In high school I was emo. In uni I was punk. In my twenties I was a hippie with a foul mouth. In my thirties, a fucking pirate. They say things get better with age, and in this story, I guess it’s true. But nothing lasts forever, so here’s a little tribute.
I won’t start at the beginning because there’s a post for that, “With fat fingers” written in 2018 explains how it all started. Though, I will fill in the rest.
I got into a full-contact sport called Aussie Rules Footy and if high school improv taught me anything, it was “yes, and…”
Yes, and it fucking hurt. Trainings on their own were not easy, but game day was always intense; unpredictable and dangerous. A lot of new recruits, unaware of the rules and proper technique would come at you full force and try to break your neck.
I was once that same schmuck. Alright, more than once. But I had a motto when tackling the opposition. I did it like John Mayer in that Wonderland song, “I’ll never let your head hit the bed, Without my hand behind it.” So I was a classy goon. My technique was Timbits level (for non-Canadians, that means absolute shite!) My fitness, and therefore speed, was like a coal-fired choo-choo train in the Wild West; took me a while to pick up speed, but if I got a head start, I’d intersect quite beautifully. That is, if the opposition didn’t pivot. But they always fucking pivot. Except for the newbs, in this case, thank god for the newbs.
That being said, I was always playing hungover. In 2018 and 2019, we had early morning games on Saturdays. And you’re telling me I needed to “take it easy on hot summer Friday nights?!” My response was, “be happy I fucking showed up.”
You see, I didn’t join the Toronto Central Blues footy club to become a serious athlete. I joined for the parties. And man, we had some epic parties. But as a responsible footy club does, they were called 5th Quarters, which came after the game (so, I was just a little greedy guts :P). The friendships solidified my commitment, and created a greater purpose to show up, and to show up well.
Something happened in 2020 and we lost an entire year. And during that year, I reflected. I didn’t want to lose anymore, neither did my team. So I made a promise to myself, and kept it 90% of the time. No more hangovers on game day. And in 2021, things started to change. We started to win some games!
Now I can’t take credit for that, but I knew I was actually helping now. Our team was training harder and becoming more focused, so we kicked a bunch of goals.
I started to make efforts with my fitness, and behaved on Friday nights (most of the time) and I even kicked a goal (6 points) and a few behinds (1 point) in 2022. I realized that I had developed a decent foundation of understanding the game and had more confidence when in possession of the ball. My kicks were still 50-50, but I could mark (catch) pretty damn good. I was faster, and had better on-field decision making. In other words, I was able to check my ego when my teammate had a better chance at goal. I played tactical shepherd and blocked the opposition from touching my teammate with the footy. My tackles were still safe, and effective, and honestly, my favourite fucking part of the game. I was still a goon, burping up bacon and red bull, but actually contributing now.
In 2022 we made it to semi-finals and came in 3rd overall in our league. There’s currently 5 women’s teams in AFL Ontario, and 3rd feels good when it’s the closest you’ve been to the trophy.
I do have one regret. On August 27, 2022 we played Ottawa in the first round of finals and my team, the Central Blues were up a significant number of goals with 5 minutes left in the game, when I had my right knee bashed in by a Swans player in a contested mark. I could barely walk, and after a minute on the sidelines, I went back in the game to sub for another injured teammate. Adrenaline from a well-earned win carried me through, but in the days after, I needed a knee brace and a doctor to tell me that my footy days are over.
So there you have it folks, what started out as a joke, another excuse to party, became a genuine interest, a reason to win. I can at least say, I left on a high, but unlike true Giselle style, I left the party early.
For what it’s worth, thank you Central Blues, it’s been a wild ride.
#69 out.
giselleandbeyond 
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