Car Crashes and Football

Blowjobs as a sign of admiration and a car crash for desert.

If you close your eyes hard enough you see lightning, that’s normal right? I was halfway through eating an egg sandwich, which is a customary thing at the football with my family.  My eyes closed in the midst of a storm, my brother asked me, “what is a five letter word for: gathering things?”The answer was hoard.  The answer is still hoard.  He pencilled it in the little boxes with the newspaper resting on his knee, his tongue poking out to the left.  I took a bite of my egg sandwich, ciabatta bread, fancy; a dollop of egg fell on my jeans.  I scrambled to get it off, but it stained like blood right in the middle of my thigh.  I excused myself so I could go wash up.  Everyone noticed.

80mg of caffeine per coffee, five cups or more is dangerous per day.  In the toilet, beside the fancy paper dispenser, there was a rail to hold yourself up/lower yourself down.  It would have been designed by a team of engineers, redesigned, reconceptualised, refined by additional teams all so you can adequately support yourself as you shit.  I am sure it has other applications too...  Little Johnny goes off to college, graduates, gets one of those hats, and he comes home and says “mum, I designed a rail to help people shit”, she starts crying, her makeup running she is so proud “Oh son, I can’t wait to tell your father.”  He is upstairs and has been for a while.  “Sorry I took so long, son”, he wipes his hands on his jumper as he descends like a prom queen with irritable bowel syndrome, “it just takes me so long to stand up after taking a shit these days.” Johnny’s eyes light up.  His mum’s eyes light up.  Curtain falls and we leave the ending up to the reader.  (it was a happy ending)

I cleaned my pants to the best of my ability and left the bathroom feeling useless because: I am useless.  The stadium was packed because of the reduced seating this year.  Shoulder to shoulder, fans stood wearing blue and whites hoops for Geelong or civilian clothing (there were no opposition supporters).  During the offseason, a stand was demolished (safely) in order to build another stand that could fit more fans.  This comparitavely increased demand due to the reduced supply.  People were wearing coats and scarves with the hoops on them, children were chanting, steam escaping with their cheers. On the field the footballers battled hard.  Cosy in the stand, I sat chomping on a hotdog.  Second course.

Thoughts from my family about the game: “he’s a gun”, my dad shook his head in amazement.  Jimmy Bartel flew into a pack of bodies, “he just doesn’t give a guck” my brother clapped as dad handed him a drink.  Claire doesn’t give a fuck either, at least not to me.  She likes athletic boys, like Jimmy Bartel.  I know this because she says so, a lot. 

Geelong was winning by ten points.  I was being told that the absence of the Reg Hickey stand, which was replaced by a void, created a whirling effect.  Wind experts had verified this.  Standing there, combined and unanimous, the lab coat clad wind doctors, with their wind instruments like tent pegs, gathered information and knowledge that helped the players kick better.  At night, while the doctors preyed on the turf, the players were in the rooms.  Jacked up on beta-alenine, protein, dextrose, GHP, steroids, and fan appraisal, they sat being attended to by physios, psychiatrists, doctors, tacticians, girlfriends, and Claire!  She was giving massages on their thighs, strong and masculine.  Her massages crept up and became hand jobs. Hand jobs turned to Blowjobs. And blowjob to sex, laughs and admiration. 

I go to the gym as often as I can. I ate another hotdog.

Geelong up by twenty-eight points. They are too strong, too well attended to.  Pricks.  I sat in a private box payed for by my dad.  With my legs crossed, one knee over the other, “What do you do?” dad’s guest asked me.  I knew the formality of the question.  I was a useless philosophy student.  I felt like grabbing him by the throat and saying “not everyone can design support beams or predict the weather!” Truth be told i Spend my nights alone, masturbate, work part-time, uni, watch football, fantasise about having sex with a certain someone who is currently in the geelong rooms: steam escaping from her cheers. “I’m at uni”, I declared, sipped my coffee, put both feet on the ground, and had that conversation. (Skelton 2012: 2)

What do I do? Geelong up by forty points, they are too strong.  I do many things.  I’m 22 years old, I sleep with women not men, sleep alone too, drive a car, slip up, pay for everything on eftpos.  My life’s idiosyncrasies and peculiarities were summed up in three words.  That’s normal.  Geelong kicked another goal and the game was as good as over.  I listended to dad and his mate talk, “we are expanding rapidly, Glen.” The waiter brought over more hotdogs, dad signed for them while gesturing to his friend. He continued, “Fastest growing organisation in Victoria”.  Dad was impressed.  He nodded.  One of the Geelong players kicked another goal and a sea of blue and white scarves convulsed in the remaining stands.  I saw Claire run on the ground.  Masquerading as a drinks runner, she quickly dropped to her knees while the umpires waited for the ad break to be over.  I was the only one shocked by this.   

