God bless my children. And their little cotton socks. After months of subliminal brain-washing during MasterChef - didn’t you notice those little watermarks in the corner of the screen? - they’ve decided to become Australia’s number one Commonwealth Games fans.
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“We’re going to get up at 5.30 and watch the Opening Ceremony,” they declared on Wednesday night. Yeah, yeah. It’s cold and dark and the first week back at school, chances are slimmer than England beating us in the medal count, I thought. Goodnight kids.
But about 5.45 I awoke to the smell of pancakes cooking. Not only had they got up like they said they would but they had also decided on a gourmet breakfast to celebrate. And as we ate our pancakes and watched the countries march out and that couple dance to a very beautiful version of the Proclaimers' 500 Miles (the original gets a little airplay at our place I’ll admit), we all learned a few lessons.
We learned that, no, you don’t have to have a branch of the Commonwealth Bank in your country to be part of the Commonwealth Games, nor do you have to have be common or wealthy.
We found out Usain Bolt would be competing but we failed to spot him in the Opening Ceremony, although there were plenty of other gentlemen with swag, as my little gentlemen likes to call it. And that Rod Stewart had the most swag of all.
We were troubled to learn 18,000 children die every year in Bangladesh from drowning in the flood-prone nation and that UNICEF programs have already taught 300,000 to swim to give them a fighting chance. As this little snippet aired, my son, in between mouthfuls of pancakes, declared something along the lines of he would like to do that one day, and I’m thinking what, compete at the Commonwealth Games, and he said, “No, go to the poor countries and help the kids learn how to swim.”
I’m doing something right.
Sure, I became a little cynical at UNICEF’s presence in the telecast of the Opening Ceremony, wondering if the fortnight would become something of an extended telethon. Call now and pledge $10 for every medal your country wins. But I got over it pretty quickly. Putting children first is a powerful message for us all and if we can use sport to raise awareness of the plight of children around the world then all power to UNICEF and the athletes involved.
You can’t imagine the same sort of thing happening at the Olympics. There’s something a little less crass about the Commonwealth Games. Something quainter, and more relaxed. It’s like a whole two weeks of an E.M. Forster novel - colonialism, gin-drinking, and some boy fanning you with a palm frond as you swelter in the afternoon sun.
I must admit I’ve always been somewhat fascinated by the whole idea of colonialism. The books A Passage to India, Wide Sargasso Sea and Heart of Darkness were on my reading list growing up. Sunday afternoons spent watching epic films such as Lawrence of Arabia and Zulu, and in later years Out of Africa and The English Patient kept me captivated for hours.
I can imagine myself in a couple of ways, married to some pompous colonel, spending my time drinking cocktails and flirting with the house boy; or perhaps, if I’m being more sensible, I’m the widowed owner of a farm in Rhodesia (didn’t see them walk out) fighting off lions, the affections of the landowner next door (is he after me, or my acres?), and the creep of nationalism.
I’m a monarchist. Not that I think about the Queen a lot. And how cool was her photobomb! But I just don’t see the point of making unnecessary changes. A little like the flag. Australia is who she is because of our history, wherever it starts, however it was formed, whatever your interpretation of it is. We’re a displaced people, in so many ways, living on one of nature’s wonders. And really, who cares what the rest of the world thinks.
And that’s the attitude we take into things like the Commonwealth Games.
Take swimmer David McKeon. I had no idea who he was before Thursday night but was terribly impressed by his 400m freestyle heat. If he had have been any more laid back he would have fallen asleep in the water (which is what must have happened to Kenya’s Vincent Onyango who was fished out of Strathclyde Loch after being lapped in the first swim leg. Mind you, he was swimming breaststroke). In the final he was pipped at the post by Canadian Ryan Cochrane, but swam another great race, finishing the night with a big smile on his face.
There’s a bit of swimming in his blood. His sister Emma won Australia’s first swimming gold in the 200m freestyle then backed up in the world-record breaking 4x100 freestyle relay team. Mum, dad, and an uncle have all swum at the international level too. But, getting ready for the heat, and straight afterwards, David sort of looked like he’d rather be watching cartoons on a Saturday morning, which is apparently what he did until he was about 17, while the rest of the family went swimming, until dad gave him a kick up the butt and told him to get off the couch.
And if that’s not the Australian way, what is?
I’m sure there’ll be plenty more stories coming out of Glasgow in the coming weeks.
I for one, and the kids, for three, can’t wait. Especially if it means pancakes every now and again.