Cars
There’s nothing more humiliating than being a car bimbo. Nothing more pathetic than standing by the side of a freeway with a flat tyre, a pyramid of scary looking toolery and the wild idea that - if all else fails - perhaps you can reinflate the bugger orally. The only thing worse is having to flag down some leering four wheel driver to help out.

It’s a nightmare, all right.

And us girl drivers don’t fare much better.

That’s right, folks; contrary to popular belief, vehicle bimboism knows no gender. But fortunately for everyone, Alan Ramsay - a community education officer, former automotive engineer for Jaguar and man who used to think that anyone who didn’t make sparks fly from their motorbike muffler round corners simply wasn’t trying hard, enough has been persuaded to reveal all.

First up, the single most common query from the car bimbo: Que?

Well, according to the Macquarie Dictionary, the car is “a vehicle, especially one for passengers, carrying its own power-generating and propelling mechanism, usually an internal combustion engine, for travel on ordinary roads”.

The next most common question asked by vehicle bimbos is: What was all that about?

And the answer to that one is: About 4.30 although only in Norway.

But enough of the silliness, let’s cut to the chase and ask the big one.

Why Do Cars Go?

According to The Big A, cars use fuel to create heat, which in turn creates energy. This energy is then transferred to one or more of the wheels to drive it a) forwards, b) backwards or c) both forwards and backwards in rapid succession if you are using fuel to create energy after a big night on the vodka and oranges.

To be more specific about this process, air is mixed in with the fuel in the carburetor or the fuel injection system to create a highly flammable mixture that is drawn into any of one to 12 cylinders.

Cars with eight or 12 cylinders are called V8s and V12s. They have so many cylinders that they have to be lined up in two rows instead of one. In general, the more cylinders in your car the more grunt it has. Grunt means a car goes faster, uses more petrol and makes more farty-type noises as it goes along. Grunt is regarded as a good thing unless you are in a particularly civilised cinema.

But on with the story.

A spark is introduced into the cylinder via (kookily enough) the spark plug, and the fuel and air catch alight in a controlled fire. Contrary to popular (or at least my) belief, the mixture does not explode. It does, however, reach temperatures of up to 1,000 degrees and expand so greatly that the piston is forced down the cylinder.

This is where things get very tricky indeed.

According to The Big A (and we only have his word for this), the piston is connected by a series of linkages or rods to a thing called a crank shaft which in turn is connected to the clutch which is connected to the gearbox which is connected to the drive shaft which is connected to some axles which are connected to the wheels which are probably connected to some sort of leg bone.

The “knee bone is connected to the head bone” song would make all this a whole lot easier to remember but so far no-one has ever been able to think of a word that rhymes with crank shaft.

And that’s how cars go.

The next biggest tragedy of being a car bimbo, of course, is having to deal with mechanics. According to the aforementioned handy dictionary, a mechanic is “a skilled worker with tools or machines”.

According to me, a mechanic is “a patronising bastard trading in ignorance, terror and rubbery tubes that cost their weight in precious ore”.

According to The Big A, car bimbos should choose mechanics who have been recommended by at least six (6) friends or work colleagues. They should not choose a mechanic who is covered in weeks of oil and grime because, he says, at least some of this will end up on your car.

According to me, car bimbos should not choose mechanics who have calendars featuring car-related personalities such as Lolo Ferrari and her “twin airbags” or who quote their prices to your woman/manhood.

The good news is that some car problems can be identified by even the dumbest of drivers. If your oil cap is white and foamy underneath you might have water in your oil, which means you might have a problem with a thing called a head gasket. If blue smoke comes out of your exhaust this means you are
burning oil, which may mean engine wear. If there is black smoke you may have a problem with your fuel system. And if making out in the front seat causes you flesh wounds you should think about upgrading to bench seats.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that at least three of these problems require the assistance of a skilled worker with tools or machines.

The other good news is that it’s not the bucket seat bit.

Clearly this situation is unacceptable. If you are one of these impressionable types who feel amorously inclined towards those who confuse you, how are you to pick the real Po-Mo pundits from the pretenders?

