KEY POINTS:
The Annual Big Foot Journalism Awards were in San Francisco last week, and once again I was there, mixing it with the creme de la creme of half-arsed writing.
The Big Foot awards celebrate excellence in published investigative journalism. For one reason or another they run low on credible facts and/or decent research. It's exciting, pacey and generally despised by the purists.
Many journalists enter in the twilight of their careers, and often begin to use words they never would have used when writing for regular newspapers.
More than 250 words have been added to the English language, thanks to the Big Foot awards, as often journalists will simply make one up.
Many believe there is no higher honour than the much-coveted Big Foot Award, and by all accounts this year's were the most-successful.
It was clearly evident from the lavish buffet and total ban on alcohol that organisers had learned from last year's debacle in which they ran a buy one drink, get two free promotion.
It was a cost they said they could afford because they saved so much money by neglecting to serve food.
Needless to say, the evening culminated in an all-in brawl at 7.45pm, about 20 minutes before the event was scheduled to begin.
Twenty-six journalists were arrested and the ceremony was moved to the internet. The top award went to Clark Woodford for a one pager.
His "The Shame of Big Foot" is a sensationalised account of being arrested at last year's ceremony. Six other journalists contributed essays on the same topic.
I have twice been a nominee. In 2004, my essay was entitled "Al Qaeda killed Big Foot", an investigative journalism piece in which I tracked the reduction in Big Foot sightings since 9/11.
I said al Qaeda, if nothing else, had killed off Big Foot metaphorically in the battle for media coverage.
I was nominated again in 2005 for an essay "Woman says: Big Foot ate my Pussy".
This sensational piece of journalism outlines how Wendy Williams woke one morning to find the Sasquatch eating her tabby cat on the back porch of her home in British Columbia.
I received credit for being able to pad out the story to fill two A4 pages without any hard facts, credible witnesses, or photos.
I was also complimented for blatantly dismissing the fact that she failed two lie detector tests.
Many people say that but for a high number of spelling and grammar errors, I would have taken first prize and walked home with my first golden foot.
It is worth noting not all articles nominated at the Big Foot Journalism awards are on the subject of Big Foot, but a disproportionate number are. In the 25 years that the awards have run, an essay in which Big Foot is at least mentioned has won 17 times.
Sea monsters are a popular choice, as are alien abductions. For many judges, subjects such as these are a little far fetched and immature. Often a conservative, solidly written Big Foot article will score more points with the judges than the most eloquently written account of alien abduction.
There are always exceptions. A case in point was Gareth Reid's essay "Astronauts from another solar system wrecked my third marriage".
This first-hand account tells of aliens stealing Gareth's credit card and doing a relentless and expensive tour of the local brothels.
The essay didn't feature any photos of the aliens as such, but Gareth was at least able to produce credit card receipts as proof that some sort of debauched encounter occurred.
The fact that his wife wasn't there to see him go on stage to collect his award was further proof that the marriage was indeed wrecked.
For this journalist, winning a Big Foot award is proving as elusive as the beast itself, but I believe it's the ongoing pursuit of this goal, much like the relentless search for Big Foot, not finding him, that keeps us striving. It's the thrill of the chase, if you like.
If I was to win the coveted Big Foot award one day I can't help but think that at the end of it all I might feel a little unfulfilled, just as many of us would feel if Big Foot was captured and finally entered the world of hard facts, as opposed to one of complete rubbish.
