Having successfully survived my peanut ordeal (and having given my delicate girlish system time to recover), I have been considering what to do next. I put up a poll, and the people have spoken! Well, sort of. As you can see, it was a photo finish.
Deadlocked! But you know what? It’s my blog. I do what I want. Camping is going to happen, but first: I think I will go to a football game.
With the exception of watching my spotty teenage paramour play soccer once (he was Scottish and insisted it was football) and occasionally being forced to loiter sulkily around during my brother’s Saturday soccer matches when he was a wee young thing (don’t worry, I thought it was SO LAME AND BORING AND I AM SO MAD AT YOU MUM and didn’t actually watch, so it doesn’t count) I am pure and unsullied by football. I have never set foot in a stadium. I currently live within whistle-hearing distance of the former Lang Park itself, Suncorp Stadium, and lived at a similar distance to the Gabba for a few years, so it’s not that they aren’t conveniently located.
I blame my father. He does not like football one little bit, and always referred to rugby as ‘thugby’. Soccer was the only form of it he considered acceptable (and even then, it was borderline). He’s not what you’d call a sportsman, my father. As much as I would like to think that I am an independent thinker, I think that’s where I got it from. I grew up thinking football in general, but rugby in particular, was the domain of no-necked, lowbrow thugs.
A fairly accurate depiction of what I believe football to be like.
I did eventually realise this didn’t necessarily add up, and revised my attitude somewhat – some people were okay IN SPITE OF the fact that they liked football.
(For the record, my father’s snobbery was purely intellectual, and his vitriol spilled in every direction. One of his favourite stories to tell his children was a fantastical tale he made up about the adventures of Fred Nurk, a terrible upper-class twit who would drive a BMW to his beach house off Hastings Street and do bad and stupid things. Dad has a rather long list of Things He Does Not Like himself. He is very entertaining.)
Anyway! The fact remains that I have never seen a game of rugby league. You might think it’s in my blood to avoid such things, given my father’s attitude. However, my geneology on the other side of the family tells a different story.
Ladies and Gentlemen, my great-grandfather, Robert Hollingsworth, was a most impressive creature. He swam! He boxed (under the name ‘Hurricane’ Hollingsworth, amusingly)! Most importantly for our purposes, however, he played rugby league for Queensland when the last century was in its teens. My mother tells me that as a very old man, he still had a full head of hair so strong he would amuse his grandchildren by having them grab hold of said strong hair and swinging them around by it. Apparently his powers came from eating Weet-Bix doused in olive oil instead of milk. He was a great believer in the nutritional benefits of olive oil.
(I have NO IDEA what happened to the sporting genes. His son – my grandfather – was rather sporty himself, but it stopped there, so perhaps they were recessive or somesuch. The strange-ideas-about-food genes, however, are still splashing happily around in the family pool.)
My point is this: I have some football DNA somewhere within me. (I apologise to any genealogists who might read this – I am probably offending your delicate sensibilities with my vague, flawed notions of how hereditary traits work.) Will ancestral memories rise up and turn me into a fully-fledged football fan? Will they misfire and lead me home to bastardise my cereal? (Note to self: buy cereal.) Will the stadium let me take in a vegetarian pie? I am under the impression that to enjoy football, one must eat a pie.
Who wants to come to a rugby game?
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Amy Tries Again 
If there’s a game on when I’m up there around Tasmanian Babes Fiasco opening night and it fits in with your schedule, I’d been honoured to disgrace myself at any game of footy with you. And I don’t care which code.
Comment by simon bedak March 2, 2010 @ 4:23 PMI used to play quite a lot of football, and I can personally confirm that brain damage sdafoashnfdcvaib hasd dasfkj;gdasfkjs.
Comment by Ash March 2, 2010 @ 6:04 PMWell, I have never actually played football myself, but I once spent two hours running up and down the field as a substitute father in the Under 7’s Father and Son soccer match (Your father declined to play). I even kicked the ball once. It was a lot of fun and I didn’t get brain damage. But then, it was probably MY grandfather’s genes coming to the fore (said Rob Hollingsworth aka Hurricane).
So I say ‘Go for it’.
Your Mother.
Comment by Jan Hollingsworth March 2, 2010 @ 7:10 PMI’m one of those rather sad people who finds the fact a person played for Queensland quite interesting, and I am incredibly envious of you.
Might I recommend for a first timer: Fri, Mar 12 – Brisbane Broncos vs North Queensland Cowboys at Suncorp Stadium.
Comment by aarondoyle March 2, 2010 @ 9:54 PMI know you mentioned this, but it really must be made clear: soccer is in no way considered ‘football’ in Australia. Also, there are two distinct versions of ‘rugby’.
That’s enough of my ‘scare quotes’.
Comment by Ash March 2, 2010 @ 11:00 PMCute redesign! I would suggest AFL, as I’ve gone to a few Lions games and always enjoyed myself. There’s something quite freeing about being somewhere you can just yell and hurl abuse and nobody thinks less of you because of it.
But then, I haven’t been to an NRL, rugby or soccer game recently. Actually, possibly ever.
Comment by Girl Clumsy March 3, 2010 @ 12:39 AMI’ve got season tickets to the Broncos, so if you go to the game I’ll almost certainly be there for a debrief.
Comment by Disco Stu March 3, 2010 @ 2:00 PMI’ve been to one game at Lang Park – a State of Origin game a zillion years ago. I remember Queensland won 36-6, only because 36 is 6 squared, and I am a maths geek. (Another thing Amy doesn’t like.) I vaguely recall beer being involved.
When we visit my folks in Las Vegas, we usually go to one hockey game. Just a regional team, not the major leagues – so sometimes it’s a case of “we went to a fight, and a hockey game broke out”. Was hilarious watching our kids react to all these so-called adults cheering for the good guys and yelling abuse at the visiting team. (I believe I am required to enjoy ice hockey, or they revoke my Canadian citizenship, eh.)
Love the redesign!
Comment by Kris March 3, 2010 @ 10:29 PM