Whereas the majority of Americans believe in some organised religion or other, the majority of Ozzies have no religion. So they say on the census forms anyway. But it's not true. They do have a religion. Sport.
If LA vanished under the sea because the San Andreas fault had slipped, and there was a footy game on at the same night, guess which would be on the front page the next day? Guess what the topic of conversation would be when the straighties got together to bond manfully at the water cooler? You can't? After all those blatant hints? Tragic.
And right now there is some tennis thingy on in Melbourne. Frigging sodding tennis. Which means the trains are full with sodding tennis fans going to the tennis. So I didn't get a seat. I mean, what do my old bones matter, when you're going to cream your pants at the tennis? I'm a practitioner of sports atheism, after all. I deserve to stand.
OK. I'm broadminded. Even liberal (in the old-fashioned sense of the word). People should be allowed to play and even watch sport (shudder) as long as they don't act too gay in public. Did I say too gay? I meant too sporty. You know: bouncing balls up and down (not theirs, that would at least be interesting), talking knowledgeably about the fracking teams, for His Noodliness's sake, wearing green and gold or ghastly versions of the Ozzie flag. Good grief! Can't they just stay home and drink insecticide so I can get a seat on the train?
Anyway, one good thing, this photo of Lleyton Hewitt leapt out at me from the pages of The Age. (They do it too, you know, The Age. Worshipping at the shrines of sport. It's shameful.)
I took it home with me and played with my . . . sports . . . . equipment. You can too, now. Enjoy.