VFL Merchandising Exercise #1

I barrack for the Blues. I barrack for them because my mum does. That's what you do. It's hereditary, you know.

When we were kids, I said to my younger brother, “You follow Melbourne, because that's dad's team, and I'll go with Carlton, with mum.” The split seemed right – the girls together, and the boys. Besides, Carlton were flying.

But before all that, we went shopping with the cousins.

In an ample discount barn, the mothers spot a bargain: big, plastic shopping bags, all shiny and white, with VFL team insignia on the front. “Which one would you like?” All us little girls want the swan. What else are you going to pick when you're eight years old?

Dilemma ensues amongst the mums. "He’ll have a fit." "Jack* won't mind, he's South Melbourne anyway." Judiciously, my mother tries to direct me towards the Carlton bag. It's a caricature of a man with bad hair trying to look ferocious with the ball. I am not persuaded.

"It doesn't make sense," my young mind must have enquired. "What's a Blue anyway? " Nearby, Janice* is in tears because "your father will be furious if you come home with anything not Fitzroy."

I stick to my guns because I can. Because my mum knows that a shiny plastic bag is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Because next week, I'll have moved onto some other toy, book, gadget. Because this sport has barely registered in my not so wide little world.

The purchases are made. I am delighted, but feel for the miserable Janice stuck with her wretched Lions bag.

She needn’t have worried. Soon enough the bags would tear and end up in the bin. The Swans would move north to the harbour town in the interests of a national competition. And Fitzroy, too, after battling on for another decade or so would eventually morph into the Brisbane Lions, and finally taste success.

In the meantime, I’d seen the error of my ways and become True Blue.

*Their real names? No way.