The simple things in life are often the best

I’ve always known Tasmanians – and Tasmania – are misunderstood by the wider Australian population.

And after a couple of days in the press box above Blundstone Arena in Hobart, I have the proof.

“Oh, wow, have you tried the cherries?” asks the broadsheet journalist of no-one in particular. “And the salmon. Real food. Great produce. Wonderful.”

Well, it’s fairly standard, really.

See that big blue thing out there – the ocean. It’s packed full of fish.

And cherry trees? Everywhere. Grow like weeds down the Huon. Just another introduced species some would argue is taking up space that should be reserved for majestic King Billy or Huon Pine, both endemic species envied the world over.

“Great view from the box here,” says the radio guy a short time later. “You can see all the way to Antarctica.”

I agree, the view south to Bruny Island and the D’entrecastreaux Channel is stunning, but Antarctica? That’s impossible. We’re in a period of post-Columbus thinking, mate. This thing we’re all riding through the Milky Way… it’s vaguely spherical. You can’t actually see past the horizon, and even if you could your eyes aren’t good enough to pick out the fielder at deep point, let alone the polar pack ice.

Then, via Twitter, tabloid jerk @KnowItAll chimes in from the comfort of his mainland sofa with yet another sizzling example of his place at the vanguard of grassroots cricket promotion.

“Hardly anyone there for the Test. Disgraceful Hobart. Send the next match to Wagga if those two-headed jokers won’t turn out.”

Thanks, jerkface. Consider yourself struck from the Tasmanian government’s Christmas card list.

Then consider this.

More than 6000 people turned out for Day 1 of the Sri Lanka Test match on Friday. In isolation, that is a small number, but in context it appears less troubling than you would have Joe Public believe. In fact, I would argue it’s not all that bad.

And in the interests of confirming my view – and my pro-Tasmania bias – I have chosen to use Brisbane as the basis for the following comparison.

Brisbane, you see, is the home of one of the most vile acts of anti-Tasmanianism ever seen. This is the mainland city that insolently scrubbed the island state from its 1982 Commonwealth Games logo.

Did they?

They did.

How very dare they.

Exactly!

Remember, still waters run deep. Just because the majority of the Tasmanian population isn’t necessarily aware of the aforementioned snub doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be extraordinarily upset if they were.

But, back to the issue at hand – Tasmania’s perceived snub of the first Test against Sri Lanka.

Hobart has a population of approximately 210,000, meaning the 6220 that arrived at Blundstone Arena on Friday represents approximately three per cent of the local population.

For Brisbane (also @KnowItAll’s home town) to replicate this proportion, a shade more than 60,000 spectators would need to have filed through the Gabba turnstiles on Day 1 of the summer.

And that clearly didn’t happen, even despite the fact the Brisbane Test was pitting two of the game’s best teams against each other – and not the relative dud drawcard of Sri Lanka.

What do you say to that, @KnowItAll?

“Hardly anyone there for Ponting’s lap of honour. Shit effort. Give Canberra a Test.”

You know what, you might be on to something there.

The Ponting lap of honour was a shit effort and I don’t blame any Tasmanian for not turning out especially to see it.

Nor would Ponting.

I don’t believe for a minute he wants to be remembered perched in the back of a sponsor’s ute, looking somewhat uncomfortable about all the fuss.

Had the man walked out in white for the match – regardless of form (or even possible failure) – and I’ve no doubt it would have been a different scene on the hill at Bellerive on Friday, but being a man of strong convictions, he’d chosen to call it early.

He wanted no sentimental swansong, clearly.

So, why pay significant overs to make your lasting memory of the man a fleeting glimpse and glowing praise from some Channel 9 chump with a microphone? It’s just not how a Tasmanian mind works.

Hell, you’ll be able to walk up for free during a Shield match if you want another taste of the main man in action.

And then you’re likely to see him amongst the runs so you can walk away with images of cuts and pulls and drives in mind – all that good, simple fare people seem to forget came well before send-offs were in vogue.

We know we produce the goods below 42 degrees south – be it salmon or stone fruit or cricketing superstars.

You don’t have to remind us, no matter how much you enjoy what we're lucky enough to take for granted.