Zzzrt !

That's the familiar old sound that brown packing tape makes when its comes off the roll. Just got back from my Nanna's place again today to take out the dozen or so boxes that have been stored there for nearly a year. I managed to unpack and sort out 3 tubs and 1 bag to take to Sydney. Its almost all clothes. Its a melancholy experience seeing things inside boxes that have been out of daily use for a long time. Shirts become discoloured, favourite fabrics are now soaked in mothball smell, making them slightly repulsive to hold. I re-called 2 important things:

1 - Its almost impossible to throw clothes out or give things that are still "wearable" away, but once they're disappeared out of sight you don't ever conjure them to mind. If anyone in Argentina asked me the contents of those boxes, I wouldn't have been able to answer except for a few framed postesrs, and a favourite platter maybe. So if you have to cull 2/3 of your stuff.. don't worry, you'll never know its gone.

2 - There's no point putting things away for best. They go out of fashion. I could already see some of my stuff packed away in a box for another 20 years to become a teenage girl's discovery, being cleaned up and worn as "retro". Possibly they will already be retro next week, when I'm back in Sydney.

When grown men cry

It was Lucas Neill, realising what had happened after he tried to defend in the penalty area. Within ten seconds the team were out of the tournament after fighting their way into the top 16 for the first time, ever. And was that a sweaty face, or was that a fit young australian choking back the tears while the world's cameras took a tight close up of his face? I was in a crowded terrace house lounge room in the city centre, with 2 people I know and 10 people I didn't. In the stunned silence after the whistle I could feel the welling in response. After saying hurried goodbyes, I jumped into the Camry (thanks Dad) and zoomed off through the streets - much busier than usual for 2am on a Monday. The cold night air froze any tears forming in their ducts. Today: feeling particularly blue, hollow and emotionally wobbly. Is this normal when your team gets World Cup sudden death? Oh, hang on, it is normal for the day your period is due, which mine is. Boys out there, if you're sharing this feeling, record it for future reference. A warm beverage and a cuddle isn't too much to ask, perhaps.

Its just about the round ball

Love it when the Poms give their sage wisdom about the Australian pysche, as in this article in the Guardian. Its even more annoying when those clever tea-sipping intellectuals are more or less right.

"This intense passion of Australians for a football code they are still trying to decipher is part ambush, part national sporting fanaticism. Many Australians absorbed every moment of every sport in every Olympic Games since Melbourne in 1956 because of national pride in their own men and women contesting something considered important by the rest of the world. . ."

"With the southern and eastern European migration came soccer, a game derided as 'wogball' by the chauvinistic and racist society of the late 40s, 50s and 60s. It was played in dirt paddocks, not on groomed sports ovals. There are anecdotes of immigrant schoolboys being caned for daring to play the game, as well as for speaking in their parents' tongues to each other, in the playgrounds."

Thanks to null device for the lead

And while on the topic. Its a tad lame when normally decent Aussies try to take the piss out of the game. Like the Chaser last night on TV, doing a re-enactment of the over dramatic drops players do when there's kick to the ankle/calf etc. Cute when guys who usually parody aggressive Aussie culture get sucked into the "toughness" cliche, which is supposed to be part of all our national endeavors.

One of my most vivid memories of watching (SA)NFL* was when one guy literally walked onto his opponent's head in studded boots, while the other guy was on the ground. After the play has moved on. Actually in the old days of the league when there was only one or so cameras on the enormous pitch, the real men used to take a leak out on the field during play, up a sparsely populated end. Now that's Aussie. Aunty B will chuckle heartily on the day when our culture manages to make a subtle shift. Imagine applauding our boys' dramatic skills when trying to encourage a penalty on the field. Lord knows, actually appreciating the Arts might not be far behind, then... Viva Australia Latina!

*Bet you eastern states types didn't know we had our very own footy league down here. Yeh and the player was from Glenelg Tigers, I think. Thats Australian Rules btw. I still can't understand that Rugby business.