Learn about postmodernism yourself, that’s how. And who better to show you the way than Professor Terry Smith, from the University of Sydney’s Power Institute of Fine Arts.

The Big Professor S is an all right kind of guy. He asks “are you OK?” while he’s talking to make sure you haven’t died from Postmodernism Tension. He admits that postmodernism isn’t very funny but says it is all quite obvious once you get into the swing of it.

Unfortunately, this is not quite true. Postmodernism hurts. It hurts so much you may even find yourself purchasing a copy of the book Postmodernism For Beginners to help. This will cause you to hurt even more because its title is not quite true either. A better one would have been Postmodernism For People Who Already Know What The Expression “Negative Dialectics” Mean Because It Appears On The First Page.

According to The Big P.S., there are four ways of looking at postmodernism. The first is what’s known as Po-Mo, which describes a style predominant in the ‘80s. PoMosters wear black and go to lots of tarty, arty,
media-type things. Disco is Po-Mo because it combines dance rhythms and jazz. The furniture in the house of Danny DeVito and Bette Midler in the movie Ruthless People is Po-Mo because The Big Professor S says as much. Gazebos are not Po-Mo because they are gazebos.

Another branch of postmodernism relates to art and architecture. Postmodern art combines high or avant-garde art with low art. High art refers to the whole tradition of modernism from Monet to Jackson Pollock. Low art comes from popular culture. It includes kitsch and commercial art such as the attractive Free Willy 2 blow-up killer whale used to promote the film of the similar name. One of the most famous postmodern artists is Andy Warhol. If you don’t know who Andy Warhol is you should go home now.

The third way to look at postmodernism is theoretical. Have a stiff Fluffy Duck before you read on because this is where things get tough...

The origins of postmodernist theory come from French philosophers in the 1960s. These people included Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida and Jean-Francois Lyotard. If you want to be really flash about it, pronounce Jean Francois’s last name the same way as the attractive figure-hugging garment worn by acrobats.

Postmodernists reacted to styles of thought that were predominant in the ‘60s, such as Marxism, Freudian psychoanalysis and an approach to anthropology called structuralism. All these were known as master narratives: huge, elaborate stories that were supposed to explain absolutely everything. Other
examples of master narratives include Christianity, capitalism and the idea of human progress. My suspicion that Fruit Loops can cause brain damage if enough of them are thrown at once is not a master narrative but it would look alright on the side of cereal box.

The postmodernists decided that these big stories were no longer appropriate, that it was not possible for there to ever be one story that explained everything. Explaining that nothing could explain everything was to take a great deal of explaining and, unfortunately, this explaining included words such as “paradigm shift” and “crisis of legitimacy of authority”.

The Big P.S. says some of the important movements to come out of postmodernism include feminism, issue politics, the environmental movement, the ethnic movement and gay liberation. He does not make any mention of the fact that the bass player on Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers with Thelonious Monk was Spanky DeBrest because it is not at all relevant.

The fourth way of looking at postmodernism is from a social perspective. This is what’s called postmodernity. The Big P.S. describes modernity as being “all the changes that make up the modern world: “technology, mass production, urbanisation and the idea of a dominant world order.
Postmodernity is about how these things have changed into other things, such as corporate globalisation and cyberspace.” (It would be very rude to write yadda yadda yadda after the word ‘cyberspace’ but that’s just the sort of thing postmodernism makes you feel like doing).

By now you should have at least a superficial grasp of what postmodernism is all about and may wish to pursue further readings of your own. Just make sure one of these is not Jean-Francois Lyotard’s The Postmodern Explained to Children. While his first letter does not contain the expression “negative dialectics”, it does make passing references to adlinguisticity, transavantgardism and the paradigm of referentiality.

It puts the expression “putting the hard word on someone” into a whole new
light.

Hall, you see, not only finds cricket interesting, she finds it erotic.

But more of that later.

First up, what’s all this cricket stuff about anyway?

In Sir Donald Bradman’s book How To Play Cricket, Sir Frederick Toone says cricket not only “affords a chance to play the man and act the gentleman”, but also offers “genuine recreation of the tired tissues”.

Does this mean he also finds the game erotic? Who can say?