What do I do! I wear size eleven shoes because they fit.  I wear skinny jeans to look like the kids who wear skinny jeans to be original.  Originally, I sucked a bottle because milk is good for babies.  Now I suck a bottle because I represent the sixty percent of twenty-two year old males who binge-drink.  It is a big problem in this country, glug glug glug.  I am straight, or from a strictly behaviouralist point of view I am.  I am statistically speaking more likely to get in a drunken fight or a car accident.  My insurance premium is expensive on account of my gender.  Tonight I will wrap my car around a tree just so I can feel a sense of belonging.  Because, let me tell you, the membership to that club is much cheaper than this box, my father tells me.  I crossed my knees once more.

On Friday, I spoke to a councillor at university.  She was fat.  I told her about Claire and my insecurities and she accused me of wanting to sleep with them too.  “It’s perfectly natural,” she said.  How is that natural? Were twenty-two year old males repressed until the AFL was created?  I can picture cavemen sitting with their head in their hands, grunting the equivalent of “something is missing!” Although, I did understand what she meant.  I have heard that one in ten people are gay and hence, it is unlikely that I am.  Or does it mean that one tenth of a person is gay? Does that mean I am gay for 2.4 four hours of the day? Which two point four are they? Are they all at once, or are there minutes at a time.  I just hope its when I’m asleep.  Or could it be that one tenth of my body is gay.  I weigh roughly eighty kilograms so eight kilograms of me is gay.  Of course, this is dependent on water weight.  If I go on a diet I could become less gay.  I stopped eating the hotdog, “I’m full.” 

Insert paragraph about being the sum of your parts.

“The kangaroos had a win” said Richard.  “How muc…”, I cut off Dad’s response.  “What did you say?”

“The kangaroos look great”, he went on, “Mate, they are amazing.”  Mate mate mate mate, kangaroo, kangaroo, kangaroo!  Not so cosy in my seat, Richard went on talking about a team named after an animal on our emblem, an animal unique to Australia. Our emblem! Fuck.  I could hear the nasely-ness of my thoughts in my head, how Australian, how predictable.  100% of Australian born residents who have lived here their whole lives have that naselyness tone, that was a story on A Current Affair.  My Geelong scarf, made in China, but worn by 100% of Geelong supporters was choking me! Me: This accumulation of statistical likelihoods, possessing ‘perfectly natural’ idiosyncrasies and thoughts that, if crossreferenced would be shown to be a reproduction of social forms, outside of my control. 

I am original.  I am unique.  I am able of promoting my own behaviour.  In an act of defiance, I stood up and declared myself, both hands in the air.  “I am Luke Skelton and I am free!” I began to proclaim, when Jimmy Bartel, that handsome man, kicked a fantastic goal from outside 50.  The well-built players all hugged him, Claire blew him and the whole crowd stood up and declared themselves, Twenty-five thousand fans all uniquely declaring themselves. Fuck.



In my car, down innelin street near the park, I sat thinking about beachballs.  The engine was on and I had some Lou Reed blasting.  I had a friend who bought a beach ball to a concert once and I remember seeing beach balls at the cricket when I was a kid.  I used to think “how do you get it back?” Once you throw it up, it bounces sparatically and it can end up somewhere completely different.  I leant forward, past the visor on the drivers side, and stared at the moon.  It just stood there.  And so I drove my car as fast as I could into that wall.  I coughed up a bit of blood before passing out.

Beach ball          10%          

         scarf-hat          democracy

When I came to, I was surrounded by guys in white lab coats.  One of them, the spawn of agent smith from the matrix and the doctor from back to the future, was on a flip phone he stole from Morpheus.  “We better get all the kings horses and all the kings men on this one”, He flicked his cigarette into the gutter, “I know they don’t have a great track record but this kid could go either way.  Two of them stood bickering near a white truck that I assume they came in.  Eventually, one agreed to carry the jaws of life and tear my car door off.  They gently carried me out of the wreck, all but some teeth I left on the dashboard. 

On the stretcher I laid, wishing, hoping, preying, but no my fly was done up.  All the kings horses and all the kings men came.  The carpark was full.  And don’t you know, to my surprise, they dressed like chefs, licking their lips at the scene of a crime.  All I could think about as they put the mask on my face was, what was fro lunch next week at the football?



This is something i worked on for a few days.  I want to return to it (very busy with University).  It will become part of a longer project along with another one of my pieces on this site.