My Old Stompin’ Ground (12.2.2007)
I had a great holiday – caught up with a lot of friends and visited some nice places. The Boneman had organised my first Friday night in Sydney – a visit to the old stompin’ ground of Mounties. Boney’s the go-to man for such outtings. I turned up early at Mounties (Mt Pritchard Community Club), as is my custom – I’ve maintained this habit for some twenty years, get in early and settle in to await the arrival of my drinkin’ mates. This Friday night, I was about 25 mins ahead of schedule – I decided to give the pokies a rattle (I used to blow five or ten bucks every Friday night with my co-loser, The Bis)
I rarely gamble these days – just don’t seem to frequent the venues that encourage such anti-social behaviour. Anyway, by the time the boys arrived, I was two hundred smackers up, which I stuck in my wallet, with a satisfied grin (Though not before informing all, of my skilful windfall!).
Most of the old crowd turned up again – I’m told that my infrequent visits back home are the only times many can find a valid excuse for their spouses, to warrant a big night of stepping high – like the old days. Though, to be honest, it’s a far cry from the antics of the old days – it’s like Toby Keith says – ‘I ain’t as good as I once was….’
So, while we still give it a nudge, it’s nowhere near as hard and fast as years ago. With schooner sculls, Cointreau & ‘Buca shots on the toss of a card, and various other self-destructive rituals, that simply punctuated the continuous flow of Resches and Jimmy. Till the early hours kick-out call, at which point one just changed venues and continued, though usually a bit closer to a dance floor.
These days however, I do still enjoy catching up with the old crew – especially the girls – Linda, Nicky, Kerrie, Kerrie, Sharon, Leesa and others at times – they’re still all beautiful girls, making the most of their thirties. I usually keep in regular contact with most of the blokes throughout the year anyway – and they’re ugly – so they’re not so much of a thrill.
For a bloke that spent a good percentage of his younger days (and more than one fortune) within the (then) hallowed walls of Mounties, it’s rather amusing (and more so, kind of sad) to see the same old faces doing the same old things after twenty years. The old grey-haired bloke still singing “A White Sports Coat” at the karaoke every Friday night – he was never any good on his best day. Every Friday arvo for twenty years, he hops out of the shower, hitches up his RM moleskins and warms up his voice, grabs the old-girl and down they go, to get plastered and ‘entertain’ the crowd at his standing Friday night gig. Then there’s the long-haired, lengthy-bearded stalwart of the snooker club’s chicken run. This dude still wears his girl-jeans, hoisted a little too high up the abdomen, and skilfully steers his way round the premises, guided by the magical schooner of Resches held directly in front, like a fighter-pilots joystick. I’d confidently postulate that Grant has nary missed a days attendance at Mounties for nigh on twenty-five years. This man must be forty-five years old and has never, ever held a job – though his schooner remains half full – he must be a very, very optimistic man indeed!
While I find this all amusing as I try to revisit my youth, one could easily be excused these days, for believing the non-English speaking cabbie had indeed delivered the unwary passenger to a Ho-Chi-Min City gambling den. Whilst dodging one’s way through the pokie room, there appears an endless sea of bobbing black heads, through a smoky haze and a raucous natter of alien voices. I feel like an unwelcome invader in a foreign land – I don’t speak the language, I don’t understand the customs – and the looks directed my way are clearly hostile. Welcome home, Son.