Childhood Home. Or My Life as a Belonging Text Part II

The first home I can remember was in Manly. Well, Fairlight to be more precise. And returning to it today was a true assault to the memory. The Corso smells the same. The Esplanade has the same wind whipped sensation. The bus stop mirrors the past perfectly, I could almost see my friends huddled in wait for a late night bus, after we had played a sweaty, smoky game of laser tag, and eaten our own body weight in Royal Copenhagen ice-cream.

And to make matters even more comfortable, the whole place is draped in maroon and white, anticipating a great Sea Eagles victory on Grand Final Day this Sunday. I spend a fair bit of my life at The Boy Factory, and in various watering holes across QLD & NSW defending my love of the Manly Warringah Sea Eagles. There are not many of us out there that are true believers in the Silver Tails. As HG Nelson said "Everybody hates Manly. Except a few people who grew up in the Brookvale area."

But I love them. And most of the people I went to school with love them too.

My first proper boyfriend busted out the smooth moves at Brookvale Oval. Or perhaps I played the damsel-in-distress My Hands Are Cold card... Anyway, we ended up holding hands. I didn't mind much that Cronulla beat us that night. I was too busy swooning.

Brookvale Oval was a very great place for a date in the following years. Cheap, seeing as Dad snuck me a $4 entry players card from when he was coaching the school team. And demonstrating me to be the kind of chick that likes football, that isn't afraid to sit on a hill, that doesn't need the cliche girly treatment.

I understand the hatred from the other clubs. I understand the perception of the Silvertails from the fancypants Northern Beaches, in the working class game of Rugby League. Incidentally, the docoThe Fibros and The Silvertails is a brilliant film for looking at sports, journalism and identity with junior students. Works wonders with Year 8. But I digress...

Last night, my friend Jase used my love of Manly as a kickstarter for conversation at the pub. The aghast looks I received I found laughable. I was with a hard core St George supporter, a Souths player and a Queenslander. Not much support for Sea Eagles there.



So after swanning about with the lahdidah set in the city's east, I now feel a little more at home. Seeing palm trees wound with my team colours, and the wings of a spread eagle snapping on flags atop awnings and car rooves is comforting beyond belief.

Stinkfist

HG Nelson once wisely said that everyone hates Manly, except a select few people who grew up in the Brookevale area.

I am one of those people. I love my soaring sea eagles. (My sightings of eagles has actually tweaking a bit of an inner twitcher (that would be a bird watcher, not a tourette's sufferer) But that is another blogpost in the making).

That is not to say I think the Blokes from Brooky are faultless. There have been dalliances in arrogance, wife beating and alleged rape.

And then there is Hoppa. The man who liked to rile his rivals by ramming a digit into their date.

He's BACK!

And looking tougher than ever.

It's A Sickness

I know I really need to get out of town. I know this, because I have been teaching for 11 solid and exhausting weeks. And all the boys have gone home or their respective native habitats and The Factory is empty.

And while I am Oh So Excited to be going to Melbourne, to soak up all that is good in the universe...

I miss the boys!

And there is no comfort in marking their work... Mostly cause it is mind numbingly shit. It has been only a day away from their piss taking, them calling me Missus and them asking me inane and rediculous questions and them hanging shit on me for my love of Manly.

And so my Early Holiday Mantra comes to me again:

Gotta Get Outta Town.


...At least none of them saw me bra shopping this morning....


PS Craving for students abated. Cloudy tore my tickets at the cinema and chatted while I waited for my bro and Bambi made me a too hot Oporto.