The Once A Year Day

To anyone other than those living under a massive layer of subterranean rock, it is no secret that on Boxing Day, the Melbourne Cricket Ground holds special significance in the sporting calendar. This particular moment in the Australian summer isn't just about a Test match and the potential battle between leather and willow. This day is about fundamental rituals: meeting friends and family members, eating leftover Christmas cake, and more than often, the gallant and usually successful attempts to smuggle huge inflatable beach-balls past security checkpoints. This day is about fun with a capital F, and according to those streaming through the turnstiles, if the cricket happens to be worthwhile, it's a bonus.

As the Australia and Pakistan teams lined up for another tradition; the playing of the respective national anthems, it was evident that the crowd fun-factor had already bypassed the "fair to middling" range and was aiming for "high to alarming". The fans had come suitably prepared, with the obvious fashion trend revolving around that jolly fat fellow from the North Pole.

From the towering recesses of the Great Southern Stand through to the newly constructed Ponsford one, it was a sea of fake fur-lined Santa hats, red-and-white T-shirts, and sparkling shining-in-the-sun tinsel. For some, the costumery and prevailing climatic conditions were not exactly compatible. "I've had to ditch the tinsel early," said Nicole from Sydney, as she displayed the glittering remnants of the season now residing in her backpack. "I had it wrapped around my wrists, but it was just too hot and itchy. But hey, the intention was there, so I get an A for effort."

Honours for outfit of the day, however, were never in doubt. Behind the city-end sightscreen, one man had departed from the predominating theme. Dressed in a female school-crossing-attendant's uniform, complete with fluorescent orange stripe, stop sign, and ear-piercingly effective whistle, he directed the traffic between overs. And he did it with ear-piercingly effective aplomb. "That pretty much says it all," commented Fiona from the Melbourne suburb of Heidelberg West. "It isn't a true Australian sports gathering if there isn't a bloke in drag."

And, according to a more recent tradition, apparently it isn't a a true Australian sports gathering without a foot race in the name of charity. At the lunchbreak, the former Aussie Rules football star Billy Brownless lined up against comedian Russell Gilbert, and Sharon Strezlecki (the netball-loving character created by Magda Szubanski in the hit TV series Kath and Kim). When Shazza ran, or rather waddled, through the finishing tape and straight into the arms of her idol Shane Warne, even those dwelling under that much-maligned rock knew this athletics event was about as solemn and intellectual as Anna Nicole Smith at an awards night.

The frivolity continued at the tea interval. Golfers Richard Green, Paul Sheehan and Geoff Ogilvy pitted their skills against past cricket greats Ian Healy, Dean Jones and Tony Greig in a "nearest the pin" competition. The crowd, now way past "high" on the fun factor, and dangerously close to the "beer-drinking-all-day sitting-in-the-sun-all-day laughing-at-anything-all-day" mark, cheered when local hero Jonesey won the tussle on his final attempt. In the Members' section, however, some fans seemed less than amused. "I'm all for good humour and good times," said Ralph from South Yarra. "But this is supposed to be cricket, not a circus. There's a time for fun and a time for sport, and I don't believe the two should mix."

Of course, again for the benefit of anyone still experiencing life under those layers of impenetrable stone, there are other Boxing Day Test traditions, arguably the most prestigious of which is the delivery of the sports-based witticism; the pithy and/or ironic saying that has been nurtured, edited and rehearsed by the faithful for 12 months, only to be brought out of literary mothballs on the first day of the game. Today's award had many contenders. There was the straw-hat-wearing, yellow T-shirt-clad group with their eloquent but unprintable "sonnet to Inzamam-ul-Haq". There was the elderly woman in the second upper tier of the Great Southern who, at an astonishing decibel level, and with no hint of sarcasm whatsoever, offered a bowlful of Christmas pudding, complete with King Island cream, to Michael Clarke as he fielded in the slips.

But today's outright winner was a teenager sitting on the last row of the Ponsford Stand. As he looked towards the MCG's construction site, including the gap which provides a wide-angled and unobstructed view of the trees, streets, and traffic beyond this famous venue, he placed hands on hips and exclaimed: "They're not redeveloping the 'G', they're just moving the hole." Perhaps even the under-rock dwellers would have found that one amusing.