa spuds, also attempting to extract sociological insight (and their next columns) from re-runs of Gilligans Island and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Lately, Daily Life has also been featuring columns by Daniel Stacey, the editor of Radio National's website, where there must be precious little left from that $10 million Julia Gillard recently dispensed to pay the salary of Virginia Trioli's hubby, Age refugee Russell Skelton, if the poor fellow needs to augment his pitiful stipend with moonlighting at Daily Life.

At the same time, Clementine Ford has also been sharing her thoughts with the ABC and Anne Summers' paramour, Young Chip, whose success at putting cubes of cheese on little sticks for Sydney Writers' Festival soirees recommended him to Mark Scott -- above scores of other candidates, mind you --to run a site dedicated to the free, frank and fair discussion of ideas. That would be The Drum, and "would be" are the key words, as many of the current entries run a distant second in terms of appeal to some of the nastier things you might find at the very bottom of Margo Kingston's laundry basket. If one were chart the relationships, the favours, the jobs and flow of cheques for mates and partners, it would bring to mind the sort of root-bound family tree seen often in the Middle East but seldom in these southern precincts (with the obvious exception of Tasmania's more isolated glades).

Now there is further proof of that compulsive urge to merge, courtesy of Clementine Ford, who recently became involved in a rather unpleasant Twitter confrontation. No surprise there. Twitter hosts any number of rude and disputatious souls, which is why the Professor will have nothing to do with it. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all -- that is the motto at the Billabong and always will be. Ms Ford seems quite suited to the format, however, as you would expect of someone who can take offence at other people's choice in pop music.

On this occasion, however, her opponent proved especially unpleasant. An argument over Islamic immigration soon turned to vicious abuse, with Ms Ford’s foe announcing that he would “love to see them rape the shit out of you”. At this point, most people would decline further correspondence. There is nothing to be gained in dealing with someone so base and hateful as to wish sexual assault upon a woman, or a man for that matter. But Ms Ford had other ideas.

Noting that her vulgar interlocutor supports the Geelong AFL team, Ms Ford contacted the Cats and requested he be denied membership as punishment for his Twitterabuse.

“My name is Clementine Ford, and I’m a columnist for Fairfax,” began Ms Ford’s letter of demand, outlining her Islamic Twitter dispute to a no-doubt puzzled recipient. “I believe,” she continued, “the Geelong Cats should act swiftly to identify and cancel this man’s membership for life.”

A spokesperson for the club offered a polite response, but little else, so Ms Ford appealed to a higher authority – the AFL itself. Again, she was to be disappointed. The AFL’s Twitter account advised:

“Hi Clementine. This is not an issue for AFL or Geelong; it's a matter that should be reported to Twitter & Victoria Police.”

To which Ms Ford replied somewhat huffily:

The final siren? Not at all.

Launching himself into the fray came Jeremy Sear, hero of the oppressed, scourge of parking officers, intimate and defender of the late Alene Composta, and (for now, at least) a prominent Wagga lawyer.

“The offender is attached to one of your clubs,” he informed the AFL. “It certainly is your problem. Clubs can kick out members who bring them into disrepute.”

Readers are invited to consider Sear’s legal judgment. A fellow writes something disgraceful on Twitter; this, apparently, is the AFL’s “problem”, because the fellow happens to support an AFL club. It doesn’t matter that the issue at hand has nothing at all to do with Geelong, the AFL or indeed any sport. Again, examine Sear’s words: “The offender is attached to one of your clubs. It certainly is your problem.”

And not just for the AFL. For if the AFL and its clubs are responsible for supporters' general oafishness, even at this great remove, then how are the principled among us to act when we find ourselves much closer to abysmal woman-hating behaviour? What ethical boundaries or distances determine our reaction?

For example, should a person remain in the employ of a man who has admitted in court to making brutal threats against women? Is the comfort of a weekly cheque sufficient to overcome the shame of working for someone who pleaded guilty to charges of intimidation with the intent to cause fear of physical and mental harm? Surely money can never compensate for sharing an office with, to pick a random employer, Philip Day (whose website unblushingly avers to his “firm roots in the community”) and who figured in a relatively recent Daily Telegraph report from the courts:

MEET Phillip Day - the soliciting solicitor who terrorised occupants of a brothel by threatening to slit a woman's throat and "tear the place apart" in a drunken rage.

Day, 49, pleaded guilty yesterday to a charge of intimidation with the intent to cause fear of physical and mental harm.

Burwood Local Court was told Day went to the Saxons on Saxon brothel at Wagga Wagga on September 9, 2008 and paid $220 cash for an hour with a prostitute known as "Jasmine".

He emerged 50 minutes later, wrapped in a towel, before charging another $220 on his credit card to extend his stay in room 4 of the establishment.

Receptionist Nicarla Waugh then heard a loud bang coming from the room and went to investigate.

She found Jasmine in a "shaken and distressed state".

Jasmine told Ms Waugh that Day had fallen asleep while getting a massage but woke up angry and demanding a refund.

Ms Waugh asked Day: "What seems to be the problem?" Day replied: "Absolutely nothing, that's the problem. She didn't do anything for me. All I want is my money back."

When the receptionist said she could not guarantee a refund, Day said: "If I don't get my money back, I'm going to tear the f. . .ing place apart."

Ms Waugh told police he approached her with his right fist raised and teeth clenched, saying: "I'm going to f. . .ing slit your throat. Give me my money."

"The accused was so close to the victim at this point she could feel his breath on her cheek," police alleged.

Ms Waugh said she then told Day: "You've threatened me - you're not getting your money back," at which Day became angrier, screaming: "I'm going to smash your face in."

Ms Waugh told police she was "scared, frightened and intimidated".

Day's bail was continued on condition he not go near the brothel. He will be sentenced early next month.

Philip Day is Jeremy Sear’s boss.

The offender is attached to your job, Jeremy. It certainly is your problem.

H/T: Many thanks to the modest commenter who provided those fascinating Wagga and Telegraph links