CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT
As a bigger than average bloke, Betoota Heights-based club physio Matt ‘Mucka’ Marsden (38) understands that he carries certain responsibilities within society.
One, he’s usually the guy that the girls in his social circle approach when someone is being a sleaze at the bar – a task he enjoys taking the reins on as a former golden glove.
He’s also bound by the law to help old ladies at the supermarket reach the powdered milk on the top shelf.
But there is one unwritten rule that really does give him the heebee jeebees. And it’s forced upon him every time he catches a flight.
At 6 foot 6, it almost goes without saying that Mucka is getting upgraded to an exit row every time he checks in a bag. It’s a gift and a curse.
He obviously loves the leg room, and the likelihood of a spare seat next to him. But there’s a lot that comes with this privilege.
On a REX plane from Betoota to Adelaide today, this ancient duty was once against bestowed on him by a chirpy airline host named Justine.
“Heeeeyyy guys” says Justine, as she unveils the famous laminated emergency instructions.
“Now obviously, you guys have been assigned an exit row today, have you sat here before”
Mucka, and the 5 other big units lined up next to him nod stoically.
“Okay well then you would know that in the extremely rare circumstance of an emergency evacuation, the survival of this entire plane of your countrymen and women will come down to you”
“You are the fit, noble warriors chosen for this task”
“Your ancestry is a mixture of the high-born Anatolian and Luwians. Your legs are made of steel springs. Your arms, levers smithed by Ares himself.”
“That red handle there. That is your handle. When advised. You will pull that handle.”
“Do you have what it takes. Are you cut from the right cloth? Cometh the hour, Cometh the man”
“Will you stand up and save us!? Are you a hero?”
“Or will you wilt like fucking pussies?”
The big units cheers. Their blood runs hot. Their deepest, darkest fears are masked by the honour of this appointment.
“Hundred percent” says Mucka, with a wink.
