There are some bloody big days on the Australian calendar. The big daddy of them all is, of course, Christmas.
It’s a day for the kids but Santa’s birthday is ultimately hijacked by obsessive Grandparents who see it as a climax to a year of impulse buying at Big W.
While over-the-top, the food’s pretty damn great and if you’ve prepared your esky the day before and the wife is happy to drive, you should be well hydrated by dinner time.
But if we’re fair dinkum, the Feast of Stephen really is just an exercise in building up points post the work Christmas do and prior to the first nut of the Boxing Day Test.
If you’re not of a sporting persuasion, the monster days usually revolve around excessive food consumption, shopping for the sake of it, or bogans draped in the Australian flag sucking cans around a BBQ, listening to nondescript and ultimately quite forgettable songs on Triple J’s Hottest 100.
All about as palatable as singing the national anthem.
As Australians, a great many of us exercise the God-given right not to sing ‘Advance Australia Fair’. Indeed, while the aforementioned bogans, Olympic gold medallists, your Mum and the Socceroos will always have a crack, the only person who should have authorisation to sing the word “moot” is Julie Anthony. That chick really nails it!
Maybe it’s The Fanatics fault. They’ve really stuffed most things quintessentially Australian for the rest of us and are why I avoid the Australian Open tennis like an Ebola outbreak.
But I digress. If sport is your go, then Victoria is the place to be.
A day on the sand belt at the Australian Masters is a ripper. Get yourself a group together and pay your heroic driver’s entry through the gate and you can follow Tiger Woods or Adam Scott or Ana Ivanovic around some of the best courses in the world with a lovely cold one and the sun on your back.
Don’t dare pull your mobile out around the greens or Steve Williams will headbutt you, and be sure to get your bearings early doors or later in the day the boys will be sending out a St Bernard to bring you back safely when you’re on the back nine trying to find a beer tent.
Just make sure you organise yourself with a minibus and a good bloke willing to dive on that driving grenade.
A session at the Melbourne Cup is brilliant. It’s a big day on the gas and you never get sick of watching hammered lady-folk stumble around on enormous heels, or young blokes falling asleep under the roses.
The short skirts are out in force and you can have a great day scanning for celebrities but when it’s all boiled down, it’s a horrendous day of racing.
The big one is a Group 1 but the rest of them are a mish-mash of Group 3s and listed races. You’ll throw in $50 with the boys for a quaddie, roar as a triumphant collective when the fourth leg romps it in, and collect your $50 back at the end of the day when it pays bugger all.
Just make sure you organise yourself with a limo.
The Melbourne Test is a great day or two or five. Boxing Day itself is one for the purists and if you don’t feel the hair standing up on the back of the neck when the opener asks the umpire for “two centres, thanks” before the first ball of the day you’re not fair dinkum.
It’s a super busy day so if you’re clued in you’ll make your way to the second day instead, the ‘Derby Day’ of the Test. You’ll more than likely see both sides bat, you’ve recovered from the Christmas festivities and there’s a bit more room around the ‘G.
If you can get a guernsey in the MCG you will struggle to enjoy a better day. Alternating between slipping out to watch the cricket or back into the Percy Beames Bar or The Bullring for a ‘real’ beer, it is a magnificent social day. Just make sure you organise yourself with a train home. A taxi back to Ballarat is a kick in the guts!
Then there’s AFL grand final day. My day. Your day.
You can check out my thoughts on that particular gem by clicking here.
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