Middle Age Madness!

G'day Tragics,

When you slide into your mid thirties it is more than likely that you have given away playing sport at a competitive level and have traded in the "weekend warrior" tag for a more suitable "midweek marshmallow" label.  You have a hit of golf with the lads, play a social game of basketball and even whack a tennis ball every blue moon. 

This brand of sport is fun, keeps you active and is a good release of stress from the daily, weekly and yearly realisation that you are past your sporting prime.  Sorry, I know that sounds a bit melodramatic, but that's exactly how I feel and I know I'm not alone.  Men especially need competition by nature.  No matter what age you are, you need a metaphorical fight to the death every now and then.  You have to compete for something real.  My mates and I thought we had concocted the perfect antidote.

Seven sports in a day.  A heptathlon if you will.  Points on the line for each sport and money on the line for the whole tournament.   Bring it on!  Golf, squash, ping pong, tennis, darts, pool and ten pin bowling.
We planned out the times required to complete each event on a pretty spreadsheet....it looked do-able and to make it even more mouth watering, we all fancied ourselves to take out the title.  This was the contest we'd been craving.

Four of us were competing.  Ages of 33, 35, 46 and 53.  The only handicapping for our heptathlon was our official golf handicaps.  The other sports were man on man.

Golf was first on the agenda, teeing off at 5.30am.  You didn't have to be Bruce McAvaney to predict it would be a massive day. 

The four of us play golf every fortnight.  There is plenty of sledging and the atmosphere is fairly relaxed....not on heptathlon day.  We were much quieter, spent an eternity planning shots and beat ourselves up more than usual when things hit the skids.  We were well and truly in competition mode and loving it.

Why do men need to play for the win?  I get upset if my wife beats me at scrabble.  Why do we take it so personally when we lose?  It could stem from caveman days, where men used to fight it out for a cave chick's affections.  That will to win has stuck.  Win at all costs....we are wired that way i guess.

Golf was intense.  Winners were grinners and losers gutted.  One event down, six to go.  Squash was next and I was personally concerned...definitely not my strong suit.  As anyone who's played squash knows, it is brutal, especially if you're shit at it.  You run around like a headless chook, sweating your arse off, running into walls, running into each other and occasionally getting smacked in the face with the racket or hit in the balls with ...the ball.

When the dust had settled, the leader for the day was further in front and the loser (myself) was further behind.  The heckling began and the enjoyment of the day was transforming into a blood lust.  This was no longer a social day out with the boys, it was all out war.

On the fitness side of things after 2 events, we were all rooted.  Squash had smashed us up badly and the realisation that the day had only just started began to sink in.  Had we bitten off more than we could chew....stiff shit, we were committed....Onwards!

After munching down a dodgy lunch we arrived at the ping pong/darts arena (one of the boys garages).  It was a bloody sweat box, but the relief of tackling two midly draining events compensated.  Over lunch there was a few rows/discussions regarding rules and prize money. Tension grew proportionately to fatigue, as did poor skill execution.

Darts and pong were as tight and competitive as ever, but the results did little to the overall leader board.  I was sitting in 4th and by this stage was completely demoralised that these three has-beens (sorry boys), could have the wood over me in sports that I thought I had mastered.  The thought of 2 hours of tennis in the Gold Coast sun was as appealing as getting a prostate examination from John Hopoate.

Tennis was a nightmare.  We had stiffened up to the point of no return and the quality of rallies were embarrassing at best.  We were all sitting the mental toughness exam and none of us had the cheat sheet.
The results again had little bearing on the overall standings and the day was becoming a survival of the stupidest.  We were dead men walking.

Showers and a few beers before the final two events was tonic enough to regenerate a final charge.  We started to remember that what we were doing was fun, but three of us were secretly seething simply because: we weren't winning!

A few more beers during pool lightened the atmosphere and we enjoyed each others company as we should have been all day.  We started to speak about improvements for next years events and which sports should stay and go.  Surprise surprise, everyone wanted to ditch something they were crap at and bring in something they couldn't lose.  Kind of defeats the purpose, but we didn't care...we wanted to win!

Ten pin bowling was a bit of a blur. It wrapped up at around 11.30pm  We'd been at it for 17 hours.  The after party we'd planned was cancelled.  It was bed time for the heroes of yesteryear.  We'd proved something to ourselves...I'll let you decide what it was.  One of us was happy and the other three distraught.  Once the three days of pain had wore off, it was time to reflect on the day.  Was it worth it?  Did it scratch an itch?  Will we do it next year?   Five seconds to think....Of course!

To my fellow gladiators : Peaky, Lukey and G.O, well done boys and thanks for a great day and for goodness sake....act your age!.....Tragic!

Spring Means Racing!

