It isn’t often one hears the sentiment “I’m grateful for Alan Joyce” (that’s the Qantas CEO, not the Preston/Hawthorn/Footscray coach and one-time VFL/VFA player).
My appreciation of the Irish leprechaun is that his noteworthy public response to his company’s highly publicised problems when flights returned to a kind of post-Covid normal late in 2022 has provided me with some inspiration. In a novel demonstration of modern marketing, AJ blamed the customers saying that “passengers were not match fit”, referring specifically to travellers’ unpreparedness for airport security and similar joys of air travel.
After the hiatus of summer, where I am scrupulous about maintaining a discrete (and discreet) distance from (what passes for) news about football, my lack of match fitness explains my disorientation associated with the season opener between Richmond and Carlton.
After a busier than usual Thursday by the standards of an idle retiree, I headed to the match. For me that involves driving to Geelong, train to Spencer Street (aka Southern Cross), a train to Richmond or Jolimont, and a walk to the queue for the turnstiles.
Early evidence of my match fitness deficit was my failure to pack binoculars.* I was barely on time for the 5.32 train, which – with a misreading of the timetable* – turned out to be the 5.29. While cooling my heels waiting for the 5.47, I resigned myself to the likelihood that I would miss the opening bounce of the season.
Improbably good train connections and an unusually rapid movement of the queue (aided by the most cursory of bag checks) meant that I actually reached my seat on Level 4 of the Shane Warne Stand with a couple of minutes to spare. However this did not allow me the few minutes composure, a check of the teams and identification of unfamiliar players which is my preferred match-day preparation. I needed the assistance of the Record to locate new Blueboys Hollands, Acres and Cowan, and I was completely at sea with many Tigers.*
While I could pick out Richmond notables such as Grimes, Lynch, Nankervis, Martin, Cotchin, Riewoldt, Vlastuin, Bolton and the Riolis, many of their teammates were visually anonymous. This was compounded by changes in hairstyle and other matters of personal appearance of certain previously recognisable players. An added frustration was the difficulty for my aging eyes to precisely pick the numbers of Richmond players – the white numerals were unclear against the sash. I finally located Taranto – who enjoyed game-high possessions without my being able to identify him – when he marked on the southern wing mid-way through the final quarter.*
So I’m indebted to Alan Joyce. His insight (in a different context) offered an explanation for the way in which my engagement with the new season of football was compromised. Happily, since the Navy Blues have achieved one and a half wins more than I expected at the conclusion of Round 2, my deficient pre-season does not appear to have had unduly harmful consequences.
(Asterisks offer specifics of my lack of match fitness, although the condition is more general. It’s particularly evident in my abject form in tipping contests!)
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Really enjoyed this, Peter.
Dare I suggest that you will be better for the run?
“So I’m indebted to Alan Joyce”. Words that I did not think I would ever hear anyone utter. Apart from shareholders, I guess.