This is a view from where my dad sits to watch the footy at footy park (applying ABC editorial standards just for a moment here). I took it a few minutes before the only game I’ve been to see this year. And I’m not going today – it costs too much, and there’s too much to do, although we can’t collect the puppy after all which has made the weekend slightly less hectic.
I’ve been wearing my port power jumper for the last three days (I don’t have that many clothes). People ask ‘how do you think we’ll go’ and it always takes me by surprise. As I said to the mister and my dad the other night ‘I wear the jumper with irony, but no one understands’. They mocked me. As they very often do.
I like the simplicity of football. I like that I can not like the crows for no reason at all except that I go for port. I don’t have to analyse it, or explain it, or go to my acupuncturist and answer questions about it. I guess if I did think about it, that would also be what I don’t like. But we all have our inconsistencies.
My dad taught me that.
I don’t like football or any other sports so I’ve never had to bother with choosing and supporting teams. And I intensely dislike how the sports programs take over our tv viewing times.
F and I don’t like the Crows because of my crap experiences/observations of Crows players. Like Tony Modra in the old days with his ‘don’t you KNOW who I AM?’ line scabbing cigarettes from one cousin and attempting to jump another. And Mark Bickley being very cross when I was putting a book aside for him at a bookstore and had to ask his name (a breathless colleague told me afterwards who he was). And Tony Modra pissing on bars in Glenelg. And …
I actually hate football too, partly out of pure contrariness because I was expected to like it all through school. F loves it though.