This uncertain world

The world feels so unsure right now.
On television, politicians defend laws that deprive us of liberty in the name of terrorism.
On television, the same politicians ignore the global threat that climate change poses to the whole world.
On television, the suffering caused by Ebola in Africa seems distant and apart from us.
On television, we are reassured that the Royal Melbourne Hospital is trained and ready for Ebola.
Going through security for domestic flights, the security seems no more onerous than usual; sometimes they wish to unfurl my umbrella.
Most of the time they are happy to leave it furled in the bottom of my bag.
They are polite.
Except for the man at a small regional airport who said he would need to rearrange my bag because it was a "complete mess".
I looked at him and blinked, not daring, where the air is tense with unrealised threat, to tell him to pull his head in.
Until recently this airport had no security; one just walked across the tarmac to board the waiting plane.
I wanted to go home, not to a white room with a chair, a table, greying linoleum, no windows and no lawyer.
The radio broadcasts reports of attacks, arrests and mysterious packages.
I am transported back to that place where mysterious packages and powders were easily spied.
I arrive home to discover the front security gate has been torn from its hinges.
What uprising took place while I was gone?
Walking around the neighbourhood while the AFL grand final is being played across town at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, the streets were deserted.
I crossed the road easily, for there were no cars.
Periodically, synchronised roars would arise from separate houses, punctuating the play.
I hope the crowd is safe, not vulnerable.

I'm rereading "Slaughterhouse-Five" by Kurt Vonnegut. In chapter four, Billy Pilgrim is in a train car, being held prisoner by the German army:

"When food came in, the human beings were quiet and trusting and beautiful. They shared."

If only life was like that.

Calm sanctuary in a mad world.
© 2014 divacultura

During the week I visited one of the psychiatric hospitals for which I work. The gardens are beautiful and I've already decided to book in if I should fall apart. This was my view as I ate my lunch.

Quintessential Melbourne afternoon - at the footy!

Yesterday I went to the Melbourne Cricket Ground to savour my first experience of attending a live AFL finals match.  My team, the Richmond Tigers had made it to the finals for the first time since 2001 and were playing Carlton.  The Tigers fans were out in force, highly visible in the distinctive yellow and black.

My first challenge was getting to my seat.  With my injured knee, this was quite a feat.  We took the lift to level four and showed our tickets to a man.  He looked at them and shook his head.

The ticket
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

"Oh well.  Now.  That's quite a long way up.  Yes it is. You'll have to just keep on going.  And be very careful on those steps.  I can't get up them myself. Very hard. Good luck." He spoke in a monotone, eyes darting.  I was afraid.

I have a dicky knee and I'm afraid of heights. I'm still recovering from the George Michael concert where I was seated right up the top of Etihad Stadium.

In case you need help working it up, row FF is 32 rows up and the only way to get there is the climb the stairs which are almost like a ladder.  I went slowly.  Going up stairs is actually almost back to normal; going down is harder. The sherpa we had booked hadn't turned up and my oxygen tank wouldn't fit in my handbag.





We reached our seats without mishap and this is what we saw.  We were a long way up which meant we could see the whole game, but had to look at the screen to admire the players' deltoids.

MCG crowd - over 96,000 fans attended
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

Across the other side - that's the suburb of Richmond in the background.
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

Now that I was in my seat, I was not going to leave until it was home time.

Work in progress - trying the beanie on to get the right amount of "slouch".
 I didn't wear it with the needles in!
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

The atmosphere was incredible and I was relieved that I had put the effort into finishing my beanie and made some yellow and black pom poms over my breakfast. Beanies don't really suit me, but as my friend pointed out, that's not really why you wear them.

Plaits and pom poms...go Tigers!
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

We had a devoted Tigers fan sitting behind us.  I can't for the life of me work out why he isn't the Richmond coach.  He certainly had a view about everything and said it loudly enough for the team to hear.  Even during the first half where we were playing well he was plaintive in his cries for the team to "Help him", "Man up" and play "hard ball".  Not much time would pass between "well done" and "oh, you idiot!"  Although as we moved into the second half and Richmond seemed to give up, "oh, you idiot!" seemed like an appropriate statement.

As the loss became inevitable, emotions started to show.  Tiny tigers decked out in their gear were inconsolable.  The strains of "We are the navy blue" was an assault on the ears when all I wanted was "Oh we're from Tiger land!"  One row in front of me a full grown man with red hair cut into one of those strange faux hawk/mullet styles and wearing a daffodil yellow onesie started to cry.  I don't know if it was the result of the game or the realisation about what he was wearing and that he wearing it outside the house that warranted such emotion.

As I slowly made my way to the bottom again, the suggestions about "next year" were already being heard.

Oh we're from Tiger land! Tiger girls waiting to get inside the 'G
Picture copyright divacultura 2013

Until next year!

Were you there?  How was your afternoon?

