Around this time every year my spirits rise. The days become crisp and the fields of cream clad cricketing youngsters (and oldsters) make way for the jostling, urgent, ardent footy figures as they punt and pass leather. Jack loves a game of footy – he has his own Sherrin.
It’s the best time for a Melbourne supporter. Just before the season starts. There is still hope.
Perusal of the footy fixture will determine ‘should win’ games and ‘possible win’ games, and how deep into the season one’s interest will last (before or after the start of the ski season? Or just after Easter?)
When Melbourne has had a promising pre-season I have been caught in the indecent act of consulting Tom Waterhouse for premiership odds. I figure Tom being a Sydneysider will offer good odds. This proves correct – oh, silly old Tom.
All recruits are embraced with unconditional love. My personal favourite this year is Heritier Lumumba. Besides being an interesting character, his name is perfect for a syncopated, cheer-squad chant. It has nothing to do with his talent. And based on Melbourne’s recent record, neither does their recruitment criteria.
I formed an attachment to the recruit of 2012 Mitch Clark, especially when he kicked a bagful of goals. But that bag turned out to be a travel bag and he left for Geelong along with, forward, defender, and offender of all Dee supporters James Frawley who deftly defected to the needy Hawks. Thanks free agency.
Jack is a stickler for loyalty so he loves Nathan Jones. I agree with him on that one.
Although early Autumn trumpets Demon triumphs. This year I am circumspect. I am older and wiser – well certainly older. The footy season coincides with Easter and the only brown oval thing I will be wholeheartedly taking interest in will be a Cadbury Creme Egg. ‘Coach-Keep-It-Under-Wraps-Roos’ will try to deceive with his psychological intrigues – a Roos ruse. I will not be beguiled by his guile nor will I be foiled while I unfoil a perky Lindt bunny. I am determined to be indifferent, impartial and unmoved until something is revealed to be worth keeping under wraps, like a whole lotta wins. Meanwhile I will watch Jack from afar as he slurps on his Sherrin.