AFL Round 1 – Of carts and horses

I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
Cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain
– A horse with no name, America

Fry’s Flat.
The Howqua runs on.
Manna gums rise scrappily.
I’ve not washed for days.
Long drop toilets.
Internet a thing of fiction.
Unnecessary.
Gone.

It’s Easter weekend and the everyman of State park camping is alive.
It’s chainsaws and tents.
Caravans and open fires.
Tonight the lunar eclipse will be over.
Tonight the horses, penned just there, will be still.

And still the Howqua runs on.

==

Sunday morning.
It’s cold.
Last Sunday the World Cup cricket final was played.
Throw on an extra layer; take the toilet roll for a walk.
Extra layer, by accident, a Collingwood jumper.
And with that, I’m part of something bigger.

– Nice jumper.
– Ah yeah, fits alright.
Someone is talking to me in the early chill. Easter eggs hunted for; found.
– Thought we were gone.
– Huh?
– Yeah thought Brisbane were going to come over the top there at the end.
I’m doing my best nonplussed-this-is-the-foothills-of-Mt-Buller-and-the-bush-and-accessible-only-via-30-minutes-of-corrugated-winding-gravel-road-and-you’re-giving-me-footy-updates-from-last-night-and-I’ve-never-clapped-eyes-on-you-incredulousness.
– Right.
I’m simply not ready for this. This conversation. This season. This unqualified support. Despite the jumper. I’m non-committal.
– Good to get the win, though.
– Yeah.
– Shite week.
– Yeah.

And that’s that.

And there’s plenty wrong with the AFL.
The insolvency of many clubs.
And the normalisation of drugs talk (what impact does this have on impressionable minds?)
And the uneven draw, at the most fundamental level, for instance.

But still the golden goose brings people together.
It’s probably a subtle but important difference to say that the history of the golden goose brings people together.
Speaking a common language.
People on Fry’s Flat on a brisk Easter Sunday.
Off to the long-drop.
It’s a cultural kind of oneness.

==

Trevor cracks a whip over the head of “Chaser,” a former racehorse he picked up just now in Kununurra (– ‘cos he was always chasing ‘em).
Chaser stands and nods.
Lifts his leg.
Puts it down again.

Children splash in the river.
Pick over the body of a black snake.
Laugh.
Smoke lifts.
Infuses everything.

The golden goose is struggling, presently.
Power, corruption of moral standards, greed.
Whole empires have fallen on these.
And will fall again.

==

Night.
The moon.
Whisky.
I’m wary.
Wary of any organisation putting carts before horses.
Game day experience?
Integrity officers?

Two kids kick a footy.
Moonshadow.
That’s the way.

I stand and nod.
Lift my leg.
Put it down again.

Still the Howqua runs on.