What's the matter?

Crook back?, depressed?, or are you still green with envy for the bookies who stole your dough in the running of the Melbourne Cup? It doesn’t really matter, because Christmas is coming!

If you’re Ken Freeman, all that matters is the universe. This bright boffin recently appeared from a barrier out wide to claim the Prime Minister’s Science Prize and pocket a cool $300,000 in the process. If you think you’ve been in the dark for too long, the chances are, you have. Freeman has lit up the world in his discovery that there’s a lot more to the universe than just stars, gas and dust. It might be invisible dark material but as a matter of fact, it’s dark matter.

Galloping past the winning post, Freeman remarked his prize was “recognition of the value of basic research”. French scientist, Francois Lasne from the National Doping Agency in France is worthy of similar praise for six years she spent developing an anti-doping test for EPO. In the process, she lanced Armstrong’s defence by injecting some honesty into the drug-fuelled debate about cycling. There’s certainly nothing the matter with her.

Lance Armstrong is one twisted frame. Riding high in his own peloton of opinion, there’s clearly nothing the matter, at least from his lofty perspective. For the moment he’s gone missing and continues to peddle up col du calamity, shedding kilos of followers beside the road. One can only hope he doesn't come a cropper whilst descending, which surely he must do, eventually.

Sadly, I find myself craving more salaciousness. Following the endless trail of used syringes is more exciting than the unveiling of the Tour de France route or following all 21 testicular-wrenching stages of the race itself. The current lycra-colour drama continues to hit box offices across the globe including Australia where the spotlight is shining on leading men from all eras including Matt White, Stephen Hodge and even 80s cycling heartthrob Martin Vinnicombe, who gets a cameo role minus his mullet.

Elsewhere on the sporting map, Matthew Mitchdive and Thorps are troubled souls. Battling drug addiction and depression respectively, there must be something in the water that’s caused these two water babes to come out and bare all, except what’s behind their Speedos. On the footy field, Quandry Cooper is a mixed up kid. His verbal tirade against the Australian Rugby Union shows all the signs of a slightly punch drunk athlete, and that’s before he’s even stepped into a boxing ring or lined up against a Japanese backline. Back on the racetrack, champion jockey Damillion Oliver couldn't resist backing a rival nag in a horse race that he too competed in. In a masterful display of insider trailing, Oliver revived memories of the Fine Cotton affair and has rebranded it: Dirty Linen.

What’s the matter with politics? Best not go there except to suggest that when it comes to dirty tricks, Eddie Disobedient takes the cake or in his case, grabs the farming land thanks to ‘Old Macdonald’ in order to benefit from the earth’s minerals beneath the pasture. It’s a messy business involving grubs who should bury themselves underground for good. Meanwhile, from within the same chook pen, Eric Roosendrive is starring in the Hondagate scandal and freely admits he has problems managing his home finances. Wasn't he once the NSW Treasurer? No matter.

Despite all this misery, thankfully there’s nothing the matter with me: at least there wasn't anything to complain about on Remembrance Day on 11 November. It took a trip to the War Memorial in Canberra to realise that all my angsts and misgivings paled in significance to the sight of a rippling red sea of poppies pinned to the names of diggers who have died in battle.

Any thought of wars past, present and impending makes one sick to the stomach which is exactly what happened to a child visitor to the memorial on the same day. There was clearly something the matter with him. Standing beside me, he let rip with a furry burp and in the process brought forth voluminous quantities of pink spew, which gently trickled down the stairs in the direction of the pond containing the eternal flame. Fearing the liquid nerve agent would extinguish everything in its path, I charged towards the nearest exit along with battalions of other visitors, leaving the unknown little soldier and his grandpa to clean up the mess. No matter I thought, they’ll live to fight another day.