Heavily outnumbered again on the male to female ratio, there was a slight caveman vibe as we walked into The Star casino, Sydney for the 47th (and our 1st) Superbowl this morning. Was it me, or were there mutterings of ‘womaaaaaan’ as Gold Coast Blonde and I moved through the crowds to see if we could get a seat? Then again, I did decide to wear bright red trousers to show my recently established allegiance to the 49ers, so perhaps the looks were just querying my fashion choice…
Next realisation, even though we were in Sydney, it was a full house, standing room only remaining. Aussies, Canadians, Europeans, a few token Brits… Hang on, I thought only Americans liked ‘their’ football? Not so it would seem. Oooh a great sporting occasion was bubbling. The MC was busily buoying the crowd, not that he needed to. As always, an American accent on the mic just made everything sound more polished… and then the local TAB guy got up to announce the odds. Oh shh Bruce – we could almost have been in New Orleans there.
It was only 10.30am in Sydney when the game kicked off, but revellers were already tearing into the Buds and Miller’s. But after having a quick flutter on the first touchdown scorer, GCB and I decided we could probably only handle a coffee at that hour and perched at the edge of a table near some of the smaller screens as our attempts to source seats by the big screen failed.
Despite this being our first Superbowl, we were carried along with the crowd as the Ravens established their commanding lead. GCB and her purple and yellow ensemble, as a nod to the Ravens, was feeling she’d picked the right team (were we shallow enough to pick a team based on wardrobe options? Surely not…) She quickly latched on to quarterback ‘Flacco’ – his surname sounding like it wouldn’t be out of place being bellowed in an Aussie school ground ‘Oi Flacco, you’re doing it wrong, this is AFL.’
The first 2 quarters played out and Baltimore were running away with it. The Ravens fans in the crowd were having a ball, but was this going to be it? Come on 49ers, let’s try and make a game out of this – let’s cause some controversy and excitement.
Well I didn’t have to wait long. Black out! After an overwhelming performance by Queen Bee and her DC3 girls, and the hysteria of Jacoby Jones’ 108 yard kick return to score Baltimore’s 4th touchdown, a power outage hit the New Orleans stadium. Well you asked for controversy AliBonne.
The coaches of both teams looked on the verge of heart attacks, strokes and general organ failure as the minutes ticked by and the tension mounted. I just kept thinking ‘someone’s head’s gonna roll for this’.
Eventually things got back on the road, and the switch in momentum gave me the game I was hoping for. The 49ers charged back into contention and the crowd were going mad – nothing beats that feeling of a comeback, even if it does require a half hour black out to make it happen!
On and on they went, and as the scores got closer, it dawned on me – I might end up with the slow motion, will-they/won’t-they, finger tip scraping, crowd screeching final touchdown to steal the victory. So American sport really IS like the movies? I KNEW IT! Woohoo!
Alas for the 49ers, the fairytale comeback wasn’t to be, and the Ravens held on as the final seconds ticked out – a definite fairytale for them and Ray Lewis however. I imagine it’ll be a bit awkward around the Harbaugh Sunday lunch table for the next couple of weeks though…
No joy with our first touchdown scorer flutter!
A testosterone fuelled atmosphere greeted us as we arrived at the club to watch the fight last night. Whatever you think of Mundine, he can sure pull a crowd, although perhaps a crowd that is just keen to see him get his comeuppance as to see him box.
In the build up to the fight, the difference between the boxers couldn’t have been more overt. Geale giving a calm, polite interview, clearly ready to level the score. Mundine, on the other hand, was found lying on a couch with his feet up on the arm as the interviewer held the mic to his mouth, talking things up. The bookies were favouring Geale, but was there any truth in Mundine’s swagger?
