Driving around Canberra you realise there are some magnificent buildings in our Nation’s Capital, the War Memorial, both Parliament Houses’, the National Gallery and Al Baxter’s favourite, the National Library.
Then you have Canberra Stadium – what a bastard of a place.
My night didn’t start well having to park three suburbs away and foot it after enduring a traffic jam of New York proportions, but the biggest shock was saved for the so called press box which had neither a roof, nor walls, and consisted of some trestle tables and plastic bbq chairs.
When you throw in the couple of esky’s that the drinks were in, it resembled something more akin to a suburban 21st birthday party than a hub of journalistic integrity.
Now I don’t mind working ‘en plein air’, but when that ‘air’ is about 2 deg below freezing, well things get a bit serious.
In times of crisis, you look to experience to show the way and Growden certainly did that. I don’t know if he’s been to Canberra Stadium before, but he summed up the situation in an instant and ripped off all the alfoil from the trays of sausage rolls and party pies that were provided and fashioned himself a space blanket to keep warm.
When the Italian National Anthem was halfway through its second act, I looked over at Grumbles and saw the value of experience. There he was, wrapped in his make-shift alfoil blanket without a care in the world, diligently working through the tray of party pies he had also commandeered.
Mark Cashman’s teeth were chattering that badly it provided a decent percussion accompaniment to the Italian Anthem which now swept gloriously into its third act – while Jimmy Tucker reckoned he was warmer sitting under the awning of the Easts’ rugby club on that frosty Thursday morning.
The game came and went with the highlights being that of Lachie Turner’s Evel Kenevall impression and Quade’s cameo on the wing. How bad must Lote feel, he is now behind Quade as well in the pecking order!
At the post match interviews Robbie lead the way, I counted four uses of the word “group”, three of the word “unique” and sux of the word “destiny”, heady stuff.
Nick Mallet came out and again talked everyone into submission, fuck he can bash on. I was unfortunate enough to catch the lift downstairs with him and Sergio Parisse post interview, and he was still crapping on – but this time in fucking Italian!
There is no stopping the man, it was all too much, thank God I’m going back to Brizzie tomorrow………