The Week: 7/7 – 14/7 – How did this happen?

Good evening, sports fans. The new week starts on Saturday (obviously), which leaves time to reflect on the one just passed come Friday night. Strap yourselves in. I’ve muted BT and replaced him with Midnight Oil into Cold Chisel into The Angels into Paul Kelly because I’m actually fifty. I’ve opened a bottle of red. Life is good. The first leg of my multi is about to land – and here we go…




I like serenity and I’m sure if I had a boat I’d like a two-stroke engine on full throttle, but I’d like to offer up a third candidate – going a hundred clicks down the Monash screaming “Am I ever going to see your face again” to no one in particular, before responding to yourself in the only permissible way. Maybe it’s just the first sign of true Australian madness.


Brunswick HC headed to Gippsland.


Before the game, I caught up with my Leongatha-based Godparents. Deb is finally in the country to say hello. And Fergus always leaves you with at least one good yarn.


He’s long been a part of the Gippsland farmers’ campaign against coal seam gas mining, and for good reason. His farm is an absolute gem. Darryl Kerrigan wouldn’t cope. Christ, I barely coped.


I only see him without a hat when he’s at a table, or on the ABC, who barred him from wearing his dearly beloved during an interview because it was branded.


Anyway, he recently managed to convince a local MP that the Prime Minister of India, Mahendra Singh Dhoni, fully supports the campaign against CSG mining. The MP in question didn’t bat an eyelid.


I head onwards to Bellbird Park for the hockey. It is now pissing with rain. There are no bellbirds around.


As a part of the latest coaching course I’m enrolled in, I have to film every team talk I do. Re-watching them is cringe-inducing. I hate the sound of my voice and how often I seem to say “Okay”. I really, really cannot wait for Hockey Australia to assess this one, which begins as follows: “It’s cold, it’s shit, and we’re in a f***ing cow shed”. Coaching 101, ladies and gentlemen.


The game is grubby 2-2 draw, our second in succession. I will spend far too many hours in the coming days mulling this one over. We’re still top, but now just by 3 points, and the promotion race remains even tighter than that.

Back up the highway, I try and watch Richmond. I don’t last long. Football doesn’t make sense.

Thankfully, Conor and Max, a pair of old teammates from Exeter, are in town. We’re joined by temporary Exeter boy Hamish, and Brunswick HC rep Gordon. This ensemble does a terrific job of forgetting about the football and exchanging mail.

By 2am, I’m still exchanging mail, in the Mail Exchange.

I go to sleep, thankful for the many virtues of the Pint, including but not limited to the ability to make a man forget his football team has just been dealt an absolute hiding at the hands of an average St Kilda team (who, at the time of writing, are getting whacked by Essendon).


Sunday – hungover. I offered even less than I usually do.



It’s still uni holidays, so I drive to East Warburton where I’m told there’s a fairly decent redwood forest. It’s absolutely beautiful, eerily quiet and very quaint. If you haven’t been, go. Take a book, or someone who can talk shit well. Get lost. Once you’re done walking, and you’ve managed to un-lose yourself, have a pie at the bakery in Warburton and walk along the start of the Yarra (believe it or not, it isn’t a polluted mess the whole way from the hills to Flinders St). Finally, find the mural of the Warburton Football Club’s premiership side from the 20s (it’s where the old railway platform used to be). Bliss.


Tuesday, Wednesday – coffee, work, more coffee. Offered more than Sunday but less than Saturday.



 Metro trains have a really good day at the office. Crowd control is summoned to Spencer St. Uber prices sky rocket.


In the most liveable city in the world, the train network totally loses the plot because of a computer failure. What a time to be alive!


Mark Allen on SEN loudly tells everyone in the CBD to just go to the pub and order a few pots.  Turn it into a blessing in disguise. No one can doubt your alibi when it’s all over the news.


So maybe it is actually a great time to be alive…




Hello, my old friend.


Scott Ludlam of the Greens resigns his position in the Senate after discovering he’s ineligible because of his dual citizenship (he has a Kiwi passport).


First and foremost, I’m now aware that my accession to the office of Prime Minister of Australia will require one more piece of bloody paperwork. Yippee.


But seriously, all jokes aside, this whole situation is completely ridiculous. Scott Ludlam is left with no job, and I don’t even know where to begin…


  • How did I not know this was a rule? (It isn’t in Section 51 – obviously)


  • How the hell did Scott Ludlam serve ten years in Parliament before reading the bloody Constitution of Australia?


Media: “How did you get your New Zealand passport, Scott?”


Ludlam: “Me Mum gave it to me.”


  • How can we be a member of the Commonwealth with a constitution that bars you from having a passport from a fellow Commonwealth country?


“It’s the vibe of the thing, Your Honour.”



  • How did the long list of people who hate the Greens let him serve a ten-year term without realising he was ineligible?




Which might just be the phrase that best sums up the week that was…

Until next time, sports fans!





About Jack Banister

Journalism student @ Melbourne Uni, Brunswick Hockey Club Men's Coach, tortured Tigers fan.

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