As far as the last, impure thoughts come to some of us no matter what we’re doing, so I can’t comment.
Watching the games in the US has been friggin’ difficult these past few years. Many moons ago it was carried on ESPN where I discovered it (circa 1985). Then it went through various other cable channels, including the Fox regional sports channel.
In a memorable display of contemptuous indifference a couple of years ago, the bozos at the Fox regional channel decided at the last minute to **cancel the broadcast of the Grand Final **. ARRRGH! This decision was made too late to pass on to the TV Guide or local newspaper program guides, so we fans sat around our TV sets (in my case with invited guests) and at the appointed hour were “treated” to some junksport nonsense instead of our footy Grand Final.
Let me back up a bit. For most of the years that footy was aired here in the US, it’s been in the form of a one hour recorded highlights program that would show perhaps a third of an actual match plus highlights of the other games in the league, spectacular plays, short news bits about the teams, a bio of a featured player and a wrapup of the standings. While fascinating, it is the equivalent of watching some of the NFL Films work. Excellent stuff, but you know it’s all been edited and past.
The Grand Final was the only time we would ever get to see footy live. Due to the time difference, the game played at 1 pm Saturday Melbourne time would air 9 pm Friday night Pacific Time. That added its own fascination as you could look both into the future (in one sense) and across the
Pacific to see bright sunshine when it was dark at your house.
So to have that jerked unceremoniously from us was an insult to all of us who had followed the games all season. (It’s a loooong season, BTW, lasting 26 weeks from start through the finals)
The next year, coverage went to the Fox Sport Network, which is a premium cable channel costing extra, like HBO. Unfortunately, it’s not available in our area on cable, and my sweet wife is not interested in a dish, so we are out in the cold.
Yes, I’m working on her. In the meantime, she got me a tape of the previous year’s Grand Final for my birthday last year and paid for my AFANA membership, so she’s not entirely unsympathetic.
I will have to relate my one moment of footy glory. Over a decade ago (October, 1990) there was a three-game Foster’s Cup series played in London, someplace in Canada and Portland, Oregon, just 90 freeway mintues away from where I live. As an employee of a small town newspaper, I even wangled a press pass and got to sit in the press box with the big boys and a few players who weren’t suited up. One of them even got me a Foster’s. Ahhh, what a time.
The overly loquacious Hometownboy