Tuesday 25th April 2017

Today I was really sad so I decided I should go to the Melbourne Storm vs New Zealand Warriors rugby game in Melbourne with my multi-cultural friend group and at first I wasn’t any less sad, in fact I was probably more sad because I just couldn’t get into watching all the big men running around and rubbing their testicles all over each other’s legs. I very soon concluded that rugby matches were exactly as I’d always visualized them: swarming with lairy, chanting men pumped with steroids, having a period when the opposing team scored a goal, and overweight people carrying multiple boxes of fast food that they justify with the “special occasion”. After finally figuring out the chaotic seating system and finding my allocated seat which someone was already sat in, I decided to get some gin and tonic and blog about my time at the rugby game. I hadn’t considered where I was when I made that decision so my drink of choice was unavailable but beer was in abundance so I settled with a great big beer.

I returned to someone else’s seat which, being an end seat combined with the lack of leg room caused me to metamorphose into a cyborg by the end of the match. I was installed with a 0.3 second 90 degree turn of the legs mechanism, necessary to accommodate the frequent requirement to move for anyone wishing to exit the isle. Anyway, on my return I found that the seagulls were all having a really nice time on the pitch and trying to get involved until all of these big idiot spectators started shouting profanities like “ya big puskins!!!” to show support to their failing team of preference but the seagulls must have got the wrong end of the stick because they all flew off. I don’t think their sensitivity should be judged though, I think the misunderstanding was mostly due to a language barrier.

Someone must have talked the seagulls around because they all came back once things had calmed down on the pitch and they hung around in the corner for ages, probably discussing childcare arrangements but then something dramatic happened like a goal being scored or the demise of Jeremy Corbyn or something. There was a sudden overwhelming, deafening combination of both cheers and cries. Once again, the seagulls flew off abruptly and I hardly saw any of them again for the rest of the match, except for a few spectators getting a birds-eye view of the flailing burly men. Either that or they were trying to throw them all off by imitating a rugby ball soaring through the air.

After typing for a while, I looked up to discover that rugby games were not exactly as I’d expected after all. A bunch of children had come onto the field to play some rugby and it was then that I realised that rugby is a game that involves all; adults, children and birds alike. There were even a load of purple girls out there alternating between dancing and taking the form of a stationary double handled teapot with a painted on grin. Sometimes there was a promotional blimp flying around near the pyrotechnics and I was really hoping it would fly too close and go down with a big pop, much like my experience earlier in the week with a cigarette and some gigantic bubbles being blown by some idiots scrounging money off pedestrians to fund their travels. I realise now that it had been half-time.

As the game resumed, I continued to blog and before I knew it, the game was over and I was feeling slightly above neutral which was an improvement on contemplating forcing a screw diver so far down my eye socket that it punctured my wind pipe so today I learnt that if something is bad, I should just blog about something slightly less bad. I turned that frown upside down. Look, look at it: