A Word about Footy

And that word is WTF.

If you think you understand Aussie-rules football, or footy, because you understand American football and European football (or soccer) and maybe even rugby, you are wrong. Because although footy uses a ball that sort of looks like a rugby ball (though weirdly elongated at the ends kind of like a US football—see above), and is played on a pitch that sort of looks like a soccer pitch or a football field (though bigger, and oval), and involves moving a ball down that field to get to goal posts, footy is nonetheless totally bananas .

First of all, the players don’t wear pads or helmets even though they tackle each other. Second, they can only run carrying the ball for a few meters, at which point they have to bounce it, which is hard to do because of the aforementioned elongated shape. If they want to pass the ball, they have to throw it up and punch it toward a teammate. This whole time they could be tackled. If they kick the ball toward the goal posts and miss, but it’s caught by someone, all play stops while that person lines up for a kick toward the goal. If they succeed, it matters whether they got the ball through the middle goal posts or the outer goal posts (the former gaining six points, the latter one). And always running, running, running.

I spent much of the game we went to listening to podcasts and being cold. The Bombers (our team?) were losing by 20 points and I didn’t understand what I was looking at anyway. BUT THEN. All of a sudden, everyone was cheering and I looked up and the Bombers had scored two middle-goal-post goals (so 12 points). And then another! And another! And a couple of side goal-post goals! So they were up by seven points and I could understand that we were winning and that we desperately needed the clock to run out before the opposing team scored again. And then they did—and it was a middle-post goal, so we were only up by ONE POINT, and my sister and I were cheering and praying for the clock to run out and then BLATTT! And the Bombers won by one point and the stadium went nuts, and I still don’t really understand what I was watching but it was super exciting. Then the whole place sang this song together, which was . . . surreal?

And then we got hot jam donuts and life was good.

A couple random things: On the train home, a little girl (maybe 5?) watched me get on and then loudly asked her mom why I was in a wheelchair because “she’s not even OLD!” The mom gamely tried to explain to the girl that maybe I’d hurt myself or something, but all I could think of was I’m not even OLD! Bless you, child. Bless you.

And two: Michael is working on two books and he is very good about always writing at least 300 words per day. He told my nephew Hudson that he does this (though he neglected to say that the words ideally formed sentences, perhaps even focused on the ostensible topic of a paragraph or page), and the other day, when we were babysitting because he stayed home from school with a stomach ache, Huddy decided to write down a list all of the words that he could think of. When he was finished, he proudly told Michael that he had written 130 words (among them RED, BOOK, LIGHT, and LION). And there must be a lesson in there for all of us, but I’m not quite sure what it is.