AFL Round 21 – Sydney Swans v St.Kilda: In a Buddy-dream daze

Sydney Cricket Ground
Saturday 16^th August 2014

My Saints boys and I were knocked out this week. I have had the worst chest infection ever –  leaving me voiceless for four days, in bed six straight days, and still recovering slowly a week later. At least I had my warm bed and the full supply of my own chicken soup at hand. My Saints boys  had the SCG and Buddy. I was better off by far.

Illness brings isolation. Anyone sensible stays as far away as possible. My two at home, 19 and 22, only came as close as the door to hear instructions and laugh at the mother with no voice. Thank goodness for texting with Whatsapp and Words with Friends, a way to be heard when the usual orchestrated sounds of nagging and desperation, was not to be had. I did manage to fend off my son taking a video of me to send out to the world.

I looked terrible and sounded worse. Thankfully I can still glare and threaten. I would only be out of bed to feed myself, the rest of the world just floated away. Two days in I walked around the corner to the doctor and my eldest, keeping a 10 foot distance at all times, picked up drugs for her mum. The only one to cuddle up close was my dog, totally neglected and un-walked, but ever present.

So four days in, still mostly in bed, I got up to sit in the lounge and watch the Saints take on one of the premiership contenders. All I could see were the Swans. Our boys tried but it was like watching the big boys take on the little leaguers. It was hard to watch. Buddy was everywhere, or was that the fever?

And then I fell asleep.

Unheard of, me sleeping through a football game. Me not seeing, watching in detail, so I would know how they were going and what to write. Was it the fever or was Buddy, for his 200^th game, showing off a tad and enjoying every minute of his magnificence?  When fever strikes, and you are sweating it out, all sorts of thoughts and feelings are floating around unbidden. The worst thoughts. The negative gone wild. Vulnerability at its height. Is that what my Saints boys were feeling, being beaten by almost 11 goals? Were they waiting for their hot showers and the plane ride home? I saw later that the Swans had given Lenny a guard of honour:  at least that showed one glimpse of something wonderful  on an otherwise bleak Sydney beating.

When Buddy wasn’t taking all the attention, his cohorts took turns. We did get eight goals, so there were moments to bring joy but I don’t remember them and I certainly won’t go back to watch the replay. Rina and I texted and that was that. Only a few games left in the worst year since I have been a full on supporter again. The first draft pick beckons and we will take it, and our boys will have a break and it will be a new year. There is always next year. It feels a little like waiting for the Messiah.

Meanwhile, there are  the last two games to farewell Lenny and goodness knows who else. There is the club best and fairest and two exhibitions, one local, and one at Fitzroy Nursery for the football art, Almanac launches and GF lunches. Once I am up and about again, there is heaps to do. Meanwhile, my boys and I will get ready for another beating, this time by Richmond, which is at the MCG and might be a little risky to attend. If not, at least Rina and I will be together to cheer our moments and laugh at the rest of it. There is always something to look forward to, even if it is just the end of the season.