Roger v. Me
Sep. 30th, 2007 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyI've been living with an idea for the last week or so, trying it on for size to see if I like it. Last week, I was grizzling about my new Mortal Enemy; namely, Roger Sinclair, a local fool who has been given his own regular column in the local paper, which he fills with his charmless observations about local life. After a while, it occurred to me to wonder: if Roger Sinclair can have a column, why can't I?
I'm more than capable of banging out five hundred words a week of waffle about some important local issue. I wouldn't expect the local paper to run it (I can just see myself marching in and announcing, "I'm better than Roger - sign me up!"); I was thinking more of a blog. The real issue is whether I would really want to do that on a regular basis or if this is just a temporary harumph! in annoyance at Roger.
Anyway, I sat down this morning and had a crack at it and, in the absence of anywhere more suitable, here it is. My topic is the Australian Rules Football grand final, a religious festival of major local significance.
Call me unVictorian, but I have no interest in football. Not even in the negative; I wouldn't join the Anti Football League, for example. Oh, no. That would suggest I cared at all. I don't have a team, I don't know who's on top of the ladder, and the only player I could recognise if I saw him down the street is James Hird. (Why James Hird? I have no idea - none at all - why James and his ridiculously floppy hair have seeped into my consciousness.)
Oddly enough, despite my disinterest, I know the lyrics to the Victorian clubs' theme songs by heart. My primary school teacher would play a VFL theme song record (yes, the VFL and a vinyl record: how that dates me!) to entertain us while we did chores, and these jingles are now hardwired into my brain. Consequently I know all I need to know about the happy team at Hawthorn and and the fighting fury down at Tigerland and how hearts beat true for the Red and the Blue. Does anyone ever take them up on the promises made in those lyrics, I wonder? "Oh, the premiership's a cakewalk, is it, Collingwood? And yet you didn't win it. There must be something in the Trade Practices Act about that - we'll see you court!"
Most years, the Grand Final goes by unnoticed and unremarked by me. I only find out it was on when I watch the news that night, or when I go out during the day to find the streets deserted and me the only one left in a ghost town. One year, I went for a walk along the highway and didn't see another soul. That's an eerie feeling, let me tell you. No cars, no people; just me, the dog, and some magpies carolling from the wires.
A few years ago, I had some idea when the Grand Final was on because a house down the road from me was decked out with blue and white cats. More and more of these freakishly coloured felines appeared as September drew on, joined by posters and balloons and streamers.
Come mid-afternoon on the final Saturday of September, I decided it was time to take the Old Black Dog for a walk and we set off down the road. As we passed the blue and white house, a small boy came out, holding blue and white balloons. He marched down the path, tore some of the streamers off the gate and tossed them to the ground. Then he let the balloons go and ran, crying, back inside. I'm guessing Geelong lost that year.
It's come to my attention that the Grand Final is on today - what, only a year after the last one? - and that Geelong is in it again. As I said, I don't care about football, but I hope that little boy - probably all grown up now - gets to keep the decorations up this year.
That was it. Just in case you're wondering: Geelong won this afternoon, and I hope that little boy is happy.
I'm more than capable of banging out five hundred words a week of waffle about some important local issue. I wouldn't expect the local paper to run it (I can just see myself marching in and announcing, "I'm better than Roger - sign me up!"); I was thinking more of a blog. The real issue is whether I would really want to do that on a regular basis or if this is just a temporary harumph! in annoyance at Roger.
Anyway, I sat down this morning and had a crack at it and, in the absence of anywhere more suitable, here it is. My topic is the Australian Rules Football grand final, a religious festival of major local significance.
Call me unVictorian, but I have no interest in football. Not even in the negative; I wouldn't join the Anti Football League, for example. Oh, no. That would suggest I cared at all. I don't have a team, I don't know who's on top of the ladder, and the only player I could recognise if I saw him down the street is James Hird. (Why James Hird? I have no idea - none at all - why James and his ridiculously floppy hair have seeped into my consciousness.)
Oddly enough, despite my disinterest, I know the lyrics to the Victorian clubs' theme songs by heart. My primary school teacher would play a VFL theme song record (yes, the VFL and a vinyl record: how that dates me!) to entertain us while we did chores, and these jingles are now hardwired into my brain. Consequently I know all I need to know about the happy team at Hawthorn and and the fighting fury down at Tigerland and how hearts beat true for the Red and the Blue. Does anyone ever take them up on the promises made in those lyrics, I wonder? "Oh, the premiership's a cakewalk, is it, Collingwood? And yet you didn't win it. There must be something in the Trade Practices Act about that - we'll see you court!"
Most years, the Grand Final goes by unnoticed and unremarked by me. I only find out it was on when I watch the news that night, or when I go out during the day to find the streets deserted and me the only one left in a ghost town. One year, I went for a walk along the highway and didn't see another soul. That's an eerie feeling, let me tell you. No cars, no people; just me, the dog, and some magpies carolling from the wires.
A few years ago, I had some idea when the Grand Final was on because a house down the road from me was decked out with blue and white cats. More and more of these freakishly coloured felines appeared as September drew on, joined by posters and balloons and streamers.
Come mid-afternoon on the final Saturday of September, I decided it was time to take the Old Black Dog for a walk and we set off down the road. As we passed the blue and white house, a small boy came out, holding blue and white balloons. He marched down the path, tore some of the streamers off the gate and tossed them to the ground. Then he let the balloons go and ran, crying, back inside. I'm guessing Geelong lost that year.
It's come to my attention that the Grand Final is on today - what, only a year after the last one? - and that Geelong is in it again. As I said, I don't care about football, but I hope that little boy - probably all grown up now - gets to keep the decorations up this year.
That was it. Just in case you're wondering: Geelong won this afternoon, and I hope that little boy is happy.