Nugget: Geez, talk, talk and more talk. Throw in a couch and a couple of horrible old stick insects and it could have been an episode of The View, but no, unfortunately the weekend’s 2020 Summit was actually the think-tank charged with the ongoing prosperity of this big brown land of ours.

I’m sorry I did not realise the fate of our children and our children’s children was being left up to the cast of The Secret Life of Us. We’re doomed.

Crow Boy: There’s a time and place for people to sit around, smoke the peace pipe, and wax lyrical about the problems of the world – it’s called the pub.

I can’t help but think that while Wolverine and Cate Blanchett’s nine-day-old child would have had some marvellous ideas, the summit failed to incorporate some of the great minds of Australia.

N: I would have thought if K Rudd is going to have the temerity to steal the term 2020 he could have at least included Warnie.

Stuff global warming, the symposium entitled “Scrubbers, Ciggies and Toasted Cheese Sandwiches – The sustainability of Australia’s greatest natural resources”, presented by professor Shane, would have more interest than the long-mooted boxing match between Garry Coleman and vomit-worthy child star Dakota Fanning.

CB: Just imagine the outcomes if they enlisted the likes of former Essendon hardnut Billy Duckworth or the inspirational boy from the west, Tony Raudonikis, to sort out a few burning issues.

They’d have the likes of that smart-alecky kid Corey sorted out, with his ridiculous sunnies embedded in a place which would eternally change his attitude.

N: Yes the term “State of the Union” would now be referring to the unholy alliance between those foolish bloody sunnies and Corey’s lower intestine.

I am more than concerned that the arts were given an enormous amount of time and dedication during the summit. Anybody who has watched even a minute of amateur theatre in this country would be well aware that despicable art form is in more strife than the clerk at the American flag shop in downtown Baghdad.

Where was the think-tank dedicated to sports and recreation? No I don’t mean the generation of kiddies with a cholesterol count higher than Bradman’s average, I mean actual sport. It’s a disgrace.

CB: Damn bloody right. Who was there to deliver what real Australians are talking about?

A wave of support is building for two bronzed statues to be installed in parliament as a mark of respect for two great sporting warriors. One of Wayne “The Duck” Carey with a broken glass in one hand and his manhood in the other, the second of Craig Gower, pants down and on the run.

N: Not since Michelangelo’s David (Boon) has the thought of a statue had me more excited. A bronze visage of those two stallions out the front of Parliament House may be the motivating factor Julia Gillard may need to fix herself up a smidge.

C’mon Jules, a bit of lippy never killed anyone.

The greatest minds this country can offer seemed quite content to gloss over one major sporting blight that needs attending to. Soccer.

The A-League is great but we are still seeing a concerning amount of nil-all draws. Widen the goals to the width of the field and have three goalies, Sydney FC 59 – Adelaide United 38. That’s entertainment!

CB: They also failed to include input from the likes of pantsmen Mark Philippoussis or Sam Newman. Surely they could have initiated a breeding ground for the nation’s most alluring, delivering the Australian Institute of Hotties.

It could be a place where glamours could develop, learn and hone their stills, thus delivering a pool from which our sporting elite can carefully select the perfect partner. I believe Lara Bingle came from a similar program.

N: Top shelf. One can only think what heights Nikki Webster and Kate Ritchie may have reached had such an institution been in place only a decade ago. Surely their work is far superior to that being trotted out by those clowns at the Ponds Institute.

CB: I’d like to think a job of such importance would be left to the CSIRO. Interesting they have never been investigated for Jana Rawlinson (Pitman)’s horse-like attributes.

One of the other pivotal issues not canvassed was mid-strength beer at the cricket. I think Australia needs to take a leaf out of Mr T’s Snickers book and get some nuts.

N: Yeah, where was Ms Blanchett and her baby on this one. Speaking of the aforementioned Blanchett sprog, surely there was a 2020 seminar dedicated solely to finding a single sensible reason as to why the kid was named Ignatius.

What the hell kind of name is Ignatius. I believe it is Latin for “he who will be punched in the snotbox often”.

The Anzacs fought and died so that kiddies would live without oppression, tyranny and names that would result in them being well acquainted with the business end of a toilet bowl. Damn you Blanchett!