And they cheer

And they cheer

At the football on the big screen,

Aussie rules,

Nobody else plays it.

Why do people get so hung up

On minority sports?

American football

What is that about?

“Saying that could get you strung up

In some states.”

Who said that?

Nobody

But it did seem important enough

To acknowledge

A controversial remark

And the treacherous nature

Of sporting disagreement

“Why write a poem about it then?

Nobody will like it

You could even get death threats.”

Really?

The crowd in the outdoor

Beer garden scream and whoop

For some guy with long levers

Jumping around

After an oval ball

Nobody knows which way it will bounce.

I can never tell

In which direction they are supposed to be playing

What a waste.

A bunch of people spill out of the pub

They drink and smoke

Real cigarettes.

It feels like the eighties

All over again

Inside, some of them play the slots

Pokies they call them

It’s not Las Vegas

But they spend all day in there

Poking coins into the throat

Of a fiddle-de-dee

Brightly lit machine

Wasting their best years

Wearing short pants and string vests,

Sporting a spread bet belly

Running to fat before they have

Left their teens

I’m sure they have their reasons.

How old do they have to be

Before they catch a look at themselves

In a mirror

And wonder what happened

To the best of their lives

The promise of youth,

When all was possible,

Especially on a Saturday night

After a pie and a pint.

The chip shop magnet

On the pull

Sporting a mullet

And a Magnum tache.

Nothing has changed

But hair loss and halitosis

Vascular disease

And deep vein thrombosis.

I must keep walking

To stave it all off

For at least the time it takes

To walk to a different pub

With space at the bar

For a bad sport

Nursing a giant size hangover

Of the late-night

Early morning

Premier League

Variety.