One of the first things required for cricket is a leather ball, a bat shaped a bit like a lump of wood and a rude red mark on your trousers.

The Big J says cricket bats look a bit like lumps of wood because in the olden days that’s all they were: lumps of wood. She says bats also look “like a penis, girlfriend!”, but more of that later.

Bats come in many shapes and sizes but as with so much of life it seems to be the way you swing them that counts.

Cricket is played on a rectangular-shaped strip of lawn called a pitch, which
has three bits of wood standing in a row at each end called the stumps. Perched perkily on top of the stumps are two other bits of wood called the bails. The stumps and the bails are known as the wicket, although sometimes this term is used to refer to the entire pitch, as in a sticky wicket - a pitch that is wet or difficult to play on.

Hall thinks a sticky wicket sounds like some kind of lolly. It is the only cricket term apart from 12th man that does not remind her of something to do with sex.

Another important item of equipment needed for cricket is a field. This is a) so there is somewhere for the ball to go other than through a window and b) to allow the existence of wacky fielding positions such as the fine leg (a long way away from the batter), the short leg (a medium distance from the batter)
and the silly mid-on (whack-bang in front of the bloody bugger).

The last but by no means least ingredients of a game of cricket are two teams of 11 players plus one for emergency-use only called the 12th man. Because many of these team members have soft bits that are extremely vulnerable to fast-flying leather balls, they choose to protect themselves with whopping great
pads known as pads. “The penis pad,” notes The Big J, “is also known as the lunch box.”

In short, the aim of cricket is for one side to hurl lots of balls at the other side (this is called bowling), while the other side tries to prevent these balls from knocking the bails off the stumps by nabbing them with their
phallic chunks of wood (this is called batting).

The aim of the batting team is to make runs. A run is when both batters race from one end of the pitch to the other. Balls that cross the boundary, or the edge of the field, automatically score either four or six runs, depending on whether they bounced first.

The aim of the bowling team is to get batters out. Batters are out if they hit a ball and one of the guys from the other team called a fielder catches it on the full. They get out if their legs get in the way of the ball and the stump (LBW) or if the bails are knocked off the stumps (bowled).

The aim of the spectator is not once to think: I’d have more fun uncurling the tails of battery pigs.

Scores are announced by comparing the number of batters who are out with the number of runs. “Ten for none”, for example, would be the most embarrassing score in existence, whereas “one for a zillion” would really be something to open your lunch box over.

Bowling a maiden over is when a bowler bowls six balls (an over) and the batter doesn’t make any runs. A duck is when a batter gets out without any runs. A golden duck is when a batter gets out on the first ball faced. Sledging is when you try to verbally intimidate an opposing batsperson by yelling something like “oi, ya great girly girl”.

One-day cricket is usually played for 50 overs whereas Test cricket is played over five days. The Big J says comparing one-day with Test cricket is like comparing noughts and crosses with chess: “One-day cricket is like a quick ejaculation whereas a Test is like amazing long foreplay which may or may not
lead to something big”.

The Big J has experienced an actual sexual incident that reminds her very much of Test cricket but we can’t go into it here on the grounds that Sir Frederick Toone would not approve.

We can, however, report that it did do her tired tissues wonders.

Yet even those of us who think children should be neither seen nor heard have the urge occasionally to bond with other people’s offspring and to this end we seek the advice of Laura Armesto, a child-care centre director, and her extra-eloquent son, Briaan aged six.

People who don’t like children will not want to hear this, but the bottom line of child wrangling is respect. According to The Big L (and probably also The Little B). You must listen to children, acknowledge their feelings and (despite how appalling this seems) treat them like any other human being.

The happy news is that if you are only a casual acquaintance of an under-two-year-old, attempts to communicate will be more for your benefit than theirs. A well-meaning family friend can spend a whole hour trying to bridge the generation gap via colour- and movement-enhanced communication and an under-two-year-old may very well spend the entire time thinking “Where’s that breast gone?”

Persistence can pay off provided you act like an idiot. Under-twos respond primarily to what The Big L calls “happy smiles, silly noises and peekaboos”.

