Now let’s get this straight (so to speak): I come from the type of town which brands you a “pansy” if you play the wrong code of football.
That means if you don’t play rugby league, you’re batting for the wrong team. I’ve seen tough first-grade soccer players outed on the school oval; concussed AFL players labelled sissies; and rugby players abused for daring to put their head into a scrum.
While you might consider that to be the rugby league pot calling the kettle black, you need to understand the culture. Once the league jerseys come off, the flannies go on. The foot hits the floor of the Torana and all those well-sculptured league biceps get bumped out with a packet of Winfield Blue.
Make no bones about it. This is a tough town, or at least it was when I was a boy!
And as a cricketer who played a little bit of AFL, I was destined by my peers as a certainty for Oxford St from a young age. It didn’t matter how many girls … ah yes, that was another sign of one’s feminine side.
It was almost enough to unleash the homophobia in us all. You wouldn’t have been caught dead watching the Sydney mardi gras on television, let alone be seen there in person.
But on Saturday I put childhood bogans behind me, packed up the wife and daughter, and headed off to the parade, complete with Liza Minelli, Dusty Springfield and Kylie Minogue tunes blaring in the back of my daring brain. Well, maybe I wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about the Kylie gig.
And what a show!?
Where else would we see so many breasts (yes bogans, dykes have breasts), mean bikes (another bonus for the bogan folk), a pope and countless dancers – male and female – having a shameless good time.
This, for many, is the party of the year.
As we watch those around us dance to a happy tune (note, I’ve avoided the gay reference), take an eye-full of fluorescent colours and all that is packaged in them, and admire the imagination which flows into the parade – it is difficult not to have a smile on your face.
This year it was just the parade. Next year, as fear subsides, I may even venture to an after-party. It can’t be denied, these people sure know how to have a good time.
Happy mardi gras!
