A physically, not mentally, sore loser.

A lot of things in life are often referred to as being a marathon; school, work, even life itself. In fact more than one scribe, in searching for padding for their requisite column inches, during Grand Final week, called the AFL season a Marathon. For the purposes of full disclosure, I’ll come straight out and [Read more]

The Great Black and White Schadenfreude

They’ve been worming out of the woodwork for weeks; Disenchanted Dees, Beaten Dogs and, more recently, Hard-done-by Hawks. Everyone’s lining up to have a crack. Like spectators watching a stranger withdrawing the fateful skewer in a game of Kerplunk, or misplacing a block in Jenga. They know the price of failure. It’s written all over [Read more]

Power and water make a fizzer.

I’m in Lorne. Contrary to the weather guru’s best guess, it’s been a fabulous day. We’re sharing the weekend with long-term family friends the Bruces. Between us we’ve got five daughters aged three and under. The day has been spent exploring rockpools on the beach, jumping on trampolines, swinging on swings and searching for fairies [Read more]

The Beatification of Saint Sandra: The Father/Son mule.

The night before the 1990 Grand Final I was a ticketless 14 year-old in an adequate hotel room in Dubbo. This is how near perfect father/son moments happen.

Grand Final 2. The sequel is never as good.

As those inside AFL House rub their hands with glee and dive, Scrooge McDuck-like into piles of gold, the rest of us are left with the emotionally draining prospect of another four quarters of nerve-jangling Grand Final football. Collingwood was brilliant but wasteful in the first half last Saturday. St Kilda were strong and brave [Read more]

The fine line between hating ‘the filth’ and ‘religious vilification’.

Homophobes and Racists rejoice! God botherers, zealots and barrow pushers unite! If you’ve got an opposing belief or a bubbling hatred and you want to pick on a minority group, it’s open season. So bleach the bedsheets and hastily assemble a cross or appropriate effigy. Call a spade a spade. Get on Twitter and do [Read more]

‘Shenanigans’ on you Bomber

There’s something about Mark Thompson’s last few press conferences that has me a little worried. As a bloke who has been the football version of Bill Lawry (the corpse with pads), he’s suddenly stopped playing the straight bat and started flirting with cheeky dabs behind square and now full-blooded heaves to Cow Corner. “Collingwood are [Read more]