The Vuvuzela - A Lateralist Plan

I'd like to make it clear from the outset that I'm a big fan of the vuvuzela, if for no other reason than it brings some much-needed attention to the fact that we in Australia don't name things very well. I mean, don't get me wrong; the term "witch's hat" is pretty cool in its own way, but it'd never occur to us to give a slightly conical plastic tube such a snazzy handle. We have some work to do in this area.

But the real reason I love it is because I love the sound it makes. There's only one thing wrong with it. It's just not loud enough.

Why? I'll tell you why. The three people I've heard complain most vociferously about the noise vuvuzelas make have one thing in common; they are all English. You know, it says something about the wit and aural appeal of your average crowd of English sports fans that a mob of African people blowing raspberries through a plastic pipe makes a better sound. The English hate it because it drowns them out. I am so very, very happy to know this. Why? Because I can use it to drive them mad? Not half. I can use it to drive them into the sea...

Next time the barmy army descend on Australia for the Ashes, I'm going to ensure that we in Australia are ready for them. By giving everyone in Australia a vuvuzela? No, dear reader; that would be unethical. The vuvuzela is an African icon, and there it shall stay. Instead, I offer you the bone-shaking power of ... wait for it ... the didgeridoo.

Just imagine it. Imagine rocking up the MCG for the opening session of the Boxing Day test. You're the English opening batsman. You're a bit nervous, but knowing that there are about five thousand drunken, sunburned lunatics - specially imported - that will chant like cult-members for the next five days to give you their support helps take the edge off things. So you stride out to bat. But what do you hear? Not the barmy f*cking army. No! You hear a roar of noise like nothing you've ever heard in your life. There are NINETY THOUSAND people - all painted in the Aboriginal colours of black, red and yellow - each blowing as hard as they can into their didgeridoo. Just imagine it!

A humming, thundering, bass rumble, the likes of which the world has never heard. The hallowed stadium would need structural reinforcement. There would be tsunami warnings going off on every island in the Pacific Ocean. The sound would split the earth and raise the dead. The poor English batman would soil himself and run screaming back to the change room. With any luck, such would the rush to depart take hold, he and his barmy army would run to the beach, throw themselves in the water and swim their way back to England. Just imagine it!

We have a great power at our disposal, people. Let's use it well. And be warned, naysayers; if the mighty didgeridoo fellowship have to come round to your house and convince you of the merits of our plan, you'll find out what the so-called "brown note" really sounds like.

Thank you, Africa, for your love of the vuvuzela. You've awakened a sleeping giant. The world will rumble. Australia will rise...