Sport is a passion for many. As art, music, cooking and reading is for some, so too is sport an integral part of what provides a happy existence for others. It’s entwined in our fabric – the dye in a tapestry, the plot in a novel, the seasoning of a dish. Without it, for some, the world about them lacks colour, imagination, flavour. Things are just not quite right, dulled down.
There are a number of passions to which I retreat for necessary distraction: reading, writing, history and film are a small selection. Sport though, is clearly my preferred retreat. The problem with this is that it is a limitingly select group of sports that has caught my interest. If we’re being very basic about it, it’s Aussie Rules footy in winter, and cricket in summer. I enjoy watching some tennis, perhaps some golf and the athletics events at the Olympics, but pretty much I get my kicks out of footy and cricket.
So what happens when the cricket is disinteresting? I’m lost, bored. My Old Man would be horrified to see me use that word. I can hear his voice in my head, “If you’re bored I’ll give you something to do.” I suppose it’s not classic boredom. I’m not bored in the traditional sense; I have plenty to do and my life is very much full of activities - most of which I very much enjoy - as per the natures of the season and my wife. Still, what I feel is something vaguely reminiscent of boredom.