Keen for the season.... [Archive]

Mobbenfuhrer

12 Mar 2003, 22:06

"Baby I'm waiting, anticipating. 'Cause its more than physical." - Bananarama.

And so another football season approaches. The desperate 'padding' talk slowly evaporates into a slush, the mood becomes more attentive. The fixture is revisited. Out comes the Melways, new grounds for new clubs, nearest pubs, bus routes, a whole new significance of the current environment. It is that environment which will preside over your existence.

Where is it? Who is it? Who were they? How are they? How can we bag them? Are the colours stupid, the suburb dodgy, past performances worthy of judgement?

Multi-divisional leagues are always rife with the element of surprise. Almost each year, there's some new team to accost. Often, its an old team that you've seen so few times before, it may as well be a new team.

Then you start hearing about the team training, the community events, the practice matches. You have no idea how well they're training, who's new, who's old. You'll find that out in Round 1. A footy team of yours is out there preparing. So are you, well, in effect. You're not running laps, honing skills, or focussing. You're just becoming more attentive.

Sitting, thinking, drinking, you envisage the ground that is your turf. The stand, the gardens, the trees. The fence, the footpath, the parking. That's where you're going, again, soon. Football is clearing its throat, preparing to beckon.

You lend thought to the morning routine, the clothes you wear, the provisions you pack, the clouds. The walk to the nearest train/bus/tram stop. The conscious pride with which you display an old jumper or scarf, or beanie. The beauty of being. Being you. Being them. Travel is pain, and endurance of pain is strength on show.

Wet asphalt, showers this morning, cleared now but they'll be back. Some hyper-confident fellow asking when the next tram is due, or some odd lady spending five minutes being nice before letting spill what was really on her mind and finally asking for a smoke.

Every now and then, one gutsy individual looks out of their car window at you, skies a thumb, and half-yells : Go Roys. You don't care how idiotic they look, or how silly you feel responding with that strange smile. They'll be out of sight soon, and you'll be at the footy. Poor them.

All alone, until you step off that tram, and enter the nearby public establishment. Then you renew acquaintances. Well, they aren't that old. You run into them from time to time in the off-season. But this time its personal. It's "more than physical". Its friggin' football.

Leaving it almost too late, you choke on your last beer dreg because its too early, and step back out into the world. Heading for the footy. Its the footy. That's what it is. Your mind sprints while your body assumes a slow, steady pace. Your legs are expanding their TSA, they want the Star Trekesque transportation, they want beaming over. Every sense and every bodily function contests with the one beside it. Legs are being stressed as though speeding, but managed as though striding comfortably. One hurdle to go.

On the initial day of the footy season, every person in the district has boarded their car and driven it into the street you now have to cross. You keep walking, know an opening will present itself. Will present itself. Will. Patience fraying.

Step out across the street. Stuck in the middle, but someone sees that scarf of yours and is compassionate. He's going to the footy. What would it hurt to pause a moment, let him cross.

Body too heavily packed. Warm clothes, too many clothes. Newspaper between thumb and forefinger because it looks tougher that way. Body fighting against assurance that there is no rush. Cheap sneakers soaked from various puddles happened upon during the traipse. Ciggie packet abrading nipple with reckless abandon. Cramps in both thumb and forefinger. Hair hurts from beanie. Already. Ears cold. Ears so cold. Cramps now a step beyond hurt.

Can hear football. Reserve football. Whistles, more whistles, a rare shout.

It's just over that hill.

No_short_kicks

13 Mar 2003, 15:12

Yes, pre-season is drawing to a close...

Perhaps its the most annoying time of the season as you want to know answers. Answers that you've wanted for the past few months.
Answers to questions about rumours of other teams having hundreds on the track, a 6'8 tall ruckman, ex Afl/VFl superstars, entertaining goalkickers, sensations down from the bush.
Will these rumours become reality in round 1?

Has your own training on the track been hard enough? will your team be competitive this year?

Even after you play on that first saturday, you wait anxiously to find out results from your own league, other legues nearby and all scores across Victoria to get an indication of who will be up there...despite it only being round 1.

{ this post hasn't been as deep or as poetic as Mobenfuhrers contribution} :)