The pinnacle of Ed’s footy career, receiving the award for the most improved player in the Woori Yallock Tigers Under 14s from Peter Daniel, a "real" footballer. By Ed Thexton
WE’RE older, we’re grumpier, but we’re not quite ready to toss in the towel. Superannuated or should be, we have time on our hands. Once we had influence, more or less, and now we almost uniformly suffer from relevance deprivation.
What to do? Write, spill out two bob solutions to problems that we know from experience – or should do, after a working life – are way more complex and way slower to resolve than anybody would like. Every sling and every arrow you fling off the keyboard hits someone and it’s personal. What good does it do? Does it make anyone feel better? And still we rail at the moon! “They should do this … they should’ve done that.”
WE’RE older, we’re grumpier, but we’re not quite ready to toss in the towel. Superannuated or should be, we have time on our hands. Once we had influence, more or less, and now we almost uniformly suffer from relevance deprivation.
What to do? Write, spill out two bob solutions to problems that we know from experience – or should do, after a working life – are way more complex and way slower to resolve than anybody would like. Every sling and every arrow you fling off the keyboard hits someone and it’s personal. What good does it do? Does it make anyone feel better? And still we rail at the moon! “They should do this … they should’ve done that.”
I propose a uniquely Victorian solution. Kick to kick is completely and utterly relatable to
a bunch of kids born in the 50s and 60s. The solution to pent-up aggravation, to diminished prowess in other facets of life, something for all statures, whether of a ruckman or rover. And with an inanimate object capable of absorbing any frustration (inanimate, of course, until you try to pick up on the run). The universal leveller. If the hammy’s no good you handpass on; if you’re not getting a kick, try *waxing with someone. A bit of co-operation never hurt and a bit of physicality is recommended for mental health.
The great thing about kick to kick is that it’s still within the bounds of many. A huddle at each end, periods of inactivity punctuated by moments of intense focus and concentration. Plenty of time to talk and laugh. Our superannuated lot could do with the mix. We need to move, to laugh, and to be laughed at. We need to get out whatever’s up our jumper. What better way than by booting the skin off the pill or at least trying. What better way of being reminded of the reality of life than by hitting the deck hard. What better way of being reminded that you’re up yourself or that you sound like a sanctimonious prick. A gentle or not so gentle hip and shoulder or a ride for an imagined specky. “I was just going for the ball.”
If the oval is too hard to handle we could do it at low tide on the flat inlet beaches. A catharsis for those who don’t want to join a club; for those who don’t want to talk over that most over-rated of substances – coffee; for those for whom drinking beer is no longer a good healthy pursuit. Who cares who you were or what you were. Get down and mix it with the mortals.
Do you have to be reminded that the next 20 years won’t be the same as the last, that somewhere, sometime, whether you like it or not, you’ll be joining the conga line of those needing a new hip or knee. Then the maxim that it’s all personal will be inescapable. All too soon your last chance of taking your last kick to kick will be gone and the community that you’ve spent so many hours advising how and what and when they should and should not be doing will roll on without your advice.
So basically get out and get it on. Even if you don’t care for kick to kick, remember when you were a kid and kick to kick was a thing, and that one time you jumped at exactly the right moment and the ball miraculously ended up in your hands.
* Editor’s note: Ed assures me this doesn’t mean what it sounds like. In the Woori Yallock of his childhood, to “wax” meant to bring your mates into the game by passing them the ball.
a bunch of kids born in the 50s and 60s. The solution to pent-up aggravation, to diminished prowess in other facets of life, something for all statures, whether of a ruckman or rover. And with an inanimate object capable of absorbing any frustration (inanimate, of course, until you try to pick up on the run). The universal leveller. If the hammy’s no good you handpass on; if you’re not getting a kick, try *waxing with someone. A bit of co-operation never hurt and a bit of physicality is recommended for mental health.
The great thing about kick to kick is that it’s still within the bounds of many. A huddle at each end, periods of inactivity punctuated by moments of intense focus and concentration. Plenty of time to talk and laugh. Our superannuated lot could do with the mix. We need to move, to laugh, and to be laughed at. We need to get out whatever’s up our jumper. What better way than by booting the skin off the pill or at least trying. What better way of being reminded of the reality of life than by hitting the deck hard. What better way of being reminded that you’re up yourself or that you sound like a sanctimonious prick. A gentle or not so gentle hip and shoulder or a ride for an imagined specky. “I was just going for the ball.”
If the oval is too hard to handle we could do it at low tide on the flat inlet beaches. A catharsis for those who don’t want to join a club; for those who don’t want to talk over that most over-rated of substances – coffee; for those for whom drinking beer is no longer a good healthy pursuit. Who cares who you were or what you were. Get down and mix it with the mortals.
Do you have to be reminded that the next 20 years won’t be the same as the last, that somewhere, sometime, whether you like it or not, you’ll be joining the conga line of those needing a new hip or knee. Then the maxim that it’s all personal will be inescapable. All too soon your last chance of taking your last kick to kick will be gone and the community that you’ve spent so many hours advising how and what and when they should and should not be doing will roll on without your advice.
So basically get out and get it on. Even if you don’t care for kick to kick, remember when you were a kid and kick to kick was a thing, and that one time you jumped at exactly the right moment and the ball miraculously ended up in your hands.
* Editor’s note: Ed assures me this doesn’t mean what it sounds like. In the Woori Yallock of his childhood, to “wax” meant to bring your mates into the game by passing them the ball.