Almanac Footy: Finals Diary – Chapter 3: The week off

 

Finals Diary Chapter 3 – The week off

 

Prologue

 

How does one complete a finals diary entry when their team has won through to the preliminary final already?

 

I could reflect on the relative merits of our potential opponents. These Demons of whom we would start to be described with words like era and dynasty if they salute this year. Or Vossies’ Blues. If it can’t be the Lions, I’d love to see him become a football immortal by adding premiership coach to his resume.

 

I recommended to my students that there is something to be said for finding a balance between rigorous focus and revision and balance in their studies as final exams loom. To take time to switch off. To smell the roses, to frolic in fields, to write bad poetry, to watch The Bold and the Beautiful, to eat Darrell Lea products. ‘To dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free; silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands. With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves; To forget about today until tomorrow’. Thanks Bob.

 

With that in mind and given that I’ve clearly got nothing of substance to say in this diary entry, let me regale you with an unnecessary anecdote about the time I was briefly assumed to be an AFL player, a Brisbane Lion nonetheless, by one of the most famous women on the planet (if you are of a certain age demographic).

 

 

The tale

 

The year was 2018, I was cruelly burdened with one of the many challenges teachers may be forced to endure, accompanying a group of students on a study tour to Italy. The sun was high in the Venice sky, and I was enjoying a much-needed gelati. The students and we staff had been given an hour to wander around the brightly coloured streets of the island of Murano before meeting mid-afternoon for our boat road back to main island. I took in the colourful buildings, a glass blowing display, the ridiculous beauty of the place and thought to myself – ‘I’m not in Traralgon anymore’.

 

I had learned on that trip, that the only thing better than a selfie in front of the colosseum was a selfie in front of the colosseum while wearing a Brisbane polo. 2018 was not a banner year for the Lions, but that didn’t seem to be occupying the thoughts of many that day in Murano. It was Grand Final week, just a day or two before Dom Sheed would secure that premiership for the Eagles with that goal. In the blazing but pleasant sun, some gelato had spilt itself on my polo leaving a glimmering and sloppy stain, but I cared not.

 

I began to cross one of the many small footbridges that connect the various island masses that make up beautiful Murano. As tourists do, I took a quick selfie with the canals, boats and coloured houses behind me. My maroon Lions members polo, the sloppy chocolate gelato stain and my K-Mart sunglasses juxtaposed delicately against the panoramic backdrop.

 

I continued on my way to the other side, as one crossing a bridge tends to do. Coming the other way were a small group, two or three men and a younger woman. We met in the middle and there was not sufficient space for me to pass. I noted at that point that the gentlemen were armed with expensive camera equipment – the camera itself, some form of silvery shade and the like. The woman paused and said “Sorry about this” gesturing to the positioning of said camera and equipment that blocked my way as they jostled and postured. “I’m in no rush,” I said. Her accent was American, her poise confident. Probably a backpacker of some means, I concluded. “Would you like a quick a selfie with me while we wait?” she asked. Definitely American, I thought. But even so, an oddly narcissistic thing to say. Maybe it was one of those strange travel customs I wasn’t aware of. “That’s okay,” I said. A quizzical look appeared on her face at that point, but she smiled. She gestured at the Lions logo on my polo top, it was just above the chocolate gelato splotch. “Is that some kind of team in your country?”

 

Some kind of team! I wanted to yell. Some kind of team. As an experienced educator, I’ve long had queries and concerns about the education system of other countries and jurisdictions. Here was a clearly educated, affluent and seemingly intelligent young adult with not even bottom rung taxonomical knowledge of the Brisbane Lions. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the challenges of the crowded curriculum more than anyone. But for someone to reach adulthood as an American without a basic knowledge of Leigh Matthews, Michael Voss, the threepeat, the merger, Bernie ‘Superboot’ Quinlan’s career statistics, Mark Dwyer’s 1986 season, Micky Conlon’s Elimination Final goal, Haydn Bunton, Chicken Smallhorn, the 1916 premiership in which they finished last and first, is an indictment on curriculum framework of the United States Board of Education.

 

But I digress.

