I've just returned from a quick trip home to Australia.
I feel I should use this opportunity to compare and contrast the Aussie and U.S. cultures, and otherwise make some general observations and share some of the highlights of my trip. A bit of fun and make a point or two as well.
Let's do the fun stuff first.
It's always good to get back to the things I knew growing up: meat pies and lamingtons; gum trees and kookaburras; "G'day" and "How ya goin?" Being away from your homeland for an extended period makes you see it anew and appreciate it more.
Australia really is The Lucky Country (that's what we call it -- we don't presume to say it is "God's Country"). It's not perfect. There are pluses and minuses. And yes, sadly, it's gradually losing some of its uniqueness to Americanization. But there's no arguing that it's a great place.
Let's talk football. Since I was a young boy I've followed rugby league -- one of our football codes and certainly the most violent (in a good kinda way, y'know). I used to write about it for Inside Sport and even played it a bit when I was younger. The team I love in the pros is Wests Tigers (formed in 2000 when battling Sydney clubs the Western Suburbs Magpies and Balmain Tigers merged).
Some of the most exciting times of my life have been watching the Tigers play. In the early '90s I did a behind-the-scenes book on the team which gave me a whole new insight and got me a call from Inside Sport. Hence, I've been lucky enough to see the sport from the grandstand and the dressing room.
So I was pretty happy when my brother told me he'd scored a pair of tickets to the boys' big game against the Penrith Panthers, to be played deep in Sydney's west at Campbelltown Stadium. (To be honest, "stadium" is a tad hyperbolic for the cozy confines of the place -- but therein lies the charm.)
It was a slashing game. Close for a while before the Tigers ran away with it 43-18 and jagged a spot in the finals -- the first time they've been there since they won it all after an incredible end-of-season run in 2005. These days the Tigers are a very fast, mobile team that throws the ball around more than most and rattles up points at a rate of knots when they're on a roll.
And while rugby league has changed in certain ways since the "old days," some things have stayed the same. Very little padding and definitely none of those silly motorcycle helmets that the lads of ye olde gridiron wear. (If nobody bleeds, is it really a sport?) And the physical nature of the game is incredible. No long pauses between tackles; just get up and go again. So the whole defensive line goes up and back, up and back. And between each "up" and each "back" there's a "smash" when the defense hits the player in possession. It's serious stuff to be sure and certain.
But not as serious, perhaps, as the intensity of the fans. Aussie rugby league fans are a special breed. They range from very down to earth, to downright atavistic. This is, after all, a tribal pursuit.
At every game there will be a chorus of fans from the losing side who are absolutely welded to the idea that the referee gutted their team and he should be immediately lynched from the goal posts by his testicles -- if indeed he has any. He's a "mug," a "cat" (I'm not going to explain that one, sorry), a "galah," a "cheat," an "idiot," and a man who was not produced by parents in wedlock. (The slander can actually be a lot worse but I try not to be too profane in this blog. Besides, it's hard to recall exactly what I said.)
These fans also wonder out loud why -- if the referee is going to give ridiculous, undeserved penalties to the enemy -- well, "Why don't you just kick the bloody thing for them too?!" Their pain is being caused by an imbecile who is obviously only on the field for the sole, grubby purpose of making them suffer.
All of this non-creative criticism naturally leads to baiting from the winning fans. Sometimes it's clever, sometimes cliche. Occasionally it leads to bloodshed. But everyone is careful not to bleed on women or children. This is, after all, a family day out.
And the good thing about footy Down Under is that you are always liable to run into old mates. And so it was that I turned around after the game to see my old Tiger buddy Robbo: a great gentleman with a sense of humor as dry as a creek bed in the outback. The long walk back to the car was a great opportunity to reminisce about The Snake, Tony "Hulkamania" and other colorful identities from our shared past.
Anyway, it was a top day. And even though I've aired some of the "rougher" aspects of the whole thing, such sporting gatherings are actually an integral part of the fabric of a unique culture. And a bloody lot of fun!
When you're at a footy game it's like the old saying goes: Ya wouldn't be dead for quids.
Take care,
Adrian Zupp
PS: Robbo, I would have posted the photo of us but I can't find the cord that goes from the camera to the computer. As you probably know, I'm a really techie bloke so this is a bit of an upset. :-)
PPS: Tomorrow I'll be back on the social change horse, discussing Aussie politics, the upcoming Federal Election, and the state of the Australian mass media.
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