While I'm at it...
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. During the Soccer World Cup i read a lovely piece. In the Age Santo Ciluaro reminisced:
"....That affair began on a cold night in 1970.....
I thought I heard some voices coming from the kitchen. It was dark. When I walked in, I could just make out the disconsolate figure of my father hunched over the laminex table in his blue and black checked dressing gown. He had his back to me and the red glow of a cigarette tip seemed to hang low, almost touching the floor. It was June 22, the longest night of the year - little did I know that it was being made even longer by what he was listening to. As a trebly roar spluttered out from the plastic short-wave radio, suddenly he thumped the tabletop. It was a big moment for an eight-year-old - it was the first time I heard my father swear. The remarkable thing was he wasn't angry. What proceeded was a resigned, bemused tirade. He was half-laughing, half-admiring. The sentence was long and flowing - only one word that wasn't an Italian expletive: "Pele."
He turned to me and smiled. "We lost the World Cup."
Wow. This game was cruel, beautifully cruel. He patiently explained that when Italy went head to head with Brazil in the final in Mexico City in front of 110,000 people, it was winner take all. They were both two-time champions, so the victor this time would take home the trophy. Brazil did that. Italy didn't. It was that simple, that cruel. I walked back down the corridor and climbed back into bed, not sure how someone could be upset and happy at the same time..."
Read the entire piece here.
Some one i know who is rather nostalgic from time to time said this:
"Em,
I read the article last night, surely he must win an award for such a heartfelt message of life. I apply it to the Royals, the East Perth Football Club when some Saturday's we (Dad & I) walked from the ground with a heavy heart on a loss or [in the case of a win] in jubilation. Colour my week those Saturdays did...my little Dad would arc up if the ump didn't see it right! Perhaps it's also akin to listening to the test match in England with my RAAF headset and crystal set. Dad or Mum used to come in and take them off after I had fallen asleep. Ah memories....ps can't you smell the coffee and pastries as they listened through the night."
"....That affair began on a cold night in 1970.....
I thought I heard some voices coming from the kitchen. It was dark. When I walked in, I could just make out the disconsolate figure of my father hunched over the laminex table in his blue and black checked dressing gown. He had his back to me and the red glow of a cigarette tip seemed to hang low, almost touching the floor. It was June 22, the longest night of the year - little did I know that it was being made even longer by what he was listening to. As a trebly roar spluttered out from the plastic short-wave radio, suddenly he thumped the tabletop. It was a big moment for an eight-year-old - it was the first time I heard my father swear. The remarkable thing was he wasn't angry. What proceeded was a resigned, bemused tirade. He was half-laughing, half-admiring. The sentence was long and flowing - only one word that wasn't an Italian expletive: "Pele."
He turned to me and smiled. "We lost the World Cup."
Wow. This game was cruel, beautifully cruel. He patiently explained that when Italy went head to head with Brazil in the final in Mexico City in front of 110,000 people, it was winner take all. They were both two-time champions, so the victor this time would take home the trophy. Brazil did that. Italy didn't. It was that simple, that cruel. I walked back down the corridor and climbed back into bed, not sure how someone could be upset and happy at the same time..."
Read the entire piece here.
Some one i know who is rather nostalgic from time to time said this:
"Em,
I read the article last night, surely he must win an award for such a heartfelt message of life. I apply it to the Royals, the East Perth Football Club when some Saturday's we (Dad & I) walked from the ground with a heavy heart on a loss or [in the case of a win] in jubilation. Colour my week those Saturdays did...my little Dad would arc up if the ump didn't see it right! Perhaps it's also akin to listening to the test match in England with my RAAF headset and crystal set. Dad or Mum used to come in and take them off after I had fallen asleep. Ah memories....ps can't you smell the coffee and pastries as they listened through the night."
posted by Emma @ 18.9.06
1 comments
1 Comments:
Quit law school. Be a journalist. You're a great writer, wasting her time.
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