At quarter time yesterday I took the dogs for a walk and saw a total of one person and zero canines out and about in glorious spring weather. Parrots held court in the trees as Eagles fans squawked and Swans supporters swore. I caught about 10 minutes of the entire game, as my sister, clad in the red and white, would not allow more than one-minute bursts of television, (between spells and rituals to will on the team) and we had a jetlagged Norabone just home to catch up with, who said it all felt like a dream, the football.
My sister and I hovered on the verandah desperately as the final siren was called by the enemy tribe across the street and we set about knocking off the cockatoo ridge fizz in defeat but not disagrace.
(well I had told various footyheads beforehand that we would lose a close one, so I had the half empty consolation of the pessimist's score, but then earlier when I walking alone in perfect still sunshine, football was put in perspective.)