Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, September 11, 2002
EVERYONE NEEDS A CONSULTANT
LATE one afternoon, locking my bike to a handrail near the Oostende bar, in the East End, four blokes in overalls were hosing the brick pavers and making the place wet. A raggedy old chap, of no particular address, stopped nearby to watch the activity and said to the one splashing the hose around: "There's no garden there, mate. Waddaya think your doin'?" "We're from the council," said the one with the broom. "Yeah, well, there's enough of you." Quite. Once, a government job, even one hosing pavers, was almost a birthright, which anyone could claim if they wanted it. Towards the end of my school days, governments at all levels were in a competitive bidding war for your services: teachers' college scholarships, free officer training at Duntroon and even the laughably easy Post Master General's entrance exam. The Public Service had a slightly harder exam which I do not remember anyone failing, after which you were given an office desk in Cobweb Corner and started planning for your retirement. Footballers, if they could not find jobs as car salesmen, could always get one with the local council. I remember in pre-Power times when Port Adelaide footballers often were to be seen in the council crews that maintained the Commercial Rd median strip. Being unemployed then was no particular impediment to having a fulfilling lifestyle. You had only to feed the old Commonwealth Employment Service any sort of blah about your job desires and they would have to take it on face value. You might ask for a job as the window cleaner on a submarine, or as the safety officer in an Alka-Seltzer mine, or as a flush monitor in the public loos. The CES would go in search of your dream job and, meantime, the dole cheques kept arriving fortnightly, which gave you time to invent ever more unlikely jobs such as a chook de-egger. Working all the angles of the full range of benefits, it might have been possible to live in the grand style, with a butler and a nanny even if you had no children. Things have changed. Government in Australia long ago abandoned the attempt to provide for the welfare of all its citizens. Instead, it now offers a basic level of security, and leaves people to look after themselves to become rich and successful. Or not. And the market is left to go about its business with very little government interference to prevent excess and corruption. But when corporate society has no further use for you, before you have to think of taking the kids out of private school, the government consultancy dripfeed is still the best option. Back in the East End, the old fella was egging on the council crew: "You blokes wouldn't work in an iron lung." They eyed his matted hair and ragged layers, and one of them said: "And who are you?'' Gathering his greatcoat around him and stepping over the puddles in his sandshoes, he said: "I'm a consultant".
Monday, September 09, 2002
Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, September 4, 2002
HAIL TODAY AND GONE TOMORROW
THE forecast was 13 degrees, thunder and small hail but, so what? One needs to go to suburban footy from time to time, if only to counter the deadening effects of habit spent watching it on TV. Especially when the game is Central Districts versus Sturt, with all its tribal and class warfare; the Doggies' triumphalism over back-to-back premierships; and the faded memory of Sturt's glory years. Ceentraaals! The last time they met, at a wintry Unley Oval, a strange man in a Double Blues beanie told me he was only there to perv on the Sturt dancing girls doing their pre-match routine to the gay anthem "It's raining men". True to his word, he left as soon as they finished and possibly spent the rest of the day vandalising supermarket barcodes. Just two minutes into the game, a Sturt supporter in front turned around and said to no-one in particular: "Gee, the umpiring's a bit lopsided, isn't it?" No, mate, the game was lopsided. The final score was Centrals 12.8 (80) to Sturt 4.6 (30) and three of Sturt's goals came after half time when it was all over. Ceentraaals! A Bulldogs fan nearby suggested Sturt might like to use liniment next time instead of moisturiser, and it was on for one and all. Someone in the crowd challenged me, without looking at the Budget, to name one Centrals player apart from the Gowans brothers and Marco Bello. Everyone knows the Gowans, and Marco, I know, because I sat behind his sister and her friends at the last SANFL grand final and they screamed whenever he went near the ball. Loved your work, girls. As for the current playing list, well, when I see No20, I still think of Wilbur Wilson, No 44 is still John Platten, 8 is Mark Norsworthy, and 56 is Jamie Thomas - all from the grand, if unsuccessful, days. After waiting 25 years, I missed the Dogs' first premiership in 2000, being in the Greek Isles at the time. Had I known they were going to win, I would have cancelled the trip. I was there last year, though, and even bought a new Bulldogs scarf for the occasion. After we beat the Eagles, a little girl with Eagles ribbons in her hair was walking out of the ground with her dad holding hands. A Centrals skinhead, whose mouth had only a superficial relationship with his brain, bent over and roared into her face: ``LOSER!!'' Witness the exact moment at which a lifelong Central Districts hater was created. I like SANFL footy. Where else would you have the former State Treasurer Stephen Baker serve you a barbecued sausage and onion under the grandstand at Unley? Or where else, at quarter time, are the players still given watery orange cordial instead of those new sports drinks loaded with electrolytes? At half time, with the forecast small hail an imminent threat, I went home to watch the rest of the game on TV and fell asleep on the sofa. But I will be there next weekend for the Centrals v Sturt clash, the last one this year, because Sturt will not make it to the grand final.
HAIL TODAY AND GONE TOMORROW
THE forecast was 13 degrees, thunder and small hail but, so what? One needs to go to suburban footy from time to time, if only to counter the deadening effects of habit spent watching it on TV. Especially when the game is Central Districts versus Sturt, with all its tribal and class warfare; the Doggies' triumphalism over back-to-back premierships; and the faded memory of Sturt's glory years. Ceentraaals! The last time they met, at a wintry Unley Oval, a strange man in a Double Blues beanie told me he was only there to perv on the Sturt dancing girls doing their pre-match routine to the gay anthem "It's raining men". True to his word, he left as soon as they finished and possibly spent the rest of the day vandalising supermarket barcodes. Just two minutes into the game, a Sturt supporter in front turned around and said to no-one in particular: "Gee, the umpiring's a bit lopsided, isn't it?" No, mate, the game was lopsided. The final score was Centrals 12.8 (80) to Sturt 4.6 (30) and three of Sturt's goals came after half time when it was all over. Ceentraaals! A Bulldogs fan nearby suggested Sturt might like to use liniment next time instead of moisturiser, and it was on for one and all. Someone in the crowd challenged me, without looking at the Budget, to name one Centrals player apart from the Gowans brothers and Marco Bello. Everyone knows the Gowans, and Marco, I know, because I sat behind his sister and her friends at the last SANFL grand final and they screamed whenever he went near the ball. Loved your work, girls. As for the current playing list, well, when I see No20, I still think of Wilbur Wilson, No 44 is still John Platten, 8 is Mark Norsworthy, and 56 is Jamie Thomas - all from the grand, if unsuccessful, days. After waiting 25 years, I missed the Dogs' first premiership in 2000, being in the Greek Isles at the time. Had I known they were going to win, I would have cancelled the trip. I was there last year, though, and even bought a new Bulldogs scarf for the occasion. After we beat the Eagles, a little girl with Eagles ribbons in her hair was walking out of the ground with her dad holding hands. A Centrals skinhead, whose mouth had only a superficial relationship with his brain, bent over and roared into her face: ``LOSER!!'' Witness the exact moment at which a lifelong Central Districts hater was created. I like SANFL footy. Where else would you have the former State Treasurer Stephen Baker serve you a barbecued sausage and onion under the grandstand at Unley? Or where else, at quarter time, are the players still given watery orange cordial instead of those new sports drinks loaded with electrolytes? At half time, with the forecast small hail an imminent threat, I went home to watch the rest of the game on TV and fell asleep on the sofa. But I will be there next weekend for the Centrals v Sturt clash, the last one this year, because Sturt will not make it to the grand final.
