ON Monday afternoon, I saw something odd out of the corner of my eye.
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It was weird even by Mad Monday standards.
A *kangaroo flew past the bus stop on the corner of Electra and Downside streets and made a beeline up Downside Street towards Murray Crescent.
It was like it had missed the 3.45pm town bus to QEII Square, which had really got its goat.
When I first caught sight of it, I thought it was a goat or a deer or even a dog with a spring in its step.
Amazingly, the roo managed to negotiate that tricky East Albury intersection – between Electra, Rau and Downside streets – that most of us struggle with from time to time.
As I drove up Downside in the left lane, the flying kangaroo easily kept pace with me in the right. At 50kmh, we were level-pegging!
Every dog and the one cockatoo that lived within three blocks of us was barking or squawking.
No one else was in sight.
No one else was out driving.
The courageous kangaroo pressed on towards the bush behind Murray Crescent, oblivious to the sideshow alley of its own making.
Hooroo!
I couldn’t help but think that North Melbourne might have done a fair bit better had it shown some of the same bravado, pluckiness and daring during the AFL home and away season.
When North went south in the second half of the year, this young roo would have known what to do.
You’ve got to get out of your comfort zone.
You’ve got to set the pace.
You’ve got to lose your opposition player. They were, in fact, nowhere to be seen!
You’ve got to ignore the racket from any dogs and birds down the centre passage.
Then when you’ve applied all of that and the season still doesn’t end well, just head for the hills!
Every dog and the one cockatoo that lived within three blocks of us was barking or squawking. The courageous kangaroo pressed on towards the bush behind Murray Crescent, oblivious to the sideshow alley of its own making. Hooroo!
But there’s a lot of things around.
For instance, Rachel Khoo cook books, crafternoons, netball gala days, Netflix noir binges and Monday night ballet barre classes.
The worse North Melbourne was going in the AFL home and away season, the more I focused on all of the above with gusto.
Khoo’s The Little Swedish Kitchen arrived just in the nick of time mid-year as did Welsh noir police detective drama series Hinterland.
When my tween daughter signed up for a school netball gala day over winter, having never played a match in her life, this too got my undivided attention.
A dancer or gymnast since age 4, I thought traditional team sports had totally passed her by.
“I think I could be an okay wing defence,” she says, out of the blue.
“I played wing defence,” I tell her, like it’s fated. I played everywhere on the court except in the centre; centre is for crazy-fit types.
In August I lobbed up to JC King Park for the first time since the mid-1980s, when I played in blue and gold for Corowa High School.
My daughter’s team was made up mostly of dancers; these girls had likewise found netball clashed with dance as a rule.
These girls had never played or trained together once.
They played five matches of two, 12-minute halves.
There were no reserves and they played every match in every position at least once.
At the start of each half we had to remind them where they could go on court.
They lost five matches straight.
But their heartfelt cheer at the start, middle and end of their matches was loud and proud.
It’s a timely reminder that it’s not about winning, but how you play the game.
Me, I like football.
But there’s a lot of things around.
- * It was actually a wallaby, but then I’d have to write a column about an entirely different code!
