The past ten weeks – since the Monday 24 January to be exact – have been interesting and have taught me a lot about the men and women who organize swim meets in New Zealand. In the ten weeks Eyad has swum in 22 races spread across 6 meets – 2 were in Hamilton, 1 was at the Millennium Institute, and 3 were over consecutive weekends at the Henderson West Wave Pool.

In the ten weeks Covid traffic lights have changed, Covid rules have been relaxed and the Wellington Facebook clown has tapped himself into a frenzy trying to convince us that Jacinda has screwed the country and Gary Francis couldn’t organize a swim meet if his life depended on it. Drinking cold coffee at midnight is clearly as bad for the clown as is pouring it over those who stir-up whatever it is between his ears. In spite of all the disruption and negative ravings on Facebook, Eyad’s 6 meets have come and gone seamlessly. Thank you, Waikato, North Shore Swimming and Auckland.

But it does make you think. There are two options. You can start drinking the clown’s offering of cold coffee or you can look at what is actually happening and thank those like Kaye-Marie McCaskill-Day, Tonya Osborne, Kate Griffiths and the staff at Swimming New Zealand for 10 weeks of trouble-free racing.

But beware New Zealand, the season is not done yet. In one week, the clown will test the skills of Steve Johns, Gary Francis and Chloe Francis at the National Championships. This is not a test they should be taking lightly. What an inter-continental ballistic missile is to Kim Jong-un, a cold cup of coffee is to the Facebook clown.

Chloe be warned, misspell Joul, sorry Joel on the scoreboard and a cup full of nuclear coffee beans could be heading your way. And Gary, in this era of Lia Thomas, please announce the next New Zealand team with a clear indication of their preferred gender assignment. I’ve heard the clown will be listening at midnight. And Steve you are responsible for the whole show. One mistake and tragedy could follow.

Consider this scenario. One afternoon, the clown’s coffee command and control system detects a failure in the Championship lane four touch pad. By the time the clown is notified, key officials from the National’s “live stream” office have approximately one minute to brief the clown. After that, the clown has about seven minutes to confer with his advisor, Kevin Hill from Palmerston North to decide if he will retaliate, and which pre-packaged coffee response option to retaliate with. That’s it. Seven minutes to discern whether or not the failed touch pad is real. Seven minutes to decide if it is worth it to start a nuclear coffee war.   

If the clown decides to retaliate, 400 underground intercontinental ballistic coffee beans could be launched just five minutes after receiving the clown’s launch order. I’m giving Swimming New Zealand a warning here. This is no joke. A coffee attack has been ordered before. Just ask a staff member at Massey University what she felt as the deluge of radioactive coffee stained her pale blue business suit.

And so, officials in Waikato, Auckland and North Shore, you have done well. But the true test is a week away. And in an underground bunker, hidden in the Tawa hills the clown is waiting, watching and turning up the flame under his 24/7 ever-ready coffee pot. Please Steve, Gary and Chloe, don’t screw up. The flight path from the Tawa bunker to Apollo Drive goes right over my house.