Australian Rules

..countries,
which makes it more anodyne and less interesting. Low scores and fans with attention
deficit disorder don’t help the cause either
American Gridiron has the maniacal belief in logistics and tactical overkill
that characterises American diplomacy or warfare. Multiple specialist teams
composed of specially bred enormous and largely expendable grunts clad in full
body armour throw themselves at each other in carefully choreographed manoeuvres,
which are countered by equally cunning choreographed manoeuvres. Probably magnificent
athletes have their talent wasted by playing the equivalent of human demolition
derby.
One could hope that Kurash, which is a form of upright jacket wrestling native
to Uzbekistan, might have a future. According to Wikipedia, competitors, one
wearing a green jacket and the other a blue jacket, try to throw each other
to the ground. Competitors are not allowed to grab the opponent’s pants, but
are otherwise free to grip as they please. Wrestling with a dress code.
I have tried to find out the rules of the putative Oz national game, and this
year sensibly tried the official VFL Internet site, which is replete with news,
previews, and information in variegated colours and typefaces. It claims to
provide the rules of Australian Rules for the beginners to the game. They may
well be there, submerged in a kaleidoscope of advertisements and colour, light
and movement worthy of Yokohama by night, but I’m damned if I can find
them.
My incomprehension of Australian almost national sport makes my attendance at
the odd game somewhat haphazard and romantic, rather like trying to understand
why financial instruments only play tunes in the key of bank vaults. I went
this year, as the year before, to the MCG members’ dining room and stand
to see Carlton not win against Essendon. Again.
Apparently this year’s loss may have been intentional in order to create
a losing streak of sufficient magnitude so that Carlton can pick new players
from football’s equivalent of the Yearling Sales. I think that the theory
goes that eventually, if they can continue losing for long enough, they will
have a team that won’t be quite as embarrassing as having had John Elliot
as club chairman. This year they cleverly managed to snatch defeat from the
jaws of victory which was not as interesting as last year’s drawn game.
Which was only interesting because it was drawn
For those who have never been a guest at the MCG, an interesting rule is that
you have to wear a tie whilst dining. I dressed in my western districts farmers’
outfit, which can see you safe in just about any social circumstance, as Malcolm
Fraser has ensured that trousers are optional. I observed the local custom of
talking loudly and gradually losing interest in the game when the 6th bottle
of red kicked in. The MCG members enclosure (which sounds like an underpants
advertisement) is also an expensive exercise, so I think that people get onto
the waiting list whilst very young in order to save enough money to pay for
the dessert.
The Members is even further away from the action than many other parts of the
arena, so that seeing what is happening at the middle or the other end of the
ground is better understood by watching the giant video displays. Which you
could have done at home without paying $48 dollars for a bottle of Pepperjack
cabernet sauvignon and still have watched the same advertisements.
To an outsider the game seems a good analogy for either a Victorian or national
attitude – if you consider watching road works as a competitive sport. Large
numbers of disinterested men stand around watching other men working far away
whilst pushing, niggling and sledging the nearest member of the opposite team.
Occasionally they would wander further afield and king hit someone who had their
back turned. Every so often the ball would get to their end and they would indulge
in a minor lather of running a few steps and then falling in a heap on the ground
with a frequency that made you doubt their sexual orientation.
Historically this overt lack of physical contact was because players were concerned
about the possibility of injury on the hard Australian grounds so they were
reluctant to commit to the tackling and hacking (kicking or tripping an opponent)
of the Rugby School game, so the ‘hacking’ was allegedly banned
and tackling was obviously taught by the head prefect of a girl’s school.

Once in a while they managed to kick or punch the ball to a player in the opposite
team. I’m not sure whether the latter is an intended move, but seeing
it was done more often than getting it to a member of their own team my assumption
is that, either there is a random number generator which determines which team
should have the ball (perhaps written on the electrical insulating tape they
wrap around their shoulders), or they may not have been very good.
Apparently kicking is not a strong point either, as they have three goals to
kick through, although for some reason they don’t get extra points for
hitting the goal posts, which would seem to be more difficult. An unemployed
railway signalman or proctologist then semaphores the name of the culprit to
the score box by using white flags or his index fingers.
Every so often the factory siren went off and both teams wandered off for a
fifteen minute smoko. They did this four times and then it was all over and
the Members’ collective went back to the bar.
I’m sure that there is more to the game so I’ll be back next year
and explain and see if Carlton has improved. Optimistic I know.