Interstate travel is both a burden and a bonus for those lucky enough to be in the industry.
Last weekend I had a trip to Adelaide with Channel Ten followed by a visit to Canberra with radio SEN.
The recent safety issues are enough to make anyone a little nervous, but I thought Daniel Harford was overdoing it somewhat when he turned up with a motorcycle helmet last Sunday.
Poor ‘Harf’ has had his problems on the road. One day in Launceston he was good enough to sign the ‘star wall’ of the local food joint opposite Aurora Stadium. However he learnt the hard way the dangers of the chicken-and-egg roll and spent the rest of the day lying in the back of the commentary box. He still gave votes I believe.
My absent-mindedness provides the backdrop for much of the banter each trip. Everyone plays a part in checking if I have my (a) media pass, (b) plane ticket (c) wallet (d) phone and (e) brain.
In this area the only challenger is Luke Darcy, but I still have him covered.
You find out a lot about your fellow travellers.
Kevin Bartlett is quite definite about his likes and dislikes. Some would say stubborn. He likes fish and chips and golf. He dislikes meatballs and Peter Roebuck’s cricket commentary. He is still confused by ordering at Subway and email.
If ever we get really bored on a flight we get the hostess to ask KB if he would like meatballs for dinner tonight. If someone new is with us, I get them to bring up Roebuck’s commentary – it keeps us entertained all the way home.
Eating healthily is a problem for everyone during footy season. Those party pies at half time are a real killer. It’s even harder on the road. We seem to take it in turns to be ‘on a health kick’. At the moment it’s Matty Granland trying to stick to salads. I’ll give him one more week.
Each city and ground has its own peculiarities, which is all part of the travel experience.
In Adelaide our driver has a stretch limousine straight from a 1980s prom. On arrival at the ground the rest of us try to look suitably embarrassed but it somehow suits Dermott Brereton. We usually get there hours before the game, but the Adelaide or Port members have always beaten us to it, patiently lining up. Surely there must be a better system.
Our Sydney driver has earned the label ‘Sir Les’. I’m not sure if that’s because of his observations about the world that would probably offend just about every minority group in the country or the dandruff on his suit.
The commentary facilities in Canberra are not really commentary facilities. Rather they are the offices of ACT Cricket converted by the movement of a few partitions. There is only room for two, but as we have four commentators we all stand. This is not ideal, and despite being able to read the motivation notes of the Canberra under 17s cricket coach on the wall, I start to tire by the end of the day and begin slurring the odd word. KB might be 25 years older but he powers on unaffected.
After a day-game the Qantas flight lounge is the closest thing in football to the old ‘after-match’. Players, coaches, umpires and commentators all battle for a bowl of soup or some other hot food that you would normally not go near. Often it’s a good chance for a friendly chat while guards are down. There should be more of it.
It’s actually a little like school. The Triple M boys are the cool kids – J.B, B.T, Gazza and the Chief. 3AW are like the older, more mature year 12s, while at SEN we seem to fit in somewhere in between.
After television night matches it’s back to the hotel, where Malcolm Blight usually holds court. There’s nothing like a good ‘Blighty’ story or three. The problems of the world, or at least the footy world are solved. Often the aftermath of a wedding reception from a nearby function room is the backdrop to these stories. Big dresses and strange dance styles all add to the night.
Getting up the morning after a night game has its difficulties – especially if you are traveling with Stephen Quartermain. Quarters likes to get to the airport early for breakfast and is totally unforgiving if you are late. Once I arrived one minute later than our arranged taxi time and waited 15 minutes for Quarters to come down from his room. When I rang him, he was already into his third piece of raisin toast in the flight lounge.
By Sunday night everyone is tired and grumpy but the challenges are not quite over. I still have to find my car. Even though I try to park in the same place, it can still prove quite elusive. Often I find ‘Darce’ walking around the car park just as aimlessly as me. I wonder how long it will be till he realises he arrived in a cab.