 

I politely responded, “Yes, it’s an Australian Rules Football Team, the mighty Brisbane Lions.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask how we had fared that year. She didn’t. “Oh, are you one of the players for them?” This was quite suddenly one of the great moments of my life. She was looking at me the way I imagined the younger generation looked upon Tom Brady or Wayne Gretsky. But I am honest to a fault, “No, no,” I chuckled. “Just a fan.” I told her I was a teacher, on a trip with some students. She said that she too was “working in Venice” for a little while. Probably pulling beers in a bar or some other backpacker trope I thought to myself. She asked if my students were nearby and then, oddly, if they would like to meet her. I said that we were all meeting in about half an hour. “Oh, I’ll be done here by then,” she said. It was a strangely humble sort of self-centred. At this stage, the camera was set up, there was room for me to get through. We said arrivederci, she posed for her overly elaborate tourist shot and I went on my way.

 

 

To see teenagers crowding around their mobile phones is not atypical. But there was a particularly palpable party atmosphere amongst the huddle of students I greeted with my colleagues. All were staring, eyes agog at their phones – the centre of their being for most. “Zendaya’s here, she’s here in Murano, OMG” – I’m not abbreviating, teenagers actually speak that way. To transcribe phonetically, they said ‘oh em gee’. It is a commonly used colloquial abbreviation for “Oh My God.” Yet, from my many years of experience working with teenagers, I can assure readers that rarely is it the opening to an evangelical exhortation to one’s personal Lord and saviour. “OMG – OMG – OMG”. One even blurted “O-M-F-G” (one I will not do a literary exegesis of). “Zendaya, ZEN – day – a, Zen – DAYYYYYYY – ARGHHHHHHH”.

 

 

“What’s a Zendaya?,” I asked. My colleagues, both of whom were a little older than me, shrugged as mystified as I was. “Ummm, OMG, she’s only the most famous person in the world ever.” One of the students thrust her phone in our direction. “She’s an actor, a singer, she’s just everything.” On her phone was an Instagram post showing a photo of Murano, the coloured houses, the canals and more pertinently – the bridge I’d crossed and the girl I’d met, leaning back in the glistening sunlight. “I just saw her,” I said. “Who is she again?” Mic drop, jaws drop, world paused. “YOUUU just SAWWW her! Where?” I pointed back in the vague direction and en masse we made our way there across the few hundred metres. But the bridge was empty. Nothing more to see here.

 

The boat trip back to the main island was a little sombre. Like the vanquished team on Grand Final day, the students were not sure whether to be proud or dismayed. That they had briefly shared a small pocket of the world with one of the icons of their generation seemed to buoy their spirits. Global celebrities are a little thin on the ground in the Latrobe Valley towns they called home – Morwell, Newborough, Moe and Traralgon. “I can’t believe you didn’t know who she was, you are such a dad, OMG.”

 

“Is she the one who sings that Shake it all Off song?”

 

“OMG. OMG. It’s Shake it Off and that’s Taylor Swift”

 

“Is she the one who sings All those single ladies?”

 

“All THE Single Ladies, and um no. That is so cringe, and that song is so old. Just stop.”

 

This story gets no better for me when people discover it anew. It has been passed down, cohort to cohort in my school, part folktale, part legend, part validation that their Mr Reid has no clue when it comes to cultural zeitgeist. Earlier that year, I was lucky enough to cross paths with Ross Thornton, former Fitzroy vice-captain and winner of the 1984 Best and Fairest. For some reason, that story doesn’t seem to matter as much to my daughters and my students. OMG.

 

 

Postscript

 

Zendaya Coleman is known mononymously only as Zendaya. She made her fame as a star of various Disney channel shows, and as a dancer and singer. She made her film debut in Spider-Man- Homecoming and followed it up with a leading role in The Greatest Showman. She has also released a solo album and multiple singles. She is one of the most famous and recognisable celebrities of her time with over 180 million Instagram followers. In 2018, she travelled to Venice to reprise her role as Spiderman’s girlfriend in the sequel, Spider-Man: Far from Home. Whilst there, she took in a visit to the picturesque island of Murano and briefly interacted with a Gippsland school teacher who was soon to become a reasonably regular contributor to The Footy Almanac. It was a brief interaction. Neither of them recognised the other and both continued on their chosen career paths unabated. It is possible that based on this interaction, she developed an affinity for the Brisbane Lions Football Club, the product of a merger in 1996 between the Brisbane Bears and Fitzroy Lions.

 

 

More from Shane Reid can be read Here.

 

 

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