Pretty sure there’s a rip in the space/time continuum at the moment. How else to account for the fact that the only way I have been able to gauge the passing of time lately* is by deducing what day I put my rubbish out (Monday) and using that as some kind of tragically domestic and slightly deranged touchstone?
Well all that is soon to be over. The 2012 NRL season is but moments away. This means that I will be giving myself over to the tyranny of time-sucking televised football. No more seeking comfort from fatty foods and firearms, then. Good, good. And at least you know where you are with televised football. Even during those mesmerising moments when it’s difficult to determine where the sport ends and where the theatre begins you generally still know where you are. By this I mean that you understand the hideous, soul-shrinking pointlessness of life and recognise that you are an insignificant and odious being caught up in the unforgiving machinations of a materialistic and hostile world but are able to spend eighty lucid minutes several times a week altogether untroubled by these rude realities. It’s a portal, football, much the same as flannel sheets and fairy bread. It’s more than just a game, too – it’s something to hold on to, a fixed point in the ephemeral modern world. It will also quench my depraved thirst for titillation, meaning I will have no further need for Manu Feidel (he’s French, in case you missed it). So. 2012. Not a new world, no, but a brave new beginning nonetheless. (And I don’t know why but the epic bombast of November Rain is echoing in my head right now.)
*I did know the New Dawn was soon to break because 6 or 7 weeks ago my brother sent me a text telling me about his annual round of long-range bets: “I just put $10 on Souths for the wooden spoon and $10 on Campo for the dally M. How do you like those apples?” Clearly I fucking love those apples. (Last year, at around this same time, he put money on Dugan winning the Clive Churcher medal – you know, the one that is awarded to whatever player did interesting and/or amazing work in THE GRAND FINAL?? Far-sighted realism has always been his thing.)