Young babies do not like anything too intense, including sustained eye contact, big sunglasses, beards or the album OK Computer by Radiohead. Do not pick up a baby before you’ve established some sort of rapport via peekaboos etc. This would be like making a grab for someone’s rude bits before you’ve asked them out first.

Two- to three-year-olds are more adventurous and have more language skills but still not much of an interest in meeting new adults. They’ve got enough on their hands learning how to resolve something the early childhood industry refers to as “autonomy versus shame and guilt”. It’s tough to be a kid.

Three- to 11-year-olds are far more capable of forming relationships with new adults, but, just like you, may choose not to purely because they think you look weird, smell funny or don’t know enough about important kid things such as Stretch Armstrong. You have to follow their cues. The first thing to do when you meet a new child is introduce yourself, even if you don’t plan to say anything else except: “Get back to me when you’ve heard of Radiohead.” Laura says introducing yourself is common courtesy. She says it’s all right not to want to say anything else to a child, as long as you acknowledge its existence first. Also, calling a child ‘it’ is a bad idea. I don’t plan to do it again because The Big L can fling a pre-loved nappy really hard.

If you do wish to have a conversation with a kid, do not start off by talking about yourself. Not surprisingly, this will bore the child witless. Try to find out what he or she is interested in by asking questions he or she knows how to answer.

The Big L recommends: “Gee, that’s a nice shirt, did your mummy/daddy buy it for you?”

Not recommended are: “Tell me what you did today” (too confronting and too broad) or “tell us what ya thought of Jean-Francois Lyotard’s The Postmodern Explained to Children,” (you probably won’t understand their answer).

Asked what makes him like new people, Laura’s son Briaan is at first reluctant to reveal trade secrets. “I don’t know,” he says. “When will this be on television?”

Once pushed, however, he does offer the following: “Play games, remember my name and give lollies.” And is there anything he doesn’t like people to do? “Fight me. Or kill trees and plants,” he says. Adding: “But I thought you said this was going to go on the television?”

After respect, Laura says the most important thing to remember when you around children is setting limits and sticking to them. Apparently, just because you respect someone does not mean doing everything he or she wants you to do. You are perfectly within your rights to say: “That is part of my body and I don’t like you setting fire to it.”

That said, disciplining other people’s children is not a good move. If you are minding a child and it uses its bed as a trampoline and you are unsure of the ground rules, Laura recommends asking “Is your mummy going to be happy when she comes back?” Encouraging children to consider the consequences of their
actions will mean their faces tell the truth even if their mouths don’t.

Remember, finally, that many habits that are socially unacceptable for adults are quite normal for children. These include making big messes, talking loudly, picking their noses, saying they hate you and playing with their genitals. Just because you’re jealous of their freedom is no reason to get huffy.

But the sad truth is that the economy is kind of important. It won’t go away if you ignore it; in fact, it will probably get bigger and nastier and more anti-social every time you turn your back. So, in desperation, we turned to economic pundit and man-about-the-financial-markets, Ross Gittins, to explain the basics.

According to The Big R and many others like him, the lowest common denominator of the Australian economy and others like it is the production and consumption of goods and services. Consuming is usually more fun than producing, which is one of the reasons our economy won’t do what it’s told and behave.

Everyone who works is involved in production. This includes people who stay at home raising small people, as well as rocket scientists. The difference is that rocket scientists get paid for their work, which means they are part of what’s known as the market. (Don’t get frightened by this word. It simply refers
to people who get paid when they produce, OK?)

Goods are things you can touch, for example the unabridged edition of Anarchists in Love by Colin Spencer (“a pungent, earthy novel with a power to shock”, first published in 1963). Services are things you can’t touch even if you’d quite like to, for example, the late-night American television program
Silk Stalkings. More important yet far less saucy services include health, education and law and order.

Goods and services are produced and then they are consumed. The Big R refers to this as “all of us beavering away”. He says this is all the economy actually is: all of us beavering away. (Beavering, incidentally, is one of those things one has absolutely no excuse not to know about, but this is neither
the time nor place to fill you in.)

Now. Please make yourself a nice cup of tea and sit down for this next part because we are about to mention the gross domestic product, or GDP. According to “the Gits” (and we hope this casual form of address will help you, if not him, feel at ease), the GDP measures the value of all the goods and services
produced in the market in a period of time.

