As Christmas approaches and the sporting gods start to take a break around the world and thoughts of sugar plum fairies, twinkling lights and the dread of family reunions dawn the nature of footwear goes out the window.
There’s the thong man with his Havaianas (real or knock off from Darwin).
The kiwi with his inside edge worn flip flops accompanied by mid calf length wooden socks.
The Broady wedding slipper brigade in moccos.
The alluring chic young ladies in whatever is new to the market and like the catwalk crew just as hard to walk in.
The Tradie who just wears his Blunnies cause they’re now de rigueur.
The good ‘Ol toughie with blisters, stubbed digits blackened toe nails in the bare of foot brigade, and then there’s the Volley.
The bloke who knows he’s tough cause he wears his Volleys sockless, laceless and just enough grime to suggest a work ethic.
In Fitzroy The Trendy our laceless crew know it’s a sign of having been to the big house and front bar Cred is laced by your look.
So as the sporting boots get put away for the season of joy and reflection (and no-one’s game to schedule a 20/20 or poxy branded event of footy for the lonely or friendless on Christ’s day) I sit in my local alone, cogitating the roasting of turkeys when an almanacar presents, almanac in hand, sporting laceless Volleys and crafting a curish gangsta rap.
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