Like Stalingrad But Without The Cheerful Music



It is football final season in Australia. I’ll amend that – it is semi final extra time grand final derby league last gasp yet another bloody football game time in Australia.

I may have given away my attitude to the sport a little in that last sentence, but you must be sympathetic to me – I live in a house full of people who care about it. There are 4 grown adults sitting watching electronic people bob and run over impossibly green grass all weekend – adults that are old enough to know better but don’t.

I would not care about this in a house full of strangers because I could leave or at least flood the place with phosgene gas – as it is I have to smile when they tell me how well the team is doing or drive my fingers into my ears against the howling when the score goes the other way. I swear that the plumbing suffers inordinately every time this happens – they throw up hairballs in anguish. Even this would be good if they did it quietly…

Then there is the family football tipping competition and the family footy table and the family expert and the runner-up semi-finals and the sweepstakes and the grand announcement dinner and oh, God, how do I get me some of the phosgene for myself?

It is set to be worse this year. The favourite local team is bidding fair to go into the supreme go-to-Heaven-and-replace-God finals in Melbourne and the family’s chief desperado may not get to go to see it due to work commitments. If they win it will be like Verdun and if they lose it will be like Verdun. I wouldn’t mind it but the  spoilsport local laws prohibit me from firing a machine gun down the street to relieve the tension.

At least there is drink. Lighter fluid for preference…




2 thoughts on “Like Stalingrad But Without The Cheerful Music

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