It’s like this. On Tuesday night I had a startling realisation: I’ve surrendered my personality and/or masculinity to popular culture – and mostly because of the internet.
I was walking home from work with a skip in my step. Why? Because I was counting down the minutes until the Being Lara Bingle premiere. Yes, Being Lara Bingle.
At this point a friend stopped me in my tracks to remind me there was a schedule clash. “Ummm, the Socceroos are playing Japan in half an hour!”
OMGod. The crucial World Cup qualifier. How had this slipped past me? I’m a former sports writer and a card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool football tragic. And I had no idea. Worse still, I was giving it all up for LARA BINGLE.
Excuse the caps-lock foul but I’m upset. Twelve months ago my life was scheduled around football. Friday night - Broncos. Saturday night - Premier League. Monday morning - NFL. And so forth. But after stepping away from the sports desk of my former employer, things have changed.
Now I’m more excited by trash TV, Twitter trends and Batman films. A pop culture addiction and a Wi-Fi connection have robbed me of my identity. If it’s not on Buzzfeed, it’s not on my radar. I didn’t buy an iPad 2 to check live scores from The ‘G.
I’ve felt this coming for a while now. I barely watch Broncos matches anymore and I haven’t played indoor soccer for a year. And if I go a week without having my girlfriend pluck my monobrow I feel dirty. So, so dirty.
This leads me to an inevitable conclusion: my change in circumstances has led me to a new obsession, one that bandaid patches the void previously filled by sport. What do I get from Seal and Reddit that I once got from Darren Lockyer and David Campese?
Sense of community: Spoiler alert, I don’t really have as many friends in real life as I do Facebook. Once upon a time I’d go to Lang Park or a mate’s place on a weekly basis to watch the Broncos. Now I watch Q and A and The Voice. Because of Twitter, I know I’m not alone. Mia Freedman tells me about her Joel Madden crush and Joe Hildebrand’s one-liners sporadically punctuate Tony Jones’ “we’ll take that as a comment” shutdowns. Plus I went to the footy on Wednesday night and we lost. And it was cold.
An outlet for anger: Who needs to stay up until 3am, every Saturday night, to watch their pitiful soccer team (which represents a pitiful English town, pitifully) lose, AGAIN? This is why I watch shows like Kim and Kourtney Take New York. It does not make me feel good to legitimise whatever it is the Kardashians do. But it gives me a chance to threaten my flat-screen with its own remote whenever Kim pouts, letting that anger go, and I get to bed on time. #winning
A great excuse to drink beer: Rugby league matches and mid-strength beer go hand in hand. But here’s the problem: I no longer attend many rugby league matches and I loathe mid-strength beer. So, instead, I make bottle-shop runs in my PJs and footy socks (go team!) every Monday night between shameless fame tweets and up-votes. And, like I said, it’s cold out there.
Expectations: Whereas I’d previously fool myself into fresh optimism on any given Sunday, only to be let down more often than not, I know exactly where I stand with pop culture. My expectations are stunningly low, so I’m generally happy with a night’s work. Which consists of little more than linking to a LOLcat on Facebook and Instagramming my left-overs. Oh, and I also watch Dexter. I love Dexter.
Pub conversation: Let’s be honest, no-one talks about football at the bar anymore. It’s all about what you’re watching on TV. So instead of deconstructing second-man plays and hard-ball gets, I find myself telling people which Lannister I most despise. It’s Joffrey. Game of Thrones, ftw.
Chris is obviously on Twitter. You can find him here: @christoforpaine
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