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Tag Archives: Sydney Swans

What’s in a list?

One of my favourite movies of recent times is Ruben Fleisher’s Zombieland. Apart from the obvious appeal this movie offers with the killing of a whole lot of already dead people, there’s also Jesse Eisenberg and Woody Harrelson, and how can you not be impressed when a ‘list’ is a key character. Columbus’ rule list of the things you need to survive has kept him alive to this point (the list character is introduced at the beginning of the movie – I don’t want to give away the plot for those who haven’t seen it).

Unlike Columbus, as a non-list maker it’s clear to me I probably wouldn’t survive in Zombieland (also I fail rule number one which is to maintain cardio, so would probably be easily caught and eaten by a crazed zombie).

However, list-making is something I really admire in people. I have friends who make lists and blog these on a regular basis. I have work colleagues who write down everything they have to do in a list format and tick them off as they go. I know others who write down birthday dates in a list so they don’t forget anyone.

The most I do is write a shopping list. However, I only ever remember to pull it out when I am in the checkout queue with half of my groceries already on the conveyer belt and by then it is too late to go back and grab anything else without offending the checkout operator or the people queuing behind you.

It’s not like I don’t understand the value of lists. I do. They are crucial. Imagine if the builders of the space shuttles or cosmo-rockets (what do the Russians call their space ships?) didn’t consult a list to make sure they’ve put the right sprocket thingies next to the booster bits. Imagine if they forgot to put in the space food. ‘Sorry Uri, you’re on a bit of a diet while you’re up there in the stratosphere’. (Apologies to anyone who actually knows about space exploration. I obviously have no idea.)

Visualise there not being a telephone list. How would we ever find one another? Particularly in the old says without a ‘Siri’ to consult. People’s contact numbers would just be….where? Stuck on our fridges, randomly, on adhesive notes.

Consider if we didn’t have surgical lists? You could turn up to the hospital to have a couple of suspicious looking moles removed and end up having a gender reassignment operation. Okay I expect a gender reassignment takes quite a few surgical procedures but do you really want any of your bits fiddled with in an ‘operational’ way if you’re not expecting it?

What if we didn’t have the ‘Australia’s richest’ or ‘the world’s richest’ lists? We would never know who to admire and place at the forefront of gossip magazines. We would never know whose rhetoric to place on the front page of the newspaper about the best way to run the country’s economy (of course they would know!). We would never have to hear the ridiculous disputes these people have about when other family members should receive access to their $76 gazillion in trust funds. Maybe these are lists we could do without.

Most importantly, what if the AFL (Australian Football League for those not in the know) didn’t create a list of game times? How would I ever know when to turn up to the SCG (Sydney Cricket Ground – again for those who have no idea) or to turn on the television. Crucially, how would my Sydney Swans know when to turn up to beat whoever lands in front of them (if indeed the other team did have a list and did know when to turn up – now it’s getting confusing). But, if we are going down this path, if there were no such things as lists, would there even be a Sydney Swans….?

Nooooooooooo. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Lists are crucial.

As a non-list maker, maybe I wont survive in Zombieland. However, on reflection, Tallahassee, Wichita and Little Rock didn’t keep lists and they had managed to survive. They had ‘smarts’ and bucket loads of weaponry. And maybe they followed Columbus’ 32nd rule – ‘enjoy the little things’, which is something I think I can do. Especially if it involves spending 88 minutes watching a movie about zombies.

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Perfect days

The anticipation

Two weeks ago I was preparing for what could potentially be one of the most exciting days of my life.

I am reminded of a song by Bryan Adams where he recalls heady times bashing around in, one presumes, his garage with some mates making music and how those days were the ‘best’. Obviously he led a pretty unfulfilled life from the time of those bashing days up until the point of the release of the song. Could he see in to the future? Surely some great event may still fall his way? Could it not be providing songs for the soundtrack of Kevin Costner’s Robin Hood would give him some good days? This guy has sung with Sting and Rod Stewart so unquestionably they were fabulous days, weren’t they?

It’s often a surprise to others when I say that one of the best days of my life was in September 2005, the day I was at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) to see the Sydney Swans win the Grand Final in the Australian Football League.