Governments get into debt when they provide more goods and services than they can pay for via taxation. According to Gittsy, this is not always such a bad idea because the Government may be paying for something that lasts for many years, such as a street. (Those who wish to talk the talk and walk the walk
should refer to this street as a capital work.)

People save money by lending it to banks. Governments and businesses can borrow this money to keep beavering away. If not enough money has been saved within the country, they may borrow from overseas. This can be done either by borrowing money or by allowing foreign investors to buy all or part of an
Australian company. This is sometimes called “selling off the farm”.The price of Option A is a big interest bill. The price of Option B is having to pay dividends on the company’s profit.

One of the most exciting times of the economic lunar cycle is a figure called the balance of payments, more funkily known as the, ahem, BOP. The BOP measures all the financial transactions between Australia and the rest of the world.

The current account section of the BOP subtracts our imports from our exports. The result is the balance of trade. On average, we import only slightly more than we export, but the reason for our current account deficit
being so large is that so much money packs up and leaves the country in the form of interest and dividends. This is generally regarded as one of the reasons Australia’s economy is, and here we resort to the vernacular, a bit rooted.

Another generally accepted economic principle is that learning what things are is much easier than knowing how to fix them. The Gittster, for instance, thinks that we should pay more taxes so that the Government can continue providing the sorts of services we’ve become accustomed to.

Maybe you think he’s right. Maybe you think he wouldn’t know an economic solution if it hung out his left nostril waving a flag. Either way, at least you’ve formed some sort of opinion of your own. You may still find the expressions “seasonally adjusted productivity initiatives” and “junior arm fiscal bracket action” intimidating, but this is probably a very healthy sign.

Cheerleading is not the main event, nor is it a profession, it is a sport to complement a sport. (From 1997 Super League Cheerleading Squad audition form.)

Wednesday March 5: Get asked by employer to become Super League cheerleader as novelty story idea. Say “yes” after having following exceedingly foolish thought process: How hard can it be?

Besides having a good figure, an energetic disposition and a comprehensive knowledge of the sport, there are no qualifications required, therefore allowing any girl/boy to participate.

Thursday March 6: Contact Super League and get surprisingly un-icy reception. Mercifully does not request weight, bust size or number of infected facial piercings, and suggests I join the Cenovis Cheerleaders for Canterbury immediately. PR woman asks age and politely notes average demographic of cheerleader is decades younger.

You will be required to attend training sessions, once or sometimes twice a week. (Punctuality reflects on the personality.)

Saturday March 8: Arrive at Belmore Sports Ground as sun sets over Greek Orthodox church and speeding Tangara trains. Meet Canterbury’s 40-chick-strong cheer squad and observe mounds of white pompoms littering field like droppings of some strange paper-consuming animal. “Some of you girls are forgetting you’ve got a second arm,” shouts one of many stout and bossy women in charge. “It’s just fading away. And excuse me, girls. Girls? What happened to the noise in Ready To Go? It’s ‘Wooooooo’. And you must not talk or fidget on the field ...”
Meet cheerleading academy director from Townsville Lyn Parker and Canterbury squad co-ordinator “Mrs Ah” (real name Doreen Rayward ). Neither knows who I am or why I am here. After listening to sheepish explanation, Mrs Ah asks if I realise that all girls in squad have dancing or gymnastics background. That
they all auditioned. That Super League cheerleading is based on American-style combination of dance, gymnastics, drill and “sports acro”.
Mrs Ah: “Well, can you dance?”
Me: “Um. Not really.”
Mrs Ah: “If you’d come to the audition what would you have said you could
do?”
Me: “Er. Not a lot.”
Mrs Ah: “Well, what are you like at picking things up?”
Me (reaching to ground): “Well ...”
Mrs Ah: “No, no, no. I mean can you do something like this (launches into sprightly jig involving intricate foot movement).”
Me (making abortive attempt to imitate): “Mmm, apparently not.”
Consider claiming that clumsiness is entirely jeans and Blundstone-boot related but suspect Ah and Parker will see through ruse. Despite all-round terribleness of “audition”, A&P generously agree to let me
join on condition I participate in heavy squad training routine. Aim is to perform at match on April 6. Return home on embarrassing high.

