One of the great things we've learned to appreciate down here are the sports. I generally subscribe to the theory that lousy places to live are the best sports towns. Look at Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Detroit, and Chicago as examples. The weather there is unlivable most of the year and there is not much to do but eat, drink and watch ball games. My view results from living in the West most of my life where there is plenty to do, sports-wise, besides watch other men run around a field or court. Take Los Angeles for example, where you can occupy your time for hours and hours, day or night, driving on the freeways. So little time is left that Angelinos can't hold an NFL team for any period of time. Nobody can get to the game.

Australia, as in many fields, ignores the norm. Here some mammals lay eggs and refuse to suckle their young and the winter sun wanders in the northern sky. There are many participatory sports and outdoor activities which Australians enjoy, but they love their spectator sports. There is cricket, two kinds of rugby, soccer, and an indigenous game called Australian Rules. They follow horse racing as many Americans follow their choice of religion. Seldom attended, but generally bet upon as a pathway to salvation; financial as opposed to spiritual, but what is the difference?

In my shallow analysis of this phenomenon I come up with a few thoughts. Australians love the struggle, but are uncomfortable with a long term conflict. In other words, they love the bloke who fights, despite all odds. His success in the fight is almost irrelevant. This does not mean that they do not play to win. It is that they appreciate the battle, the process, as much as they appreciate the victory, the outcome. As products of a social experience which required cooperation for survival, they are distasteful of stinginess, self-serving, long term grudges, and anything else that interferes with the common good. People who achieve too much at the expense of others are not lauded, as they are in the States, but roundly and justifiable condemned. Sports, especially team sports, fits this ideal. The team works together for the good of all. The fight is intense, but once it is over, the victors and losers celebrate the battle over beer.

Australian Rules exemplifies this. It is a home grown sport, invented to keep cricketeers in shape during the winter. Why that is necessary is another question you might ask if you've ever seen a cricket match, but we will forgo that discussion at this time. The name, Australian Rules is an oxymoron and misnomer, since only immigrants and bureaucrats are interested in rules in Australia, and the rules in Australian Rules appear to be only guidelines. The game is a great sport providing insight into Australian character. Eighteen players per side swarm the oval, which is a huge paddock of grass. During the game the players appear to be infected with a personal space disorder since they elbow and shove each other in an effort to keep the other bloke away. The game is intense, nonstop, for four quarters of officially twenty minutes each, but most quarters run as much as thirty minutes before the siren blows. Once the final siren sounds, the players pick themselves up, pull the grass out of the teeth and other gaps and shake hands all around.

This behavior is found in the most rabid fans also. Nat and I attended a game in Melbourne a couple of weeks ago. The St. Kilda Saints, who had an unbeaten record up until that point in the season, were playing the Essendon Bombers. We were right up in the rafters of Etiham Stadium. Next to us was a family of Bomber barrackers. (You don't root for a team in Oz. It has a very bad connotation). The youngest son was cheering for his team with all the emotion that only the sports-obsessed can possess. Behind us was a lone male wearing St. Kilda colors. We've all sat near someone like him. He is in his late forties. His life revolves around his team because there is nothing in his life of significance. His wife, if he is still married, or his mates, if any, do not go to the game with him because he is so obnoxious in his enthusiasm that he embarrasses anyone in his vicinity. We kept waiting for this guy and the little kid to get into a punching match, since they were so vociferous in their support. St. Kilda was defeated at the end of the game by the narrowest of margins, with the outcome of the game unsettled until the last minute. No fights after the game. The insane St. Kilda fan commented to no one that it was a good game and left the stands with a somewhat strained smile on his face.

The other thing that sport appeals to is the Australian sense of humor. This is something that requires a lot more observation and thought on my part to begin to describe it. Humor in sport is found at times in the expressions of the announcers and is quick and cutting. The praise is not faint, but it can sound damning. In a car race, one of the drivers cut across a portion of the grass infield in an effort to gain position and avoid a collision. The announcer congratulated the great agriculture work by the driver and his sponsor, John Deere. In a rugby league match, between the Parramatta Eels and the Penrith Panthers, one of the rookie players was doing an active job and involved in several key plays. The announcer, who I suspect was a fan of the opposing team, likened him to a little puppy, always chasing after the ball and annoying everyone. "You'd like to kick him," the announcer commented.

The recent Ashes cricket series between Australia and England was amazing to watch. The matches were broadcast live from England, which meant that you had to watch it from the late evening to the wee morning hours. I'd like to devote time to describing this great experience, but due to the late hour of the games and the incomprehensible nature of cricket, I haven't a clue what went on. However, the ads during the afternoon tea break and the morning drink break were great. My favorite was one by Victoria Bitter, which showed a celebratory parade of local clubs marching in a small country town under the banners of their common interest. The ad showed several groups. The best included "Men Who Claimed to Have Punched a Shark". The announcers introduced the group as "dozens of brown wetsuits." "Men Who Peaked in High School" included Paul Pasco, "forgotten but not gone," according the the announcers. "The Manscapers," were guys who used razors "where no razor has gone before." Under the banner of "Men Who Didn't Read the Instructions" were gentlemen with their arms in slings, heads wrapped in bandages, and necks in braces. The comment from the announcers was that here were men "who went in with their eyes shut, windmill punching." I think the best was "Blokes Punching Above Their Weight." The marchers were a bunch of genetically challenged guys on the arms of some very attractive women. I can identify with this group.