Footy mad - It's crazy

I live in Melbourne and I don't follow the AFL. You are all being taken for a ride.

There, I said it. Now, after a confident statement like that, where do I go and hide? For this is far more than a simple pronouncement of sporting (non) allegiance, this is an outright rejection of the city and its culture. When I tell them that, well, the footy simply bores me, Melbournites stare blankly at me until they realise I am serious. And then they regard me with that pitying stare normally reserved for an injured animal or a fallen-down toddler.

Of course, reactions vary. But disbelief, condescension and frustration are the constants. And the most common question is, why?

It's too long, for starters. The game goes all freaking afternoon for chrissakes. Make it shorter already.

Or, actually, don't bother. Because it would still be boring. The game has too much reliance on size and brawn. The physicality of the contest appears far more important than any application of mental acumen. When I want to watch gladiators strut around an arena I watch Ben Hur. Or Russell Crowe. Or UFC.

Moving on, and quickly now, because I sense a posse being formed, what the heck is it with the odd shaped ball? No guys, that doesn't add a 'glorious unpredictability' to the game - it makes it clumsy and erratic. The game doesn't flow; it stumbles along, like a tottering drunk at midnight.

I could go on - rabid fans, silly shorts, a 'siren'. But then you would think I am some namby-pamby cravat wearing artiste who rails against sport in general. Not true - I haven't worn a cravat in ages, and I appreciate the incredible skills that most sports encourage. And watching mere sport 'transcend into theatre' still gives me goosebumps.

But AFL? No thanks. I ain't buying what they're selling.