Grand Final day has always been a ritual.
As youngsters with British parents, encouraged to support a VFL team to fit in, we chose by colour. Blue is my favourite, so Carlton FC it became – so close to my working-class roots… My brother chose a combination of colours – red, blue and yellow, ensuring the now defunct VFL/AFL team, Fitzroy Lions FC, was adored through brief moments of success, and long seasons of failure. He now passionately supports Richmond Tigers FC. Much to his chagrin, I will always consider him Brisbane Bears, sorry Lions…
My mates and I have watched every grand final for as long we can remember. Combining good times with the consumption of enough small meat pies, sausage rolls and cocktail saveloys to ensure an intolerance to MSG. The beer of choice was once Carlton Cold, which I’m sure will make an anniversary comeback as boutique. We often devoured the Footy Marathon, the Under 19’s, the Reserves and the Seniors, briefly pausing for a break during the coverage of the North Melbourne Grand Final Day Breakfast because it was boring.
Kate and I met during 1995, coincidentally the last time the Blues won the flag. I have no words, yet our marriage remains strong. The celebrations that followed, with music blaring from mammoth speakers, resulted in souvenir thimbles falling from their perch. Fortuitously, the “DJ’s” parents were at the shack.
Apparently, one of the busiest days at the Launceston General Hospital is grand final day and half-time kick-to-kick is the culprit. We once added to the casualty list with stacked timber, corrugated iron, wood piles, and a precariously placed overturned sink and drain tray, leading to stitches. The story goes, the reveller, hard as nails, was sutured during the third quarter, retuning for the last, determined to resume his rightful place at the gathering. An Aunt from next door dutifully performed the role of patient transport, receiving plaudits for her patience and understanding.
Another near casualty occurred when a great mate demanded we watch the alternative channel when the footy was televised across two networks. Inexcusably, he chose the delayed telecast. The result - never to be forgiven, no matter the elaborateness of the last Saturday in September’s party offerings. The relentless taunting remains, reappearing like the punch-line of a favourite joke.
But times change, and nothing halts the Launceston Festival of Dance in its 27th season. The 2017 and 2018 schedules have resulted in our wonderful studio performing on grand final day.
Never in my life did I foresee the moment I would happily swap Australia’s version of the “Theatre of Dreams” – the MCG, for Launceston’s dreamy showpiece – the Princess Theatre. There we were, dutifully recording highly-commended and placings, along with attempting to predict the thoughts of the adjudicator with hapless authority and irregular bouts of success. Amusingly, I exchanged the treasured AFL Record for the dance program, with pen to hand and nerves on tenterhooks, scribing like the Blues had made the ultimate decider.
I am not really a dance dad as our children don’t perform nearly as much as others, however, I take great delight in watching the courage and skill of artists taking to a formidable stage.
Dancing presents amazing opportunities for our kids: friendship, discipline, pride, teamwork and competition - we are very fortunate.
The children support Hawthorn Hawks FC, and were hopeful, like three out of four northerners whose brown and gold merchandise completely dominates any school footy colours day fundraiser, they would make the grand final. Carlton FC is now used as a blues battering ram for jokes and jibes. Times will change, and I will extract my revenge. Currently, “sixteen premierships” is my chosen retort, and the best I have.
Following the performance, we returned home to scoff small parcels of pastry. Carlton Cold didn’t make a reappearance. Rather, a cup of tea and Quick-Eze followed such delights. We savoured the moment; discussing key elements of the game, along with blindly rebuking the marking of the adjudicator; safe in the knowledge that learning occurs whether winning, placing, or when you walk away with nothing, happy you did your best.
Grand Final day still plays a prominent role in our lives. But like many experiences and rituals that once defined us, children facilitate broadening of horizons. They reinforce what’s important.
As much as it pains, congratulations West Coast Eagles FC for winning the big dance. It was quite clearly the best routine.
As youngsters with British parents, encouraged to support a VFL team to fit in, we chose by colour. Blue is my favourite, so Carlton FC it became – so close to my working-class roots… My brother chose a combination of colours – red, blue and yellow, ensuring the now defunct VFL/AFL team, Fitzroy Lions FC, was adored through brief moments of success, and long seasons of failure. He now passionately supports Richmond Tigers FC. Much to his chagrin, I will always consider him Brisbane Bears, sorry Lions…
My mates and I have watched every grand final for as long we can remember. Combining good times with the consumption of enough small meat pies, sausage rolls and cocktail saveloys to ensure an intolerance to MSG. The beer of choice was once Carlton Cold, which I’m sure will make an anniversary comeback as boutique. We often devoured the Footy Marathon, the Under 19’s, the Reserves and the Seniors, briefly pausing for a break during the coverage of the North Melbourne Grand Final Day Breakfast because it was boring.
Kate and I met during 1995, coincidentally the last time the Blues won the flag. I have no words, yet our marriage remains strong. The celebrations that followed, with music blaring from mammoth speakers, resulted in souvenir thimbles falling from their perch. Fortuitously, the “DJ’s” parents were at the shack.
Apparently, one of the busiest days at the Launceston General Hospital is grand final day and half-time kick-to-kick is the culprit. We once added to the casualty list with stacked timber, corrugated iron, wood piles, and a precariously placed overturned sink and drain tray, leading to stitches. The story goes, the reveller, hard as nails, was sutured during the third quarter, retuning for the last, determined to resume his rightful place at the gathering. An Aunt from next door dutifully performed the role of patient transport, receiving plaudits for her patience and understanding.
Another near casualty occurred when a great mate demanded we watch the alternative channel when the footy was televised across two networks. Inexcusably, he chose the delayed telecast. The result - never to be forgiven, no matter the elaborateness of the last Saturday in September’s party offerings. The relentless taunting remains, reappearing like the punch-line of a favourite joke.
But times change, and nothing halts the Launceston Festival of Dance in its 27th season. The 2017 and 2018 schedules have resulted in our wonderful studio performing on grand final day.
Never in my life did I foresee the moment I would happily swap Australia’s version of the “Theatre of Dreams” – the MCG, for Launceston’s dreamy showpiece – the Princess Theatre. There we were, dutifully recording highly-commended and placings, along with attempting to predict the thoughts of the adjudicator with hapless authority and irregular bouts of success. Amusingly, I exchanged the treasured AFL Record for the dance program, with pen to hand and nerves on tenterhooks, scribing like the Blues had made the ultimate decider.
I am not really a dance dad as our children don’t perform nearly as much as others, however, I take great delight in watching the courage and skill of artists taking to a formidable stage.
Dancing presents amazing opportunities for our kids: friendship, discipline, pride, teamwork and competition - we are very fortunate.
The children support Hawthorn Hawks FC, and were hopeful, like three out of four northerners whose brown and gold merchandise completely dominates any school footy colours day fundraiser, they would make the grand final. Carlton FC is now used as a blues battering ram for jokes and jibes. Times will change, and I will extract my revenge. Currently, “sixteen premierships” is my chosen retort, and the best I have.
Following the performance, we returned home to scoff small parcels of pastry. Carlton Cold didn’t make a reappearance. Rather, a cup of tea and Quick-Eze followed such delights. We savoured the moment; discussing key elements of the game, along with blindly rebuking the marking of the adjudicator; safe in the knowledge that learning occurs whether winning, placing, or when you walk away with nothing, happy you did your best.
Grand Final day still plays a prominent role in our lives. But like many experiences and rituals that once defined us, children facilitate broadening of horizons. They reinforce what’s important.
As much as it pains, congratulations West Coast Eagles FC for winning the big dance. It was quite clearly the best routine.
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