We told you John Robertson was a genius.

Robbo’s done it again! But this time he’s outwitted himself.

Bring back the biff?

Rugby League isn’t administered or played by geniuses, as our previous observations about the brothers Johns have explained. Paul Gallen is probably the thickest, having form for calling another player a black c*nt and for punching Gene Miles in the face in front of millions and then saying it’s part of the game.

But the preposterous double standard on display in banning junior players for decades makes the AFL’s pathetic penalties for Essendon’s breach of its duty of care to players seem proportionate.

The NRL brags about its toughness and the hard men of the game. Former Mungos call for the return of on field fighting and many of its mindless fans agree. Gallen gets a ban for a week or so for an assault that would see him before a magistrate if it occurred off field and players involved in brawls at the elite level regularly get the same. But the youngsters who copied their heroes get life bans. Gallen wasn't sent from the field for either offence.

Rugby League: The stupid running at the stupid in front of the stupider.

Line crossing

David Blair of the UK Telegraph says that by crossing Obama’s red line, Assad has forced the United States to act in Syria. But isn’t the correct interpretation that Assad’s crossing of Obama’s red line has forced Obama to act (or lose what little credibility he has left)?

This doesn't sit well. Using the language and actions of school yard dares seems a strange basis for a foreign policy.

We know we’re bragging, but life follows the lampoon (again)

Peter Beattie blames others for his failures. You saw it here first.

The honourable member’s member

An image of a member’s member (in a glass of wine) is sent to his lover. When the loving is gone Peter Dowling’s transmission of the image (though, mercifully, not the image) is shared with the world.

Gliberty has heartlessly suggested that she who consents to the making of a sex tape deserves the embarrassment caused by release. So too with Anthony’s weiner and Peter’s dowel. But if you don’t want to be embarrassed, don’t send a pic of your dick.

On a kinder note, Peter Dowling has a face a dog wouldn’t lick. Gliberty likes to imagine that when the public humiliation is over and he’s sitting alone in his serviced apartment looking through the employment pages, he might allow himself to be warmed by the memory of all the action he got.

Hell, he may even decide to celebrate by dunking his balls in a decent brandy.