MUM'S in hospital. Dad's upstairs in the kitchen reading his papers. I'm in the backyard where I played cricket and footy and FA Cup finals. Mum had a stroke last week.
Her left arm hangs beneath the elbow and her left leg is affected but her speech and thinking are not. "I'm confident," she says of the future.
On Tuesday, I followed as she made her first attempt with a walking frame, a nurse at her side, left foot turned in.
She's 88. Dad's 93. This year, together, they picked 118 winners in the AFL home-and-away season, which would put them second to Rohan Connolly on The Age's tipping panel.
We talk footy quite a bit but we also talk other things like history — of the family, of the island, convict history with an Irish overlay, because that's family history, too.
And that leads to the great puzzle of what is lost when forebears are forgotten, in this case the old convicts, and the chain of antiquity broken. We talk politics a lot, too.
Mum's a farm girl. Listened to the Test matches played in England on the wireless with her father. Shot hawks when they threatened their chickens. Loved the place she was from, the green hills up behind Devonport on the north-west coast of Tasmania with their chocolate soil.
She drove like Gelignite Jack of rally fame when I was a kid on the west coast of Tasmania and there were eight of us in a station wagon, nine if Granny was there, at least one of the kids spewing every time we went through Hellyer Gorge.
There was a thick wall of native forest for most of the 100 kilometres from the north-west coast to Rosebery in those days. So much of it is gone now. Tree farms and plantations in their place.
I never expected to see that much change in my lifetime but my parents have seen that and a lot more.
My father remembers the time before electricity, before telephones, before wireless and television. He remembers as a kid being told fearful stories by cousins about the Tasmanian Tiger then at loose in the bush.
Dad's first footy memories are of Cleveland, the town team, struggling to get players in the years after World War I. Melbourne football, in so far as it appeared in the Tasmanian papers, was a set of scores.
Dad still prefers Tasmanian football. In fact, he's never been to an AFL or VFL game in his life.
For years I didn't think he barracked for an AFL club but in recent times, it's been noticeable that he has an affection for Sydney. That's because South Melbourne legend Laurie Nash played for the City club, now South Launceston. Dad's family was tied up with City. Nash went from there to become one of the fabled stars in the Bloods' 1933 premiership team.
Dad was 19 when the Swans won their first premiership for him. He was 91 when they won their second.
I call Sydney the Stranglers. He likes that. He quotes Eagles coach John Worsfold saying that if the Swans play inside the rules, they're entitled to do it. Dad says Worsfold is "fair in his opinions". Dad values fairness.
He told me midway through the year when the Geelong excitement was really starting to peak to watch the Swans. They're not out of it, he said. He saw Geelong crack last year and still doubts them. I listen to what Dad says about the game. After all, he's followed it for a long time.
My parents met in Hobart after the war. He was sick and would be for the next 15 years, having experienced malnutrition, cholera and malaria on the Burma railway. I think he married her smile. She's still got it.
Dad had been a good footballer, playing for North Hobart in 1936 when it was the best team in this island, but it was Mum who taught us to drop-kick. She goes for the Kangaroos, an affection she shares with Kevin the oil man.
I asked Mum this week, after her stroke, who her favourite players were and she identified them as Glenn Archer and "the little bloke who runs up and down a lot" — "Boomer" Harvey.
Mum's opinions on sport are not necessarily fair. She's never forgiven Carlton for what "dirty big Wes Lofts" did to Hawthorn full-forward Peter Hudson. That's nearly 40 years ago.
But then she hasn't forgiven the English cricket team for what Douglas Jardine did and the Bodyline series is nearly 80 years ago. Does she think the Kangaroos can win, I ask her? Oh, yes, she says. No doubt about it.
On Tuesday, I accompanied her to the gym when she began her rehab. We patted a balloon between us and kicked a soft rubber ball. Right foot, she gave a real jab. Left foot, she just smeared a contact on the ball.
That's one thing that's going to be different about this year's finals. Mum won't be able to get up and go to the other room if her team is losing.