Attributes of a Cheerleader Part I: A Cheerleader is one who will get along
well with her parents.

Monday March 10: Watch first ever football game at Belmore (Canterbury versus Cronulla) and witness cheersquad in brilliant action. Discover three terrible truths about future career: 1) Cheerleading is far more than jumping up and down on the sidelines waving white bouncy things. 2) Many thousands of people watch cheerleaders doing far more than jumping up and down. 3) CHEERLEADERS HAVE TO WEAR A THING CALLED A LYCRA UNITARD. Return home in cold sweat and have nightmares of womanhood escaping from unitard mid-routine etc etc.

Attributes of a Cheerleader Part II: A Cheerleader is one who has never been
expelled from any organisation.

Tuesday March 11: Wake from tormented sleep and remind self that Lyn Parker believes cheerleading produces community leaders of the future. Ring Mrs Ah for emergency assistance and Mrs Ah promises to assign me “bright, cheery, full-of-life girl” called Raelene Payne (one of squad’s two choreographers) for
private lessons.

Attributes of a Cheerleader Part III: A Cheerleader is one who has no contact
with players while a member of the squad.

Tuesday March 18: Meet 20-year-old Raelene in Belmore Boys’ High School car park and begin painstaking process of learning first sequence of official Super League routine Ready To Go in ultra slow motion. Halfway through, Raelene asks for star sign, saying it will help her teach me better.
Learn “false hip roll” and get told I need to get something called “groove”. Record routine in notebook via stick figures and shorthand expressions including informative phrase, “Jump arms second hand knee swing arms pull knee throw together arms ball change elbows punch. “Discreetly ask Raelene if unitard
comes in more than one size. Raelene gives funny look and says yes. Attempt Ready To Go at real speed when rest of squad arrives at six. Notice everyone else has formed guard of honour while I am only up to second knee pull. Get big lecture from Mrs Ah about what a straight line is.“You call that a guard of honour?” the former school teacher yells. “It’s far too wide. And please remember to leave your unitards alone. No-one knows where your unitard is until you reach up to adjust it.” Squad embarks on rigorous three-hour training session according to strict itinerary faxed from Lyn Parker in Townsville. Woman on crutches called Simone arrives (official position: “troubleshooter”) and bawls out squad for messy sideline work. Stresses that cheerleaders must give way to football players in tunnel leading onto field. Cheerleader with short blonde hair mutters darkly about “boofmeisters”.
Raelene asks squad if anyone’s mums are available to sew logos onto caps. Someone says her Nana can do it. During break I ask Mrs Ah how important it is for cheerleaders to be good looking. “Well, they have to have their hair curled and fluffed up but our uniforms are unitards - not the naked look - and we have been told to wear the earth tones rather than bright reds for the make-up,” she replies. “They’re not out there to sexually excite the audience.” Mrs Ah says there is nothing stopping men from becoming cheerleaders. Says there used to be one bloke in the squad but he dropped out. Also notes that none of the girls is actually from the Canterbury-Bankstown area. Get home and attempt to re-create Ready To Go from stick figures and shorthand expressions. Fail shockingly but give cat big thrill.

Attributes of a Cheerleader Part IV: A Cheerleader is one who follows directions willingly.

Thursday March 20: Arrive for private tuition at Raelene’s house in Mascot. Learn second sequence of Ready To Go and lie on floor to practise exceedingly difficult move called “full body roll”, which requires torso to resemble toilet S-bend.
Raelene stops for cigarette break over coffee table covered in guides to crystals and assorted detoxicants. Says I might get less frustrated if I look on the experience as fun and invigorating. Also tells me not to hunch my shoulders forward so much in case there’s a television camera in my face. “It’s not so much a busty look as an open look,” she says, stressing that I am doing very well for a beginner. Says lots of the other girls had trouble with timing and speed of Ready To Go. This does not really cheer me up.

Attributes of a Cheerleader Part V: A Cheerleader is one who does not exploit her privileges.

