between the cracks

My (belated!) brief account of this year's Melbourne sporting mecca:

A poetry reading on Grand Final afternoon. The television is on, above the door, sound turned down. As the match progresses, poets have to increasingly battle with audience's upturned heads and waning attention spans. The MC curses the audience, encourages the poets. The headline poet barracks for Geelong and so stops his set before the fourth quarter starts so he can concentrate on what is important. Afterwards, everyone goes outside to kick the football. Whoever kicks it the furthest wins dinner at the pub. Meanwhile poets sell books and CDs for $6, $10, drink red wine and beer and speak of gypsies, Adam West, lovers and trips to New Zealand. Australian cultures collide.