Playing well will resume shortly Illustration: Edd Aragorn We love our sport, do we not? And for a while, we were good at it. Per capita, we told ourselves, we were the best in the world. But how the mighty have fallen. When once we chuckled at those Poms and their population, pale skin and poor technique, now it is this great sporting land that faces heat from the mother country. And other countries ... from punching above our weight to a sporting punchline. It's Joe Root jokes. It's Joe Root's, ahem, scoring, having the last laugh over our bowlers. It's Joe Root jokes lingering for far too long. It's Joe Root lingering in the middle for far too long. It's David Warner's brother hitting his target. It's Steven Warner's brother missing his target. It's the Walkabout. It's walking when out. It's batting down to No. It's excluding 1-6 in that calculation. It's Channel Nine relying on Ashton Agar to plug the Ashes. It's Darren Lehmann relying on Ashton Agar to plug the holes left by the top order. It's Shane Watson's face after being dismissed. It's Michael Clarke's face after Shane Watson's unsuccessful referral. It's Michael Vaughan's taunting not just hurting but making some sense. It's foreign coaches promising much and delivering a lawsuit. It's actually considering the prospect of a 10-nil home-and-away Ashes whitewash. It's the German cricket team believing they can beat us. It's wondering for a split second at least whether they are serious. It's Warney tweeting. It's Wati Holmwood streaking. It's not doing your homework. It's realising, after sniggering at the thought, that it might indeed have helped their footwork. Speaking of footwork, it's not wearing the right boots in a Test match. It's Will Genia dropping the Tom Richards Cup at the kick-off. It's ... not all bad, of course. It's Manchester United and Liverpool showing the A-League what to aim for. It's Peter Allen, and going to Rio. It's being saved by the Socceroos, and recently the Jillaroos. It's Patty Mills and Jesse Williams having success half a world away. And true, it's occasionally stirring. It's Black Caviar's final furlong. It's Black Caviar's final race. It's Brad Haddin's final dig to win a Test match. It's Sally Pearson, cycling and sailing, to save our Olympics. Yet it's also The Missile misfiring and a bonding night backfiring. It's Stilnox and door knocks but apparently still being in bed by 10.30pm. It's bad boys and their toys. It's Bernard Tomic. It's bad boys and their bad dads. It's being a nation that likes to bring down its tall poppies, but then looking around and wondering where all the tall poppies have gone (remember cheering for Australia A?). It's Adam Scott choking in the British Open. It's Adam Scott winning the US Masters. It's feeling better on Swisse. But also knowing that you'll do better if you're Swiss. And it's trying to claim a Swiss (or a Belgian, or a Greek-Cypriot) as one of your own, when you know there will be no Aussies left in the second week of the Australian Open. And, to exacerbate the torture, it's still having to put up with the Fanatics, even when there are no Aussies left in the second week of the Australian Open. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie ... boy, oh, boy.