Was trying to park my ute in the city the other day. Found a tight squeeze. My mate got out to steer me in, but I did it in one. The wheels gently slotting into the curb. Shaken, not stirred.
My mate gave me the best grin and two pointed fingers.
Was at the supermarket the other day. Lady dropped a bag of chips. I noticed I handballed them back to her. They spun like a good handball should and everything. We were both a bit impressed by that.
Was mowing lawns for a few months in Tassie. Hard times. A few bush contracts had fallen through. Rang one bloke’s bell to give him the bill, then jumped when, rather than a ding dong I heard, full volume
‘CHEER, CHEER THE RED AND THE WHITE…”
and looked down and saw I was standing on a swans doormat.
“Sometimes,” he told me, “I make it play Shake down the thunder from the sky! as I’m leaving the house.
I was speaking to Robo back in the Otways- my old teammate, now Captain of the club. He’s doing up his old house. One of those renovation jobs where, in the end, 90% of your house is new, sleeping in a swag until the job’s done.
“You know those little soft promotional footies?” He asked.
“Got one at home. Love kicking it around all the time. The other day I wouldn’t go to bed until I’d kicked it through the door frame ten times in a row.
Footy tragic. 32 years old. Love him for it.
“That’s nothing,” I said. “Was sent to put up the signs for Johnno’s bush bash. Had to measure out 1km from the turnoff, but my speedo carked it. So I figured: Shit! What can I use? 20 x 50 meters is 1km. And I drove slow, going. A kick plus ten meters, that’s fifty. A kick plus ten meters, that’s 100. A kick plus ten meters, that’s 150.”
“Then I thought: Who are you kidding Old Dog. Your hammies are shot. A kick plus 15 meters. A kick plus 15 meters.”
And Robo smiled.
Footy tragics. Both of us.
I once knew an old supporter who would walk down to the oval every Saturday in winter. One week we’d be playing, he’d barrack.
The next week we’d be away, and he’d stare out over the oval and reminisce…