Well it’s official. I am suffering a severe case of World Cup fever. Like most Australians I threw all my support behind the Socceroos and relished the fact that for the first time in my life I could see Australia play against the likes of Ronaldo and Ronaldhino, only to see them subjected to the umpiring skills of Ronald McDonald!
My obsession with the world game runs deep, even to the point where I have openly cried with pride. And I don’t cry a lot (except in Oprah makeover shows), in fact the only other time I’ve cried with as much pride was when I heard that I had three adult payers coming to see my comedy festival show on a Wednesday! Now that’s a Kleenex moment.
My friends think my fascination with soccer is a little extreme, especially considering I head to the FIFA website at least twenty times a day, have soccer posters plastered all through my house and I am the proud owner of the Les Murray biography appropriately titled ‘By The Balls’. But my love of the game goes back to the day I was born when my Italian parents managed to get their hands on a doll size Napoli jersey and I wore it for the first week of my life. So obviously on Tuesday June 27 my loyalties were sorely tested when Australia had to take on Italy in the round of 16.
Now as a self confessed wog-bogan with numerous wog- bogan cousins we were torn as to who to barrack for. I mean we were born in Australia but to change your soccer team is a gaolable offence in Italian families. It’s the equivalent to being born a Carlton supporter and then deciding to go for Collingwood! But after numerous emails and desperate phone calls my cousins and I decided we would forgo the temptation of the handsome ‘azzurri’ and barrack for the green and gold (and sometimes Navy) of the Socceroos. That’s right, we gave up the ‘wog’ and officially crossed over to being all ‘bogan’. And I certainly lived up to that boganess in the dying minutes of that game. I even went as far as to invent some swear words as we just don’t seem to have enough in our own vocabulary.
But don’t get me wrong I still identify strongly with being Italian, after all I am a performer (an explicitly Italian trait), and truthfully only two days after the World Cup match I found myself in the Italian consulate to apply for my passport as I’m heading over to Europe at the end of July. Even a bogan knows the benefits of dual citizenship.
I must admit I was a bit apprehensive going into the consulate and feared my overflowing Australian pride at such a disappointing outcome would take over and I’d start singing ‘Waltzing Matilda’ in the queue. But I bit my tongue and I waited patiently. I even decided to forgo my usual greeting of ‘g-day’ for a more appropriate ‘ciao’ to increase my chances of success, but in my head I sang ‘Advance Australia fair’.
Three hours later I got to the front of the queue. Italian’s make you stand in line to get a ticket to then stand in another line with the ticket! I have a theory that Italians aren’t passionate just extremely frustrated from standing in line all the time, in fact Totti only got that penalty due to years of pent up frustration from having to stand in a bank queue for the whole of his teenage years!
When I was asked by the elderly admin assistant (at least 110 years old) when I was heading to Italy I was very honest and said that I was actually heading to Edinburgh for the fringe festival and then finances pending I might go to Italy from there. He looked at me confused and then said in broken English ‘way you go dare, da food is sheat?’ (It’s always about food with the Italians.). All of a sudden I went from having Australian pride to finding my inner Scotsman and I wanted to scream, ‘that’s not true they have deep fried mars bars’, but I let it go.
That aside, it seemed I had all the relevant paperwork and things were going well until he asked me that dreaded question of which team I barracked for in the Australia/ Italy match. I knew I should lie to ensure getting my passport, but my bogan pride started churning and bubbling to the surface and then before I could stop it, it overflowed and I blurted out ‘Viva i Socceroos’, which means ‘long live the Socceroos’. His eyes said it all, and what they said was ‘oops your paperwork seems to have fallen into the paper shredder!’ As I saw my chances of two passports disappearing from view I started to back peddle (another Italian trait) and I quickly followed it up with ‘Oh but I’m going for Italy now, Viva Italia’.
So people I am now the proud owner of an Australian and an Italian passport and the whole of Europe is my oyster. As for going for the Italians for the rest of the World Cup, sorry but after that dive I have two words for you, ‘Viva Ukraine!’
For more on this comedian go to Tanya Losanno