underdogged

I’d write more, but I have been far too busy trying to cover myself with both my fever-drenched arms in a desperate and futile attempt to stave off the shivers.

Yes, I am ill. Again.

But last Sunday, I was privy to laying back and watching the Australian Open final coverage, which seemed to revolve around one Marcos Baghdatis and his fairy tale scurry into the Grand Slam final.

And he did very, very well to do so. Good for him. All it takes is one Grand Slam final appearance to basically set you up for a while, and the extra boon for being a huge underdog makes you the darling of Australia for two whole seconds before we start raving about how fuckin’ awesome Thorpie is and how our cricket team are like gods.

But Australians’ love an underdog*, I’m told.

You see, the idea that someone unheard of can stand up, stare in the face of the glorious powers that be and giggle their arse off is one we love to hear about.

The way that everyone raved about the Giant Slayer Baghdatis and how they love underdog stories, you’d think that Roger Federer has never been an underdog before, that he just waltz onto a court one day, hit a few balls and before he could say “What the…?” he was world number one.

And that’s the issue I have with Australia’s mania for a fairytale underdog story. What if, say, Baghdatis won the Australian Open. And after that he won another few more titles? He returns to Melbourne to defend his crown, only to have a young kid with a mosquito net and rope sandals staring at him in the Slam final… the audience has turned on him, when he was their hero only a year before.

He slaved away at his game, trying to improve it, but… no one is supporting him anymore. Everyone is cheering on this dusty little twerp who managed to claw his way through the finals with nothing but the shirt on his back and a bug catcher.

This whole Love for the Underdog bullshit has turned us Australians into a bunch of bandwagon jumpers, hopping from one fad to the next.

Heaven forbid that we applauded anything for being the best for a certain period of time. Hell, our nature of cutting down the tallest poppy doesn’t really inspire me to be the best at something.

Because, you know, if something is good or popular, it has to be shit.

* unless the underdog is from England, New Zealand or the United States. Or if they’re from New Zealand, we’ll claim them as our own.