The whole of my interest in footbrawl (Rugby League) started and ended with my first job at the age of 15 – selling hot chips at the Sunday “Match of the Day” at Brisbane’s Lang Park in the mid ’70s. And I could do that without having to watch the game.
I did, very briefly, flirt with thugby (Rugby Union) when I, again very briefly, flirted with a player. One high school match was enough to convince me that he was not the one for me.
In Queensland, my lack of interest in footbrawl appears to make me some sort of pariah. Particularly at this time of year.
Because this is State of Origin time.
And it’s impossible to avoid.
The origins of State of Origin go back to the ’80s when Queensland got sick of the much more affluent New South Wales league poaching the best Queensland players and then winning all the interstate competitions. Queenslanders insisted they get the stolen players back for the interstate matches. And I’ve been avoiding these games ever since.
To make it worse, Queensland has won the last 8 years and this apparently automatically entitles them to win again this year. Our glorious state has even issued a series of car registration plates to celebrate 8 in a row. Yes, really.
I consider it a small personal triumph that I managed to avoid knowing the result of the first match this year until after I got to work the following day, but I don’t expect to be able to repeat this too often.
And now, I must away. I have gallons of paint to watch drying and acres of grass to watch growing. And other things to do that are much more exciting than watching footbrawl.
And it’s another Origin night tonight.