The other fights on the card played out, time slipping by. The penultimate bout fired up the crowd, with man mountain Kimbo Slice hitting the ring. All beard and rippling muscles, after a single round of hard hits, he took out the young Aussie pretender with a kidney punch in the 2nd, sending him to the canvass. Perhaps more for the spectacle and the build up than for the art of the sport itself, I was amused to hear many of the men in the crowd nearby laughing at and dare I say, mocking, Kimbo’s individuality – I did have to wonder how much chortling would have been going on without the safety of the tv screen. Not sure I would be messing with Mr Slice any time soon!
So, onto the main event. To the strains of the didgeridoo and Aboriginal dancing, Mundine entered with an entourage of 1000s, geeing up the crowd and generally being Anthony Mundine. Cocking a snook at Mundine’s previous remarks around Geale’s aboriginal heritage, Daniel also entered to the traditional music, with a warm reception from the crowd.
As the fight got underway, it was clear that Mundine was being outclassed and outboxed. Always on the back foot, Geale won round after round and even to the amateur eye such as my own, was clearly in command. As his confidence built and Mundine started to tire, I couldn’t help but smile as Geale goaded Mundine during the 9th. Geale ducked and dipped, and had Mundine all around the ring. After every bell when Mundine would sink into his chair, Geale would skip back to his corner, shaking out his arms, seemingly as fresh as the first round. Mundine however kept up with the fast pace as well as he could and went the distance, although with an air of desperation that was clear in the final rounds – looking for that headline knock out punch. Despite it seeming to be clear that Mundine had fallen short, after the bell in the 12th Mundine waved to the crowd in a show of confidence (or would that be defiance?)
Geale was awarded the win unanimously by the judges, a worthy win. At this point I was irked to see Mundine jump out of the ring without congratulating his opponent. No one likes a sore loser, and moreover no one likes someone just being a general pig of a man. Sorry Mundine, we can’t all be Muhammed Ali and we certainly can’t all measure up to our own hype like he did, but we can all be sportsmanlike. That behaviour is just not cricket!
But as a final comment, I think, despite Geale’s outstanding performance, the star of the night had to be the American referee, Robert Byrd. From his opening comment to the boxers, telling them they were professional athletes and he wanted to see them fight like professionals, to the way he managed the scuffles and whinging during the fight – an absolute gent who commanded the fighters’ respect. It also made me smile that he clearly couldn’t care less who Mundine is (or isn’t).
And so from one great sporting occasion to another… the Superbowl beckons.
So Muzza’s through to the Aussie Open final. Very much enjoyed the match and glad he’s doing well, but would it be unpatriotic of me to say that I kind of hoped the Fed would win? I’m normally so patriotic, what’s the matter with me? But Fed could claim the prize for best human (not just tennis player) ever – super sportsman, speaks numerous languages, funny and gracious in his interviews, both in victory and defeat, plus has his own Nike range. Murray is just a bit moody sometimes but would still love to see him beat Novak!
In other news, today I have taken the day off on the 4th Feb to watch the Superbowl with my Aussie partner in crime. Kick off will be 10.30am Sydney time, so we can have some pancakes for brekkie and get involved. Ooh Beyonce’s performing too, what a bonus – I don’t care if she lipped synched, she can do no wrong in my eyes! #slightlyobsessedfan
Our chosen venue – the casino! (Normally we’re only there around breakfast time because we haven’t gone home so this will make a bit of a change).
My knowledge of American sport is poor – this I acknowledge, so it has been one of my new year’s resolutions to sort that out. Better do a bit of swotting up before the game (I have learnt from an American that it’s the ‘game’ and not the ‘match’ so trying to use the lingo.)
So far I have learnt that the Ravens are from Baltimore and the 49ers are from San Francisco. I have heard of the 49ers (probably in a film or something) so will probably be rooting for them. I have also learnt that their colors (American spelling for a bit of ambience) are red and white – perfect for an English girl, I can sort out a suitable outfit no problem.
Perhaps we shall have to ask some totally cute American guys to explain the rules to us… Considering the American lads we have met to date, I’m fairly sure they will be only too happy to help.