It’s something the Cliche and I have given each other permission to say. Yes, it was even better than our wedding day. For so many reasons. That isn’t to suggest our wedding day wasn’t fabulous. It certainly was. But we have the rest of our lives together and as the Cliche rightly points out, who wants to think it’s all downhill from there. We’ve had some extraordinary (by that I mean best) days since then, or early mornings in particular as M1 and then M2 arrived to brighten our lives. And the Cliche has been to two successful Grand Finals since then and I know how much they mean to him.

So was the 2012 Sydney Swans Grand Final winning day one of the best of my life?

Absolutely. It is a truly rare occasion where one gets to see their football team take the ultimate prize in the competition. You fight to get a ticket to the game. The cost of said ticket is high. You have to find a way of getting to the ground (distance from Sydney to Melbourne = 877.9 kilometres) coupled with the cost of getting to the ground. And then getting home again (in the same day).

It’s worth it when you’ve given up your Sunday afternoons of winter sunshine to sit in front of the television to watch every match. It’s all worth it when the siren sounds and you can finally breathe properly. It’s worth it when you can hug the complete stranger sitting next to you at the MCG because they know some of those emotions you’ve been going through.  It’s worth it when those 22 players and their coach are standing on the stage, holding the cup aloft while a snowstorm of red and white mini streamers burst forth.

I know the Sydney Swans players don’t know me like I know them. I call them by their first names, like we’re mates. And we are. Because one of the great things mates do for you (just ask Bryan) is give you the best days of your life. But unlike Bryan, I expect there are a whole lot more to come.

Go Swannies. See you in 2013.

1 We support different teams.
2 Thanks Google Maps.

Marcuse and the Sydney Swans

We are a football family. Our football of choice is Australian Rules, which makes our sacred turf the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG), our referees umpires and our ball an ellipsoid.

I know M1 and M2 should be free to choose if they are interested in football but at this point in their lives we’re not giving them any liberty. The clichettes have been members of the Sydney Swans since they were born. Actually M1 was a member before she was born – she was listed as ‘Baby’ Golland and she was a boy.

This isn’t to say footy is everything. However, from March to September each year, the Cliche and I do plan our outings around when our teams are playing¹ (mostly). In 2005 and 2006, before we met, I was so committed to the cause I would turn down social invitations which clashed with any Sydney Swans matches. I was either at the game, at a pub with a game playing on the big screen or at home in front of the television watching the game. Fortunately my friends understood (well at least to my face they said they did) this passion. A few who didn’t wondered why it couldn’t just be on in the background while we dined! I was so committed I even wore the same outfit to every match. They payoff was that one day in September. Since then, there have been travels, weddings, babies and still there is footy.

This commitment, love, passion, obsession – whatever you wish to call it – is a bizarre thing for me. A real juxtaposition. In 2001 I wrote a post graduate thesis based on Herbert Marcuse’s notion of ‘One-Dimensional Man’. As part of my ‘seminal work’ I considered that ‘societies generate artificial needs, giving the working class a false consciousness in which the pursuit of consumer goods distracts from the realisation [sic] of class interests’².

Marcuse was also concerned with people seeing themselves in the things they commodify. However, as he states, … ‘Geist and knowledge are no telling arguments against satisfaction of needs’³.

Hence, I understand my need for football is a distraction from needless wars fought in poppy-ridden countries – wars, personed by my working class colleagues. I understand football teams are sponsored by banking institutions which may not be looking after the best interests of my working class comrades, but rather the interests of those who can afford to sit in a corporate box.

I understand how three hours of footy watching could better be spent questioning government need to cut spending on community housing, education and the public sector generally, especially as a taxpayer who believes in these things. All these hours could be spent investigating the business practices of corporations where I spend my spare dollars, to ensure I am supporting those with good ethics.

Marcuse is right! No matter how much ‘Geist’ I put into it I am fully immersed in my commodification.

Maybe now is the time for change. Maybe I can start to work on greater realisation of class interests. But it has to wait until after this weekend. For this weekend, I will be devoting my time to the mighty Sydney Swans on Grand Final day. As I sit in my seat, high in the bleachers at the MCG, with my red and white layers and my words of wisdom for those dressed in green (or whatever ridiculous colour they put the umpires in this year) I will take comfort in the knowledge those with similar class interests sitting with me are also distracted.

And together, we can scream for our team over the heads of those in the corporate boxes.

 

¹ For the record, the Cliche and I support different teams.

² The Penguin Dictionary of Sociology, 2000 p.211, Penguin Books.

³ Marcuse, H. One-Dimensional Man, Chapter 2, Boston: Beacon, 1964.