My favourite things - this week

1. You may remember meeting Rose Wintergreen right here on divacultura.  Rose crowd-funded her album and I was very happy, willing and privileged to be able to contribute.  My favourite moment of week was reading about the release of her single, Feet in the Sand. You can read more and listen over on her blog.  What do you think?  I LOVE it!  If you like it too, pass it on!

2. This morning I set aside time to write a first draft of a book chapter that I'm collaborating with several other people on.  I'd had a few false starts in actually putting words down, but the ideas had been whirling around in my head for a while. I knew it was just a case of having a block of time and no distractions.  I put Bach's cello suites played by Yo-Yo Ma on the stereo and pretty soon I had exceeded the word requirement. I know that it's a first draft and now the task of editing and blending with my collaborators has to occur, but it is always thrilling to see ideas come to life on the screen/page. There's the additional excitement of discovering new insights as fresh connections are made.

3. I managed to get tickets for Sunday's AFL final match between my team, Richmond, and Carlton. Technically my friend got the tickets and they came with the news that we would need to hire a sherpa, take oxygen and leave now to get to our seats at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in time to watch the match.  I don't care!  I'm so excited.  Richmond hasn't played in the finals since 2001 and I've never been to a finals match at the MCG.  I figure you just have to do it!  As a consequence of actually going to the footy, I have had to put a hold on my lack of love for the colour yellow.  Richmond's colours are yellow and black and I just can't go without sporting my team colours.  I managed to snag the last ball of yarn in the perfect shade of yellow and figure I can knit a yellow and black beanie in time for Sunday's match.

4. My physio's declaration that it is possible for my knee to fully recover was definitely a good moment..  This made me very happy after struggling to zip my boots this morning.  (The angles were all wrong.)  Apparently my PCL (posterior cruciate ligament) has been stretched so far that it hasn't sprung back.  It's like an elastic band that has stretched too far.  Despite this, my physio is confident that with exercise and treatment it will regain its elasticity.  (My physio contributed another favourite moment when we were discussing the soreness in my left arm which had probably resulted from the fall that injured my knee.  The muscle I've hurt is called the "supraspinatus".  I heard her tell me I'd hurt my "super bananas". I felt lucky.  Imagine if it was my ordinary bananas!)

5.Waiting on platform 9 at Flinders Street Station today, I watched people on platform 10 running for the train.  Human beings move in some mysterious way:. the squat woman, struggling with several bags, her body engaged in multi-directional undulation; the neat Asian man wearing a backpack shuffling, Cliff Young style - not very fast but certainly tidy;  the confidence of the long-legged lunge of a besuited, bespectacled, bebearded man;  the weirdly stiff-legged gait of the man in too-skinny jeans; the small pointless steps of the woman in stilettos running for her life to catch that train; the hopeful striving of the wannabe medalist, slowing and slumping as hope fades that he can make it before the doors shut.

What was your favourite thing this week?

A literary perspective on tanking in sport.

Currently I'm reading a novel called HHhH.  It's about Reinhard Heydrich who was chief of the Nazi secret services.

Chapter 112 put the current "tanking" scandal in the AFL into some perspective.

Before I set out and write a post about sport, I should point out that I'm hardly qualified.  I don't know a lot about sport and I don't watch or read much about it.  I take a passing interest.  When I'm visiting my family over summer, I become immersed in the cricket because there is no escape.  And then I start to like it in spite of myself.

Perhaps it is this lack of expertise that initially had me shrugging my shoulders over recent allegations of drugs in Australia's football codes and not sure what to think about tanking.  Somewhere deep down, I had a feeling that tanking was unethical - that there is bad sportsmanship at work when a player or team sets out to do anything other than win.  That's why people watch isn't it?  Because they're invested in the outcome, loyally follow their team or country or favourite player and want them to win!

I have been thinking about the disrespect inherent in doing anything other than playing to win and the leadership failure that allows a culture of tanking to grow.

And then I read chapter 112 in HHhH.  It recounts a story (apocryphal?) of Kiev Dynamo, a football (soccer) team ordered to play a match against a team of German soldiers.  They were playing very well in the first half and were ordered by the Germans to lose the match or pay with their lives. They played their best and won anyway. Depending on which version you read this happened repeatedly and resulted in the players being eventually executed.

This story resonated and I thought about these courageous and honorable sportsmen who were ordered to "tank" and lose the match, but decided their commitment as sportspeople and representatives of their country was more important. They would play their best game and win, regardless of the cost.

I believe this to be a broadly true story; perhaps the details are not precise.  It puts today's allegations of tanking in the AFL into a harsh light.  Imagine not playing your best game because you want to come last and have the benefit of an advantageous draft pick at the end of the season!  Petty when compared to Kiev Dynamo who would have apparently been allowed their lives if they had followed orders and tanked.

Hmmmm.