So I'm at this party today - now when I say party, I mean a BBQ, which was enough to have me relapsing into childhood, especially at someone making the unmistakable mistake of brining coleslaw, reminding me of the offensive NW Coast mantra, meat for the blokes, coleslaw for the poofs - and I end up talking to a girl in a netball skirt. This wasn't her having the same quirky fashion sense that makes portly white gentlemen wear Thundercats T-shirts, but because she was on her way to play netball, which made sense. She was a great talker, however, she quickly brought her fascinating boyfriend up, with his fascinating career and his fascinating work on his fascinating bike. You'd have to say, as soon as a girl brings her boyfriend, the male in the conversation loses interest. Still, I was actually acutely sociable for me, which was weird. OK, so midway through when she was talking about her boyfriend putting episodes of Entourage onto a DVD for her, I was humming Santogold songs in my head to try and escape the seventh circle of social hell, but I was thinking in the car home, why was I talking to her? Why didn't I do my usual dismissive dis-interest? Why is Santogold on that horse? Oh yes...I know now, she was wearing a netball skirt, and it's a particular love of mine, girls in netball skirts. In fact, I composed this blog post in my head during the second part of her discussion of her boyfriend...
Netball was always one of my favourite sports, although very rarely did I say it out loud, it wouldn't have gone down well in Paul Keatings Burnie. I found from an early age that netballers seemed to have an alien power to them - Kathryn Harby for instance, had she been a check out chick, would still have been desirable, but in a netball skirt, she was the hottest woman on the planet, despite a voice that could grate carrots. I'm absolutely stoked that she has re-invented herself as a sort of New Zealand based Anne Maree Cooksley. However, my early interest in netball wasn't all just adolescent risible perving. I earned a reputation at my school as a netball supercoach - two of my good girlfriends were coaching a struggling team, and asked for my advice, more in jest than anything else, and I said it was incredibly simple, at every single opportunity no matter how slight, cheat and accentuate the contact, make it really noticable, especially in the centre. I don't know where this came from, but it worked, as they won their last game of the season easily, and their tactics sparked a crowd pleasing brawl. To the best of my knowledge, the opposing team didn't have the previously mentioned staple of North West netball teams, a girl built like Tony "Plugger" Lockett (who, oddly, was always the one the crowd secretly fancied) - if they did, she'd have cleaned up in the brawl, but still, it was win win as far as our team was concerned, and I applied my theory whenever I could to other netball teams.
I did, once upon a time, play netball, but I wasn't very good at it. I could never master the stepping rule. It did at least give me an appreciation for playing the sport rather than just making up rules and coaching ideas. I probably hoped that the courts would be filled with girls in netball skirts, but it wasn't the case. I still don't know why I decided to play the game, but it really was an important part of my life, it really helped me get close to my current friends. However, the best moment of the entire time was our post game chats (not least because I am a terrible loser, and once get sent off for fighting a girl, so the actual game was an unending nightmare) because they were a wonderful insight into the human condition as we chewed the fat before going home. One girl on our team though, she was always trying to impress with tales of her rootin, shootin, and bar fights. None of us took any notice of her, until one night, she invented her own swear word. Cunting. As in, I hate my usual cunting taxi driver. I've never heard this word before, and have never heard it again, but I remember it to this day far more than any game we played or any of our scores. She was the exception, a girl who played netball who wasn't sexy whether or not she had a netball skirt on. I guess even I had my limits.
I think the mecca of Tasmanian netball is the outdoor courts in Moonah, where girls of all ages gather on a Saturday morning and afternoon to compete in sporting contests. Moonah is one of my favourite places, since it always seems grey and miserable their, but there's a fair bit of local pride, because they always try and tidy what's essentially a town in one street into something special - where else could you get a Reggie Big Brother biscuit that won an award? I also like Moonah for the mini golf course where every single day, a fully grown male spits the dummy trying to putt up the hill on the 18th. One night from the netball centre I drunkenly stole a BP sign (sticking it to the man huh) and it was also where, one day, my life went in one direction when it could have gone in another. I was at the netball courts one day, luckily noting one of the teams had a Plugger, but also very happy to see the other staple of NW sport - old 50 year captains shouting at everyone to do better. When I was taking in the match, through a lot of circumstances too long to explain here, I ended up sitting between two people who had both invited me to parties that night. One, a slightly sleazy and dodgy sounding schoolgirls party in North Hobart, the other, a safer night out in town, and it was really awkward moment as I tried to decide where to g. I guess looking back, had I chosen the sleazy party, I wouldn't have one of my best friends in the world right now, so I took the girly option - friendship over depravity. It's just funny to me that somehow, this sport has played a big part in my life - far more than football. A sport that I harmlessly derided and adolescently perved on had become something around which I had built a relationship, picked a path in life in regards to friendships, and cemented those friendships. And it all started hoping to see Natalie Avellino in a pretty skirt...skirt...she's wearing a skirt...oh...right...better nod and look interested...
So, what were you saying? Oh, your boyfriend... fascinating...
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