GORDON SANITAIRE by Gordon Urquhart (XXXIV)

What They Talk About When They Talk About Very Little

If religion is the opium of the masses then sport must be the some sort of intoxicant equally as powerful. Perhaps you don’t need it to be as powerful. Perhaps the masses are happy with what they have always had and that is pull enough. Perhaps it is tradition as much as potency that keeps people enraptured with their own pursuits for months on end. No matter how pointless and silly those pursuits might be. Could it be said that sport is the Coolabah wine cask of the masses? Yes, it can I think. And footy is the VB of sport fans.

Now when I say footy I refer to all the winter games where men run into each other. All the games which are not rugby union, which is my game, or was, but which nobody much cares about any more. I was a graceful and lithe exponent of this manly pastime – I had the legs of a dancer and lumps of concrete for fists, ready to cause mayhem if punches ever needed throwing. They likened me to a number of glorious practitioners from the history of this game, but all are forgotten men nowadays since the public isn’t interested any more. Records were broken for points scored and fights started when I played at school and in the few years after.

Even my interest has waned. In fact, I haven’t paid much attention since the law took over my life in the mid-1960s, but friends tell me there are plenty of stoppages in play to go to the bar or to open another bottle of John Duval Barossa Valley Shiraz Grenache Mouvèdre[1], if you happen to be watching from a picnic blanket on the hill at University’s number one oval. I would definitely watch a big match if my two clubs – Frencham Old Boys and University – met in it, but as this two have not contested a grand final since 1911 that seems unlikely to occur any time soon.

Enough about me (regular readers will wonder if there’s something wrong!). This is about what other people do at this time of the year. For most of  the year there is a tipping competition at work, which you have to take part in lest you look like a spoil sport or some sort of snob, and my secretary Cindy assists with each week’s selections (read: Cindy puts my tips in for me). This seems to keep people happy. They have their puerile chats about players and coaches and what might happen and what just happened and what it all means. Clearly no-one really knows the answer to the last question, as there’s always so much to talk about.

If they only knew how exciting the share market can be. Price fluctuations in the mining sector alone have caused various sensitive zones in the trouser area to tingle over the last five years, and to do more than just tingle, if you know what I mean. All you need is about $25,000 to start off a really interesting share portfolio, but still people refuse to take an interest.

Grand finals for the footy codes were held this last weekend. There were coloured balloons up in the corridors at work and in the board room. People were still talking about the games days later, and this seemed to make them happy, but I must admit I’m glad footy is over for another year.


[1] 2009, of course.

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Published in: on October 2, 2012 at 8:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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