Post #173. Not sure why, but why not. A 173-day stretch brings us to the 131st VFL/AFL Grand Final. The Brisbane Lions or the Fremantle Dockers?
Becca lives in a New England blue state but doesn’t barrack for the Patriots—she doesn’t attach to anyone. That’s NFL teams. She likes football, but doesn’t subscribe to the tribal attachment like the good folk of Buffalo do. She likes the tight pants and curvy butts. That’s unfair, but her no-team direction would be in the absolute minority.
Here in Australia, I barrack for Richmond—that’s a post for later—and living in Geelong, I follow the Cats. Ella is a Tiger. Kenny (Happy Birthday K) follows Hawthorn. We know about my Chris Fagan bromance, which ties me to Brisbane. And then you have to have a team in the West—which links me to the Dockers, a product of being a little brother in Manchester, following City, not United.
A no-lose scenario? Probably.
I’d like to see Fremantle win; they have the competition’s best song. And Brisbane have had their fill, but Father Fagan!
For many Australian families, Grand Final Day transcends sport. It’s a day on the calendar that rivals the Melbourne Cup, Christmas, and any other worthy marker. Early starts are common, local bakeries kept busy. Backyards wait dutifully—BBQs dusted down, eskies stocked with ice and refreshments. And if you’re Robinson Crusoe, like me, there’s the pub: Norm Smith sweeps, party pies that leave the roof of your mouth in fits, cold beers, and fellow barrackers.
Which pub? More decisions. Maybe a half in each.
I’ll let you know, after the fact.
Have a great day—whoever you barrack for, and wherever you enjoy it.
Nick
