On my small sample, I hear self indulgence, bitterness and venomous criticism towards members of our own tribes! What I heard as a kid was entertainment, a performance that had a generosity to it. Maybe that's just the familiar warmth of the nostalgia blanket, but I don't hear any of that in the outer these days. I can't remember ever having my ears covered by mum or dad, nor can I remember being shocked by anything vulgar. If you were lucky, you'd get a couple of barrackers from opposing teams (usually blokes) who would converse to one another via the play on the field. Then, there always seemed to be some punter willing to entertain those around him as the play unfolded - they were often theatrical exclamations, witty, self-deprecating and always funny. One game a year in the outer is what you might call a small sample size, but something that has changed since those halcyon days near the Tigers cheer squad in 1995 is the banter in the crowd. The excitement is still there, the anticipation, the tribal nature of footy. Going to the footy doesn't feel that much different to when I followed my dad through the crowds on a hundred Saturday afternoons as a kid. Like a pot of Coopers, that patch of grass under the lights on a Friday has a beauty that leaves you with a sense of wonder every time. That may be true in part, but as I wormed my way through the masses of supporters and got my first glimpse of the 'G, I couldn't help but feel that we still have enough right about this game. You don't have to go far these days to hear people talking about how much footy has changed, how it's a business now and how it's all gone a bit too corporate. I wondered if the Blues' and Bombers' players were prepared to risk their eyeballs to get their desired result in front of 80,000 people.Īs our tram shunted to a stop, I got to enjoy my favourite walk of the year - joining the thousands of pilgrims on the march through Fitzroy Gardens towards the mighty MCG. We'd been taken in it seemed, and we felt right at home.Įventually we headed up Nicholson St towards the city with our tram bumping and swaying all the way, and I couldn't help but marvel at a young lady who had nerves of steel as she applied eyeliner with the sharpest of black pens. ![]() ![]() We stayed so long we were asked to draw the raffle. With a fire hissing and popping in the corner of the small front bar and the chatty hum of the locals filling the room, we managed to miss the next four trams. ![]() We ordered a couple of Coopers pots and I just gazed at mine for a little while to savour it's majestic amber beauty.
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