Football Season

My father lived in a house full of women. It never seemed to worry him that he was the sole provider of testosterone. There was never an “If I had had boys” conversation. He now has grandsons and I’ve not seen him display any favouritism towards a particular gender, he manages to ignore them all equally – especially when the footy’s on.

Of course I’m not serious. Gramps is very much into his grandchildren but yes, when the football is on I know from experience that unless you’re either passing him a beer, or heating up a pie, the only thing you should be doing is sitting by his side watching the game. I grew up in a house where we screamed at the television. “C’MON!” “BAAAAAAAAALL” and “YESSSSSSS!” were popular, as was “WHATYADOIN” and “NOWAY” and “BLOODYGRABTHETHING”.

We cheer, we throw our arms in the air, we become assistant coaches and clairvoyants. Someone needs  to move him to the forward line, he’ll kick it from there – watch him.

Thursday is the day that my reminder email arrives in my inbox regarding football tips. There are weeks where I have put more thought into my tips than I did over our house purchase. I then spend the weekend trying to inconspicuously look at my Australian Football League app on my iPhone. I say inconspicuously because it drives G crazy. He’ll be mid conversation when he’ll notice my frown, “What’s wrong – everything alright?”  You can imagine his joy when I explain that Freo is currently 19 points up.

It was a couple of weeks ago though that I really did the serious damage. Divorce possibly crossed G’s mind as he skidded across the floor narrowly missing the side of the cupboard.

He was in the shower when he heard the initial screaming. It got worse, louder and louder “Noooooo, Noooooo, Nooooo!”  Convinced that there was an incident involving a knife and an intruder, he came racing out of the bathroom naked and dripping wet “what’s wro….”

He realized the moment he heard the television.

“You’ve got to be bloody joking?” he said looking in my direction and then towards the game on the television.

“But it’s so close! They’re a point in front!”

He shook his head and followed the drips back towards the bathroom.

We’ve got another twenty weeks to go.


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