Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi!!

socceroos 2

I’m obviously not a prolific blogger as it has been a month since my last regurgitation. My studies have to take priority in my ‘my time’ allocation and only then do I find a minute or two for a bit of a spout. Of course, I also need to have something to write about.

I was going to do a little piece about our cracking adult break in Honkers, but it’s been a couple of weeks since then and I’ve forgotten most of which came to pass. I will say though that we had a thoroughly splendid time, the highlight for me was the discovery of  my nirvana – Sneaker Street in Kowloon. Let’s just say that several pairs of fine footwear were purchased at a competitive rate and I apologize to those fine runners I had to leave behind.

The main thrust of things today is two-fold – bonding and rivalry. On Tuesday of this week, the sport, his best buddy, myself and best buddies dad were lucky enough to witness live a bit of Australian sporting history. The Socceroos (Australia’s odd name for their football team) were playing Iraq in a World Cup qualifier. They needed to win to book their passage to the finals in Brazil next year. A loss would of meant a potential play-off or worse still – elimination.

Now the son and I have been to professional sporting events before and have thoroughly enjoyed them but this was different, this meant something, this meant seeing my sons hero’s achieve and succeed for their/his/my country. I don’t want to come over all slushy about this as it wasn’t a slushy moment but being able to provide your child with these memorable life experiences, a moment he can look back on when he’s is older with fondness gives me a great fillip. Oh, forgot to mention, they won 1 nil and booked their passage to Brazil. It was great, full of contentious moments, nerves and near misses. We shared it all together and loved it.

That brings me to my second point – rivalry. You will note from my last paragraph that I now consider Australia ‘my country’ as well. I’m still a pommy bastard but I’m now an Australianised pommy bastard. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t forgotten from whence I came. I’m a proud Englishmen and as such, still support them in all their sporting endeavors. Over the next few months we have back to back Ashes series (cricket, Aus V Eng, for the uninitiated) and on Saturday we have the first rugby union test between the Wallabies (Australia) and the Lions (Britain & Irish). I can’t wait and I can tell you now that I will be willing, no screaming the poms on to beat Australia. Australians, with the exception of my wife, totally get this. This is old, hard, fierce rivalry. It’s a part of national pride and bragging rights between the two nations and is done in a great sporting manner. But when it comes to football and particularly , the Socceroos, I’m firmly in Aussie’s corner. Historically the rivalry in this sporting code has been limited, added to this is the love and passion my son shows for the sport. I want the Socceroos to succeed, I want to have a sport my kids and I can share without the banter of them and us, I want something we can jointly be proud of and I also want them to have something to aspire to. The Socceroos (not in my life time anyway) are very unlikely to win the World Cup but they will always be competitive and they will always keep going to the final whistle unlike their prima-donna counterparts in the England team who expect to win and persistently fail to do so. It’s a great thing to be involved, all be it at a grass roots level, in a sport which is growing and improving every year. Bring on Brazil. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi !!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s