Good taste goes downhill fast when freeski fans let fly.
I've recently been told I should "stick to netball, sweetie" when it comes to my columns. I say, f*** that.
Oh, beg your pardon, please excuse my language. You see, I've become a little desensitised to foul language of late. It tends to happen when you're subjected to abuse through email and social media that flooded in after my column last week on the behaviour of some of our athletes at the Winter Olympics.
In the past week I've been called a c***face, a c***bag, a c***whore (who knew the c-word was conjunctive?), a regular whore, a bitch, a f***ing slut - all without the courtesy of asterisks to soften the blow.
I've been told if I ever drive through Ohakune I'll need a police escort, that if I ever show my face on a mountain there'll be people lining up to "slash your face full of ice, bitch". The bitch part was for emphasis, I think. Another suggested that rather than waiting for me to come to him, he should find out where I live as he is going for his gun licence and I would be useful target practice. To which one of our Kiwi athletes in Sochi responded - "LEGEND!"