Back in April, I asked my wife if she’d be interested in traveling to see my beloved Los Angeles Rams take on the San Francisco 49ers at the famed Melbourne Cricket Ground on September 11th in Australia. I sold the trip as a Rams fan’s gotta-go, not-to-be missed opportunity to experience the NFL’s inaugural game Down Under.
“Eight-thousand miles for a [EXPLETIVE DELETED] football game?,” she cooed in her characteristically submissive, adoring tone, painstakingly attempting not to squelch my die-hard enthusiasm. “That’s a hard pass, ‘sports boy,’” she said lovingly. “I take it your little friends are planning to go — and they’re pressuring you to join them. Am I right?”
Her razor-sharp intuition and unrivalled cross-examination skills had me dead to rights.
“I wouldn’t say, ‘pressuring,’” I told her, knowing she was at least fractionally right. It was, after all, so much more nuanced than that. Yes, my friends were coercing me to some extent, but I wanted to go.”
After a bit of deep reflection, however, I schemed up a greater purpose for flying 16 hours to Melbourne: to take The Log abroad.
While she met this freshly conceived, epiphanic motive with an eyeroll worthy of a Guinness World Record, I got the green light to go.
So, for five days in Melbourne, I joined my best “mate” (the word for friend in Australia), his “missus” (Aussie for wife; she’s also a wonderful long-time mate/friend of mine), and her brother, who, despite being among the 49ers Faithful, is a really a good mate/guy. Go figure.
We arrived in Melbourne a full day before the game. Although tempered by jetlag, our enthusiasm drove us to do an impressive amount of exploring on day one, which included a visit to the Rams-organized fan/food/merchandise/entertainment area, myriad picture taking of the local scenery, and a calamari-and-craft-beer lunch at a pub overlooking the Yarra River.
Our walkabout even took us as far as the legendary Melbourne Cricket Grounds, where — on Sept. 11 — the 49ers barely slipped past the Rams, 20 to 7. And that’s all have to say about that.
Moving on….
The people of Melbourne aren’t just the friendliest folks I’ve been among, they’re all damn good-looking too. Energetic. Gracious. Happy. Thoughtful. Ready to engage in a conversation at a moment’s notice.
I’m certain we often appeared quite lost and wide-eyed as we took in every angle of the cityscape, but more than a few Aussies had approached us on the streets just to check if we needed help or had a question about something. Melburnians are just that warmhearted.
Our hotel was The Langham, which is pretty spectacular. From our amazing, indispensable and personable mates, Peter and Dominic (Chief Concierge and Concierge, respectively) to the incredible view of the Yarra River, it was ideal.
While Aussies seem blessed with the endearing quality of not taking too many things too seriously, I learned that they’re dead serious about a couple of things. Based on sports news on the “telly” — and all the lively chatter within pubs and sports bars — their primary passion has got to be “footy.”
Down Under, Australian Rules Football is practically a religion — not unlike the NFL here in the States — except, perhaps more so. I could share the education I got from the locals on footy, but in the space that my talented, brilliant, and oh so lovely Editor Katherine has allotted me, I need to stay on topic and get to what’s more apropos to The Log. And that’s rowing.
Now, I can’t definitively say that rowing is the second most adored sport among all who live in Melbourne, but from what I saw, it’s gotta to be close.
One morning, my SoCal body clock had me waking around 4:30 a.m., an hour of the day I didn’t even know existed. So, with a flat white in hand, I ventured out just before sunrise and headed along the Yarra. (Quick side note: earlier in the week at the game in the Cricket Ground, I was painstakingly trying to decipher the menu at a concession coffee stand. From the back of the lengthening queue, a helpful bloke behind me hollered “Ord-dah a ‘flat white,’ mate. It’s a proper coffee.” So I ordered one. And he was right. It’s a damned proper coffee.)
Back to my early morning walk….
Along the river’s edge, I arrived at the historic boathouses of Melbourne’s legendary rowing clubs and university teams. Some of the crews had already launched by torchlight. Others were still gathering paddles and prepping gear before easing their shells into the water (pronounced “waw-dah,” but only if you have a super cool, authentic Aussie accent).
I found a spot along the bank as the sun began to crest and watched crews propel through the water in perfect unison, which was impressive — especially considering how asynchronous my friends and I were in simply making dinner plans.
Between the footy, the meat pies (a savory treat of which I could have written an entire article; they were nearly identical to the English meat pies made by my Canadian mum, the daughter of Londoners), the grateful advice on flat white coffee, and the easygoing kindness of every Aussie (and Kiwi) I met in Melbourne, Australia made for a terrific motive to take The Log abroad.