Monday March 24: Ring Mrs Ah and ask if I can get hold of practice pompoms. Refrain from asking for extra large variety in order to make rest of self appear smaller and more in line with rest of squad.

Expectations: Each squad member will be expected to have their hair fully groomed.

Tuesday March 25: Drive 90 minutes to Raelene’s dance studio in Fairfield after getting lost in vast continent that is Sydney’s western suburbs. Practise with pompoms for first time at full squad rehearsal at Belmore Boys’ High and sag visibly under unaccustomed weight. Mrs Ah says if I touch my hair on the night she will kill me. Decide pompoms are sexy and make excellent swishing noises. Eavesdrop on cheerleading conversation about who’s been getting the most television coverage. Raelene reminds up-the-back grumblers that they have as much chance of being filmed as those up front. Says camera crews weave through the lines looking for good cheerleaders, remember.

Prerequisites: You will be required to purchase a training outfit, a travel uniform, mesh tights, navy bag, make-up (and) hair rollers.

Wednesday March 26: Attend full squad rehearsal at back oval of Belmore Sports Ground. Cheer squad is faced away from footballers training on oval next door for concentration reasons. Mrs Ah tests wind to determine best position for ghetto blaster. Tension builds after arrival of representative from Out There Productions - company in charge of producing Canterbury’s game day entertainment. Rep is concerned about messy finishes. “You think we want to look like poo if we can help it?” says same feisty cheerleader who calls footballers boofmeisters. Discuss which of four groups to join for sideline work and get invitation
from girl wearing Super Bitch T-shirt. Super Bitch demonstrates Canterbury chant then apologetically says “It’s a bit gay ...” Chat to mothers of cheerleaders waiting patiently on sidelines. “Are you going to write about how hard they work and how little they get paid?” says one. “Are you going to say how dedicated they are?” Perform Ready To Go and very nearly almost remember everything. Receive warm congratulations from Super Bitch and walk off feeling confident for first time. Get brought down to earth, however, by Out There Productions rep, who pulls me aside for not-very-quiet word. “You need a lot of practice,” he says. “Are you practising at home?” Narrowly avoid bursting into tears or swearing profusely by reminding self that official Super League Code of Ethics includes clauses a) “You must at all times show respect to your
instructors” and b) “offensive language will not be tolerated”. (Out There Productions rep later claims he was only joking.)

All Parents please note: Your daughter will be the successful applicant, NOT YOU, therefore it will not be necessary for you to attend classes or be Mary’s little helper on the day of the game. However, on these occasions, there will be an area for you to sit and wait patiently.

Thursday March 27: Send courier to pick up official blue and white cheerleading uniform and imagine they have made some mistake and sent only official cheerleading underwear. Unitard is size 12 - biggest they have and many sizes smaller than me. Try on in office toilets, observe in ceiling to floor mirror and cuss profusely. Super League Cheerleading Code of Ethics does not include “always show respect to one’s editor”, after all. Ring feminist mother for sympathy but get only incredulous innuendoes about betraying sisterhood. Explain joining squad is actually a subversive, ironic gesture. Mother then claims concern is purely for knee joints.

What’s In It For Me? Parent: Love of a sport as an informed spectator.

Good Friday, March 28: Have private pompom rehearsal in streaming midday sun in Raelene’s backyard and learn last few steps of routine beneath protesting Hills Hoist. Raelene says only thing stopping me from cheerleading success is negative attitude. I say: “Too right. At least I’m up the back so no-one will see
if I make a mistake”. Raelene narrowly avoids giving me big slap. Mind you, she muses, it’s only the blonde cheerleaders that seem to get media attention. Arrive home and show off routine in front of friends and one-year-old baby. Cause baby to scream in what looks very much like fear.

What’s In It For Me? The Cheerleader: Learning to realise limitations.

Sunday March 30: Perform near-seamless rendition of Ready To Go during full rehearsal at Australian Gymnastics Academy at Belmore. Receive no gushing praise but do get asked to teach dance to five new girls including two former Commonwealth Games rhythmic gymnasts. Decide I may become community leader of future after all. Joyful reverie is broken after fellow cheerleader points out that spongy gym floor is full of fleas. “That’s why we’re all covered in rashes,” she says.

