Winding up on the jittery side of the ledger wasn't part of my vision. In fact, the thought never crossed my mind. I entered the Nervous Nineties full of beans, carrying a sack with some of the finest thoughts and trivial pursuits known to mankind, and hopeful of declaring the innings closed some time shortly thereafter. Well, perhaps not closed per se, but temporarily unavailable due to the resumption of the regular variety of life.
That was the blueprint. And the fucker flew out the window at some point between breakfast and brunch.
Nothing relating to that thought goes a little something like this: the most popular word around the office since the 13th of June has been 'Oh-sturaria' which is really similar to the name of the team that defeated the Japanese national side in the first round of the World Cup. The details of actual events are mostly over my head as we don't own a TV set nor think it a good idea to rent one. However, the feeling of reading the final score at the official FIFA web site come the morning of the 13th was a cliché of the proverbial "rubbing my eyes" terminology, which I've been conditioned to portray as standard practice of imagery for such an occasion.
Somehow, being Australian has given people the impression that I was partially, if not entirely, responsible for the 3-1 outcome in favour of the Wallaroobiecues.
My role, as ambassador for my country as well as a card carrying member of the Sensei Abroad fraternity, has been to educate my fellow oxygen loving purists in the art of truth avoidance, which I have done with utmost respect to the trailblazers before me. As part of my arsenal, I've concocted a mixture of persistent nodding and combined it with the phrase 'Yes, it was mostly me, you're right there,' which I have sipped from a label-free transparent plastic bottle during socially acceptable times. The remainder of the time has been spent thinking of other things to say to make it all seem somehow more real than the actual reality of Australia defeating those energetic Japanese at that game where the round ball often doesn't find the back of the net.
Oh, and I've been riding on the crest of the wave of someone else's success. It's a slow and steady journey but the view's insane from up here.
Meanwhile, the rubbing of my skin-based cranium for the transference of success to native groins, hanstrings and white leather boots by countless members of the educational brotherhood has been an annoyance as well as a thoroughly pleasurable experience. In non-partisan terms of truth avoidance, it's been anything other than annoying as I can't speak highly enough of group-based exfoliation activities where I don't drain my already knackered body of precious energy. I also take the occasional wad of delight in being the centre of attention.
I've sought approval from every school principal in my district to erect a statue bearing my likeness with the caption: 'The source of infinite knowledge AND single-handedly responsible for the 3-1 demolition job of
The phone line has been down, so no word as yet.
PS Ninety-seven not out.