Anyway, bedtime for me now. Australia day long weekend is bringing a rodeo in Taralga. Hello cowboy! Don’t ask…
I was so keen for Wawrinka to beat Djokovic last night. What is it about the underdog that gets me? Cos I’m English I guess, and we are fairly consistently the underdog. I just love an upset! Sigh, alas no cigar this time.
Shame I’m not so keen on the underdogs when it comes to blokes – I might end up with a few more dates!
So this Saturday I was bridesmaid at a wedding. The evening before the big day, the parents of the bride took us all out for dinner. Bride, 3 bridesmaids, flower girl, mother-of-the-bride and father-of-the-bride. The poor man was rather outnumbered. Main topic of conversation – perhaps which shade of lipstick we would plump for on the day? Maybe who would catch the bouquet? In fact, the main topic of conversation between father-of-the-bride and the 3 bridesmaids was sport. Was a bit of a relief actually – after 12 months’ wedding prep, it was good to talk about something I felt I had an informed opinion on! (Weddings aren’t really my strong point… It’s the cynical, realist in me.)
We are all clearly our sporting mad fathers’ daughters. And what an array of sports discussed – tennis, NFL, NRL, cycling… I’m still reeling from Lance’s confession. Not so much that he confessed, more the way he sounded like an unfeeling robot when doing so. The lack of remorse chills me to the core.
So about that bouquet that we didn’t discuss at the pre-wedding dinner – it didn’t end up being thrown. Apparently other than me and the flower girl, there was only one single girl there, so the bride didn’t think it was worth it. Sigh – I was hoping to make it a hattrick (I attended the other two bridesmaids’ weddings over the past 2 years and battled hard amongst the gaggle of females to come out victorious.) But there you go – no single people at weddings anymore. Dull. Certainly not a good place to find a new love interest. Although the Mauritian waiter was very cute and he did bring me a surprise cocktail just because.
So 2 British girls are through to the 3rd round of the Aussie Open and Robson made it dizzyingly exciting with her 11-9 win in the 3rd set last night. Not that I knew, I’d already gone to bed. I’m useless. I can cope with staying up/getting up at silly hours to watch sport that’s taking place on the other side of the world, but it’s only in Melbourne. Why start so late? (Telly schedules, sponsors, ads etc etc I guess, what about the sport, the players and the spectators?!) Anyway good on them both, The Sun’s having a great time back home talking it up including the revelation that Robson just wanted to go to sleep after the match. I feel bad that most of the Brits in Oz probably already had… Promise to stay up later if you get into the quarters!
In other news, Monfils has hypnotising arms, scuplted from marble perhaps? All set off by a bit of fluoro. So on trend. Shame about the double faults, but got there in the end. Oh and Federa was sporting some pink laces.
Sport. All sports… all games. Happy to watch them all, and actively enjoy most, and I reckon I’ve got a pretty good handle on a majority (you know, like for a girl). For the ladies who nonchalantly say “God I hate sport”, I say “What? ALL of them?” Really, but there are so many. Surely one must float your boat? No? What a shame – not much gets me as carried away as a sporting occasion. I worry that you’re missing out.
The only other thing that might fire me up as much from time to time? Blokes; well I’m a young female so of course daliances with men crop up every so often (if I’m having a good week). Hmm interesting… I’ve also heard the ladies say ‘God I hate men’. What? ALL of them? Come on kids… so dramatic.
So sport and men. Two topics which crop up in my conversations all the time and regularly with an endearing enthusiasm. One, where, for me, playing by the rules is of paramount importance (Lance kidda – so disappointing), one where there are no real rules as far as I’m concerned (and when it is suggested there are some, I pretty much break them all on a regular basis. Wait 4 hours to reply to a text? I don’t think I wait 4 hours for anything.)
So let’s see, sport and men… “Play!”.
allgamesnorules 