Five From Five

This week, the sole response from the 25 to 29 group came from the lovely and diligent Ms Sally. Introducing ...

Sal.

Childhood:
Growing up in Sydney's eastern suburbs I was lead to believe that Rugby (by which I mean union, for those who were taught that there was any other kind) was the 'true' football. My father (who was once described by the Sydney Morning Herald sports reporter as Sydney University's 'colourful bearded winger') and brother and every boy I knew at high school played it, at my country university too. Australian Rules was something laughable. Silly haircuts, too-tight shorts.

Leaving home:
Perth, late 90's: no-one laughs at AFL. I was required to decide between two teams. Being Australian I went for the underdog Dockers.
Early '00's Adelaide: I realise not just WA that takes AFL seriously. I make friends who will explain the rules and I start to love spectating (as long as I avoid North Melbourne games cos Wayne Carey makes my skin crawl). I also discover that my grandfather dragged my mother all around the Riverina as a child following the Deniliquin AFL side. He was a staunch Swans supporter having previously played with South Melbourne in his early days. So I became a Swans supporter. It's in the blood.

Adulthood:
South of the Border: In Melbourne being able to talk footy means you can talk to anyone. Even those who hate it will discuss how much they hate it, in informed and often passionate terms. Besides, about half of all media down there is about football, or related to football. If I hadn't loved AFL those seven years within spitting distance of "The 'G" would have been an eternity. 

Parenthood:
Mid 00's I find myself the sole parent to a child who was born for balls and wheels. I am forced out of my armchair view of football and learn to drop punt with enthusiasm and handball with accuracy. I am tested on who footballers are and who they play for and get eyes rolled at me (frequently) when I am wrong. I bring my Tiger Cub to live in Swan territory and find that AFL is no longer such a laughing matter.

Tipping:
For me footy is about the heart, not the head. I tip with my gut. The last couple of years my gut has not come up with the goods (maybe there is a little too much of it these days...)
My rule is that once I tip, i don't change it, not matter how much I want to. I would rather get the tip wrong, than get it wrong and know that i had it right the first time. And I frequently tip against my own team, knowing that when I'm depressed that they have lost, at least I get my tip right. If they win, who cares about tipping?
I would love to win, sure, but I've been at the top of the ladder and it is stressfully precarious up there. There is something comforting about the bottom, you can tip big and know there is really only one way you can go. And it means that when Tiger Lucas bemoans how badly HE is doing, he can't do it too loudly or for too long!