Travel in Germany: Killing two birds with one stone (now at least)
June 17th 2006 09:48
Being in Frankfurt now (in my mind's eye anyway) well, it's simply bliss. Sure, the World Cup only rolls around once every four years, but if you can jetset over to the Hinterland, then why not? Do it. Go on. Take that extra online market research survey, beef up your bank account, get yaself a ticket, and squat in some Lederhausen-clad jaunty bugger's backyard. Clear that rash right up.
We all know the string of symptoms World Cup fever can induce. With the insomnious nights come behaviours that should otherwise be hermetically sealed and placed in a time capsule. Every four years, Australians are accustomed to claiming English heritage for about 3 weeks. This interest in genealogy normally disappears without any good explanation around semi-final time. Then there are the frequent trips to the markets for soccer paraphernalia. Once again, these normally dissolve during the Spin Cycle - a term which also refers to the period following England's exit from the Cup. And who could forget lounging in nothing but holeproofs and underdungers with the boys, ay? Laughing at Pele’s erection problems; screaming ‘Batistuta’ sporadically when Argentina isn't playing; reliving every goal with an undersized sponge replica, air-planing through to the kitchen with pyjamas over head, hitting your elbow on the fridge, clutching your ankle in agony, having a quick fit, giving yourself a red card, throwing a tantrum and telling the Ref he’s a trundle bed in Italian; relishing the thought that if Italy lose, the residents of Leichhardt will light flares and set fire to stuff; relishing the thought that if Italy win, the residents of Leichhardt will light flares and set fire to stuff.
But all that behaviour went out the window when Australia qualified in November last year. It was so euphoric a moment that it was as if we had already won. I even did a double-take when John Aloisi jogged the victory lap kissing a cardboard cut-out of soccer’s holy grail.
On that hallowed day, the Phoenix rose from the ashes, and Australia regained its ‘football nation’ status. Now we would have to replace our borrowed football-mania with true blue larrikinism. We would need green and gold Day-Glo, a month-long public holiday and Kevin 'Bloody' Wilson.
We all know the string of symptoms World Cup fever can induce. With the insomnious nights come behaviours that should otherwise be hermetically sealed and placed in a time capsule. Every four years, Australians are accustomed to claiming English heritage for about 3 weeks. This interest in genealogy normally disappears without any good explanation around semi-final time. Then there are the frequent trips to the markets for soccer paraphernalia. Once again, these normally dissolve during the Spin Cycle - a term which also refers to the period following England's exit from the Cup. And who could forget lounging in nothing but holeproofs and underdungers with the boys, ay? Laughing at Pele’s erection problems; screaming ‘Batistuta’ sporadically when Argentina isn't playing; reliving every goal with an undersized sponge replica, air-planing through to the kitchen with pyjamas over head, hitting your elbow on the fridge, clutching your ankle in agony, having a quick fit, giving yourself a red card, throwing a tantrum and telling the Ref he’s a trundle bed in Italian; relishing the thought that if Italy lose, the residents of Leichhardt will light flares and set fire to stuff; relishing the thought that if Italy win, the residents of Leichhardt will light flares and set fire to stuff.
But all that behaviour went out the window when Australia qualified in November last year. It was so euphoric a moment that it was as if we had already won. I even did a double-take when John Aloisi jogged the victory lap kissing a cardboard cut-out of soccer’s holy grail.
On that hallowed day, the Phoenix rose from the ashes, and Australia regained its ‘football nation’ status. Now we would have to replace our borrowed football-mania with true blue larrikinism. We would need green and gold Day-Glo, a month-long public holiday and Kevin 'Bloody' Wilson.
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