Most of my young sports-watching life was spent following the Hawks (Rubgy League) around the countryside to various assorted heckholes like Yenda, Colleambally, Griffith and Lake Cargellico.

But with my Dad being an ex-Yanco Penguin and retaining a moderate interest in the native code, as well as having a few mates in the Redlegs playing ranks, come finals time we often took our place on the picnic rug at Narrandera Sportsground.

What a treat to sit on the sloping bank and look across that gorgeous green expanse. And with the bonus of a touch (for a rugby league follower) of the exotic.

Unfamiliar bare-armed players in striking dark-blue-and-red, lining up against people from towns on the less familiar Wagga side of the Riverina, like Ganmain and Coolamon. The strange arcana of the game – the many posts, the odd-looking ball, the weird rituals, like the bounce and the boundary throw in, the different people we sat with that you never saw at the rugby league.

All very interesting for the impressionable youngster giving you a glimpse of the reality that there were people residing in the same place as yourself who were living completely different lives to your own.

The variety of life in a country town is much neglected in Australian art and letters.

According to the ‘realistic’ depictions of country life you see on the TV, a country town is a place where everybody knows everybody else, everybody barracks for the Mighty Blanks, and everybody is interested in the same thing at the same time.

In real life, a country town is a place where two people can be born on the same day, live lives of average busyness and social contact for 80 years, and go to their graves having never met.

Dear Roma Street,

And I’m gonna AGREE again: Unlike the US and Britain, ‘we’ have never witnessed the ‘natural’ development of regional literature – and I mean ‘regional’ literature that is read widely for its intrinsic merit. We just don’t have many Tim Wintons. KJ.

I am now in a position to report back on Gwennie’s all-time favourite Mickey ‘Magic’ moment:

KJ, don’t have to think much about this one. It was when the Narrandera Sports Ground (*just up the road from Leeton) hosted that pre-season night game between The Swans and Collingwood.

Mickey turned around and smiled. He did, he did…..Oh God, he’s more handsome in the flesh than on the telly…..yes, he is….if that’s possible……

I’ve put up a snippet from that evening. Can ya spot Mickey?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRs_KIGGAFU

Other features? – what a magnificent turnout at what I’ve always declared regional Australia’s best footy oval – home of finals football for the Mighty Leeton Demons (’Redlegs’, ‘Reddies’).

Only complaint? Too often, scoreboard in a less-than-satisfactory state.

Question A: Australians have a minium of five people on their backs. (9 words)

Question B: The Klytorian Chronicles are neither art NOR porn. They are a dream which is very difficult to put my paw on.

How can we thank ‘Magic’? – Give him a date with Gwennie.

To bite or not to bite? I always ask myself: To lick or NOT to lick.

Thank you Boo Boo.

BOING….past Telopea Park…..

BOING….on to Manuka Oval…….

I give the ball to Kev The Kanga.

BOING…..he kicks first goal for Ainslie FC.

But no, it’s only a behind.

KEV THE KANGA KICKS A BEHIND!

Ainslie fans go crazy.

Kev catches the ball in his pouch and takes off.

The pursuit is continuing all over Canberra…….

About that pic….

Did most of the students do a NO SHOW at Leeton High School…..OR could it be a symbol of the frenzy generated by those clamouring to join The Rev Kev’s Education Revolution?

Dear The Comer….’No’ and ‘Yes’. KJ.

Yeah, my new home is girt by sea. GIRT, GIRT, GIRT.

Is a great song.

Australians, now let us rejoice for we are young and free……GIRT, GIRT, GIRT or somethun….

Bazza, the other barista at cafe, don’t know any more words. He say that’s what you only need know. GIRT, GIRT, GIRT…..

But Fabio wanna sing the whole lot at my Citizen Ceremony.

Maybe you and The Reverend Kevin will come to Seven Hills Town Hall and see me become real Australian. That would be the best day in life!

What all the fuss about this man, Bosca Della?

He good man – plenty what you say – GRUNT?

Tomorrow a silver lining eh? I like The Big Lebowski Peems.

Amore, Fabio.

Dear Fabio,
Book me in, book me in! I’ll be at the Seven Hills Hall with my dear Aunty Girt. KJ.

A polyester cotton shirt on a blonde nerd splashed by an errant sprinkler when he was on the footy field is NOT Mr Darcy in THAT scene.

I’m incensed, I’m disturbed……

Then again, I wonder who Janet thought of John as?

Mrs T,

KJ.

It is that time of the year to set Yogi his HSC Questions.

So far …

ENGLISH:

(A) The Kev The Kanga Chronicles: How do they reflect the Australian lifestyle? (10 words or less).

OR

(B) Are the Klytorian Chronicles Art or Pornography?

POETRY:

‘MAGIC’ by The Big Lebowski: Answer the question posed in this groundbreaking poem: Mickey O’Loughlin, How Can We Thank You?

Debate: To bite or not to bite that is the question.

Fingo, I would be happy for you to come up with a General Knowledge Question.

Best of Luck in your HSC,
Boo Boo.

Dear Boo Boo,
I believe the sheepdogs are already under considerable pressure – they’re currently doing their trials. KJ.

Do you know who I am?
Do you know who I am?

I Am Under The Table Top Man.

Dear UTTTM,
Could you could tighten up that sign-off please?
I Am Under The Table Top Man Reporting for Kerrie Jean.com
Thank you. KJ.