By Susan Oman
As a kid, the murmur of the footie scores balanced the buzz of Saturday tea. The week’s only night of fast food was a feast: salt and vinegar crisps, sandwiched between 2 slices of thin white sliced. It felt a long awaited treat, hanging out with Dad watching Bullseye and other Saturday night schedule shockers. Given the lack of interest in sport in our house, it’s remained a mystery why the scores were ever on, but the monotonous tone reflected its content to an eight year old, and as a result I’ve inherited Dad’s indifference to Sport. That is, apart from the excitement we shared watching ‘the arrers’. The enthusiasm of players and supporters alike used to fill the lounge; and we embraced the Sport’s great personalities, cherishing old favourites and cheering young upstarts. As with most childish things, I left my diet of crisp sandwiches behind and my cultural consumption expanded beyond Bullseye on the box; but I held on to hopes of one day going to the Darts.