G'day Tragics,

How good is the Spring Racing Carnival?  Hordes of closet race fans explode from the woodwork, clogging up TAB queues Australia-wide.  Punters confidently armed with unique betting systems based on jockey colours, lucky numbers and catchy names.

Mum “going berko” after her “fifty cents each way” favourite comes in third.  The freaks in the office arguing over who picked the best horse in the one, two and five dollar sweeps.  So many things make this time of year truly unique.

My pet group of spring carnival experts are none other than my mates.  Granted these boys know their sport, but to put it mildly, the gee gees are well out of their jurisdiction.  Undeterred, they still unashamedly spew out phrases like “good over the last furlong”, “I think my nag’s thrown a shoe” and “I was going to box those three”.

Banter between the boys is far more entertaining that any photo finish.  By the time the Cup rolls around, the lads are comprehensively baffled by each other’s bull dust and have secretly converted to one of the juvenile methods of horse selection I mentioned earlier. Their confusion does little to stem their torrent of macho horsey dribble.

What about the fashions on the field.  Priceless!  It’s a time when anything goes and usually does.  Who can resist watching the racing telecast as “B” and even “C grade” celebrities’ gush about who they’re dressed by and which envelope opening they’ll be attending next.  Pass me the sick bag please!

It’s pure gold watching the dregs of the Australian talent pool swanning around like Hollywood buffoons.  It’s impossible to beat the avalanche of colours and textures that are associated the spring racing carnival, even if the majority of them are expelled in the car-park by the masses of intoxicated youth.

Rubbish aside; it’s the jockeys, trainers, owners and especially the magnificent animals that capture the hearts and minds of the nation.  Whether you’re a punter,  clothes horse or just get infected with “racing fever,” it’s a time on the sporting calendar to be cherished and enjoyed, no matter which category you slot into.

Bets please!.....Tragic.

My Grand Day Out.

G'day Tragics,

I have been a rabid Geelong supporter for as long as I can remember.  My Dad followed the Cats for some reason and that was good enough for me.  My brother, Joe and I were mascots for our local club, Ulverstone. The mighty Robins wore Essendon colours, but I insisted on running out in my navy and white hoops...I'm sure some people thought I'd eaten too much sherbet.

I love the Geelong footy club and like all footy fans have been through some tough times supporting them.  The last 5 years have more than cancelled out 20 years of frustration...it has been pure bliss!

Once we disposed of the brave Weagles in the pre-final, it hit me that we were in the Grand Final against the mighty and revered Magpies.  I decided then and there that if a ticket came my way, I would jump on a plane and head South to the "G".

A combination of the planets aligning and some great mates being great mates, I was blessed with a ticket.  My wonderful wife knew what it meant to me and almost packed my bag for me.  Even before the game I was very lucky.  My third Grand Final was on the menu, and it was easily going to be the biggest feast I'd tackled.

An elaborate function on the Friday was the perfect lead-up to a relaxed Saturday morning.  I caught up with a few mates, picked up some merch, to ensure everyone knew I was a "crazy cat".  I made my way to the famous Melbourne Hilton Hotel for a few nerve settlers...the anticipation was a cocktail of butterflies and vomit.  It was almost game time!

If you've ever been to the MCG and you're a mad footy tragic like myself, you are well aware of the magic that borders the historic arena.  The trees, the car parks, the houses surrounding the ground, all play a big part in the experience of attending a match at the scared site.  I was soaking it up like it was my last day on earth.

My seat was in the Olympic Stand....very back row.  I didn't give a rats....I'd made it this far without losing my ticket.  Once Meatloaf finished strangling a chicken and Vanessa Amorossi did her best Cameron Ling impersonation, it was on!

The game is a blur....so much tension, so much excitement, so much emotion was going through me the entire match.  Both teams were giving their all and 96,000 fans were riding every bump with them.  It was different to the other granny's I'd been to, there was just something special about it.

I have to be honest, I had the same sick feeling in my guts that was present when Hawthorn rolled us in '08. There were times when the bounce of the Sherrin just wasn't going our way.  My mind flashed back to that losing feeling I'd experienced as a player in my day....it scared me.  C'mon boys tough it out!

Tough it out they did!  Our guts and spirit was exhilarating.  I not ashamed to admit tearing up a few times during the day...tears of pride and tears of gratitude that my life had taken such a path that I was able to be present at this once in a lifetime event.

The last quarter was a hammering and the Cats faithful waved off the Magpies fans as one.  Our tail end dominance allowed me to finally relax and enjoy a quarter of footy like I never have before.  It was ecstasy!

The siren sounded and we all sang the theme song until they kicked us out...it was brilliant....just brilliant.  It will be very hard to top in my life (sports wise) and I don't think I'll need to attend another AFL GF....but I might.

Surely watching your team beat Collingwood for the Premiership is the AFL Everest?....Tragic.