ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
The Camelia Grove Hotel in the French Quarter is heaving with young men shouting “Ball!” at the television playing the VFL Grand Final every 4 to 6 minutes.
“Ball!” said one weak-chinned Victorian ex-pat.
Two of his mates nodded.
“Ball,” they said in unison – but softer.
Another young professional ordering pint of imported Melbourne Bitter at the bar turned away from the barmaid, looked at the television and said:
“Ball.”
The barmaid came back with his flat pint and looked up at the television.
“Ball!” she said.
Over by the door to the smoking pokies, near the ATM, another punter looked over his shoulder at the television.
“Woah, what a ball!”
More to come.
