Reasons to be cheerful

This won't become littered with damp eyed romanticism or sports anecdotes but I can't let the Grand Final pass without comment.

What a splendid match it was, I say as someone who neither watched nor listened, and doesn't either support or particularly care for either of the competing teams. For the record they were Geelong and Port Adelaide.

The old fogey within that is being increasingly assertive regards the participation of two teams with proper histories as a Good Thing. Geelong is a dump of a town south and west of Melbourne and the team that bears its name was one of the twelve that in the Good Old Days made up the Victorian Football League¹. Port Adelaide was one of the traditional Big Teams of the South Australian Football League.

Well it has all gone to hell in a handcart since those good old days: no more South Melbourne, No more Fitzroy. Instead we have Sydney [Swans] and Brisbane [Lions]. The fogey in me loathes these teams mostly because they can't get by being referred to either formally (ie, Sydney) or informally ('the Swans') but must needs travel American-style with the two names shackled together, presumably for strength and stability.

Then there's the new-fangled teams: West Coast [Weagles] and Adelaide [the Crows]. Subsequently the league was also joined by Fremantle and Port Adelaide - both of which are actually thoroughly proper footy teams with real pedigrees in the league of origin.

So that's now sixteen, and to accommodate so many teams without intruding on the pre-season competition which itself intrudes on the tail end of the cricket season and is played in stupidly hot weather there are byes and er, stuff.

Also the finals, played in September, which originally involved the top four teams now involves six in a convoluted arrangement designed to ensure that lots of teams get one (or possibly two) second chances - and possibly sort out which team was actually Top Team.

The last match of the season involves the last two teams standing - which takes us back to where this started.

Port, Geelong, Geelong, Port. Hm. To care, or not to care. Well actually this was a very important match the result of which has left me with something to cheer about and something to hope for:

First of all the winning margin was 119 points and this is most excellent as this is the new record winning margin - it erases the shame of Melbourne Football Club being on the losing end of the Heaviest Ever Defeat.

Secondly this is the winning team's first title in 44 years². They last won the title in 1963. Theirs was the longest drought - now the dubious honour of the longest non-winning streak in play falls to ... Melbourne; last premiership won in 1964³. Our turn next?

1. The Good Old Days. When there were six matches played on Saturday afternoon, all kicking off at 2:00; when multiple radio stations covered all matches and, since all the matches except Geelong home games were played in Melbourne, a body could go to a game and be home in time to choose between multiple post-match football programs - mostly involving panelists called 'Doug' and a bloke bearing a strong resemblance to the bald eagle from The Muppets.
   
2. The Winning Team. You'll notice I've not explicitly named the winning team, but you've enough information if you care to know and can't be arsed to google.
   
3. And yet... We still stand in fourth place among all time title winners behind Carlton, Essendon and Collingwood. Now there's a fine Final Four for you.

It isn't fair

Where would be without the wit and wisdom of the Liberal Democrats? Wonder no more. One of their number, a woman natch, has finally fingered the source of global warming, famine, drought, plague, pestilence, poverty and etc.

It is manifest that if we were all togged out in ethical cotton loin cloths and subsisting on a diet of crystal clear mountain spring water, nut burgers and berries then there would be an immediate cessation to all hostilities, a general outbreak of peace and goodwill and an instantaneous fair and equitable distribution of resources. In this utopia of tree-hugging, pan pipes and physical fitness - and I'm sure any similarities between the Lib Dem vision and that set out by the Nazis is purely coincidental, or an unavoidable by-product of any political belief system that purports to Know Best - the obvious first casualty will be competition. That is, after all Nazi as in National Socialist.

The Lib Dems have always regarded competition as the root of all evil - few have possessed the balls to call it like it is. Cometh the hour, cometh the woman. The Lib Dem's parliamentary representatives will all be able to get to next year's party conference in a couple taxis, possibly with a bit of room to spare.

And yet, in the mind of one (female) speaker at Conference, come the revolution you Rugger Buggers will be first up against the wall. Then, and only then will it be safe to tuck daisy into rifle barrels, link hands and sing a couple of rousing verses of some secular equivalent of Kumbaya. Some frightful hairy legged harridan of the fruit loop fringe has castigated the England captain for bullying an American opponent on the pitch. This is a moment for a few perfectly enunciated Phuts ... as in Phor Phut Sake....

These people want to run your life. Don't say you weren't warned, if that couple of taxi loads of sandal wearers end up holding the balance of power in a nearly hung parliament. Okay?

Seasonal Greetings

'Tis the season to be totally fucked off by the influx of out-of-towners; braying types with bigger boats than either dicks or IQs.

You're known in these parts as WAFIs, which is to say Wind Assisted Fucking Idiots. Welcome to town. Enjoy the sailing. Spend your dosh and sod off.