There is no wage or salary connected with this sport, however, you will be given ..... (this amount is negotiated individually) per game to help meet your expenses.

Tuesday April 1: Lyn Parker puts squad through paces at Belmore Boys’ High in preparation for corporate media launch the following evening. “Cat walk, girls, cat walk,” she yells across echoing hall. “All the media
in the world will be there tomorrow night. I want you shaking and bouncing your way out.” Take break for quick rendition of Ready To Go then discover to horror it was last rehearsal before game on Sunday. Mrs Ah says don’t worry, I will be fine. Lyn Parker says just have fun. Raelene says wear brown eyeshadow.
Cheerleader called Alana says she will lend me hot rollers to help create “Dallas curls” for the big day. Have coronary. Stop having coronary to scratch flea bite.

At the end of the season at a Presentation Dinner, you will be presented with a Cheerleading Trophy and Certificate.

Sunday April 6: Wake near apoplectic with nerves to take phone call from croaky Alana who says she is sick, therefore can’t curl hair. Perform trembling renditions of routine in front of now exceedingly bored cat and drive to Belmore Sports Ground. Reflect that it seems like years not weeks since first rehearsal.
Wend way through seething footy fans to find dressing room where a dedicated mum is dishing out uniforms from cardboard boxes. Hysteria in toilets is overwhelming. Roller-wearing cheerleaders dodge piles of discarded clothing and call for emergency hair gel and bobby pins. One is in agitated state after running over pigeon on way to stadium.
Another had fight with brother before leaving home and is concerned about eyes being red. Hair extensions are pinned and eyelashes curled as heavy cloud of hairspray gathers above like indoor ozone layer. Feverish conversation includes random chat about boys and cars and much bitching about necessity to curl hair.
Change into unitard, pantyhose, tan fishnet stockings, white flop socks and white runners and put on make-up. “Natural colours but lots of it,” advises fellow cheergirl, assisting with eye shadow. Put on more make-up until face resembles that of heavily eyelined clown. Mrs Ah nods approvingly. Says I should wear it more often. Raelene and squad’s second choreographer, Nicole, try to decide what to do with my hair. “Pollyanna,” they say in unison, wrenching front section of fringe up in strange curving boof like crashing wave.
Raelene secures with several thousand combs and pins. Mrs Ah tells me again I will be just fine but says would I please stop letting my bra strap show. Relieve self for 10th time in 10 minutes. Simone makes last-minute changes to on-field positions. Says Super League doesn’t want us wearing our matching blue caps on the sidelines before half-time because they will squash our hair. Says we should wear them anyway so we don’t die of heat stroke. Become convinced rubberhandled pompoms will slip from sweaty grip and begin last-minute hysterical survey of all other cheerleaders to discover how this problem is overcome. “Zips up, girls!” Mrs Ah shouts. “All beautiful people walk this way.”
And suddenly we are in tunnel waiting to go on. Have time only for quick (legal) yank of unitard out of bum before we are running into impossibly bright sunlight of footy field. As promised by fellow cheerleaders, dance itself passes in pleasant, albeit extraordinarily hot, blur. I remember all the steps. I don’t touch my hair. I even refrain from fiddling with my unitard. The only problem is trying to smile with a mouth that is dry as dust. Two girls drop their pompoms but neither is me, and during guard of honour I shout “Wooooooo” with genuine enthusiasm as players run onto field.
Last installment of cheergirl experience is sidelines, where we are hassled by line of wall-to-wall dropkicks howling “show us ya pompoms” etc etc. Point out to rest of squad that nowhere does cheerleader code of ethics ban synchronised spitting and listen in on time-passing cheerleader conversation on movie Threesome and whether sleeping with someone spoils the friendship.
Game ticks slowly by. “The football is the worst part,” someone remarks as we are finally able to shake and bounce our way off. In cheerleader dressing room, I say my goodbyes and realise I will miss squad and maybe even Mrs Ah. Still, as I hand back costume and inspect lines round midriff from tight fishnets, I am very happy I have day job.
Day job that does not require unitard.