In September last year, the mayor of Perth floated the idea of a minute’s ovation for those penned in their houses on the other side of the country. It was a nice enough thought, but it went down like a lead balloon. Melburnians, in particular, were in no mood for stunts like that. The city was at breaking point. At the Shrine of Remembrance, protesters pelted police with golf balls. A few hundred metres from the MCG, newspaper photographers were capsicum sprayed. A magnitude 5.9 earthquake tipped everyone off their axis a little bit more. Most people, especially those schooling their kids at home, remember it as the worst period of the pandemic.
On grand final day, people donned their colours and blundered about like lost dogs. The pubs were padlocked. Online, people were falling to pieces at the prospect of a late twilight start. Wayne Carey, always a popular figure on Twitter, was trending. A ‘social commentator’ was questioning why this country obsesses over sport. Mike Brady was shambling around deserted Melbourne streets and laneways, carting an enormous guitar and belting out his song to an empty MCG. It really rubbed it in. After the soul rotting games with no crowds, there was something almost confronting about seeing a heaving stadium. Those lucky, isolated, Covid-free pricks.
