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I'm sure many, if not most of you, are used to the highlife and mixing with the glitterati. Me, I'm just a John Curtin High boy from the sixties, and seldom see any celebrity more important than the local dog catcher when she comes to complain about my wandering but elusive cats.
But last night was different. Last night I got an invitation to a BOX. Well, actually I didn't actually get the invitation. Apparently it was given to our club president,who kept very quiet about it until he realized it clashed with a family do he couldn't wriggle out of.
So our president bestowed it on a club sponsor, a former club president who doesn't have any friends (as is apparently the case with most ex club presidents, thats why they are ex).
So he asked me if I wanted to go.
I had no idea of what was expected of a former Curtin High boy in a BOX so I took the precaution of asking the ex pres of the dress code. Dunno, he said, smart casual is always good, he said.
Well, I like to think I'm both smart and casual at the best of times, but I got his drift, and decided to wear a coat and tie.
Bloody good thing I did!
When we arrived at gate 3 we were met by a very pleasant young man and his delightful girlfriend, who introduced himself as our host for the night, the local representative of a major sporting apparel supplier. Apparently we could not use their BOX for some mysterious reason, but would have to make do with the Western Force BOX.
Well, I didn't object to slumming it a little, and went with the flow up the stairs of the Johhny Walker Pavilion (or was it Max Walker? I don't know, it sounded like some soccer players name) where we walked up some stairs, down a corridor, and entered THE BOX.
We were the first ones there, in a large room (more properly described as a mini ballroom) populated by a platoon of smiling women carrying platters of finger foods in one hand and serviettes in the other. They descended on us like swarming bees and insisted that we consume their delightful offerings at a decidedly unhealthy rate.
Meanwhile, another cohort of these magnaminous bees began plying us with beer and wine.Astutely, I realized that it was not just draft beer, but that top shelf stuff like Becks was also available, so I settled on copious amounts of the German nectar.
While this was going on the BOX began to fill with the who's who of WA's rich, famous and photogenic.
Paul Omodei was there, chatting confidently with Bob Kucera. Julie Bishop found time to attend, so obviously rewarding school teachers is not a full time occupation. That great rugby enthusiast Graeme Moss was present, as was Peter O'Meara, Geoff Stooke , Judge Rob Viol, Canno, and a plethora of others of greater or lesser fame.
I sat in my little corner generously regale with Becks and prawn cocktails and just observed.
Eventually our host informed us that the game was about to start and led the ex pres and myself (and by this time there was a distinct wobble in our stride)to our balcony seats.
The 10 minutes or so before the kick of were glorious. There we were, 3 metres above the gold members, whose seating arrangements we had previously envied, cold full -strengh -beer -in -glass -container in hand, bums on padded seating, trying to casually catch the eye of everyone we knew amongst the plebs below.
And there were heaps of them. As they saw you you would oh so unpretentiously lift your glass container in the direction of their plastic cup, and bid them a pleasant evening, knowing full well what they were thinking, "what the hell are you turkeys doing up there?".
And then there was the game, what a fantastic display by the Force. But hey, you know all about that.
During the half time break there was more food,including cheese platters, fruit,and of course more and more beer.
After the game there was more beer as well as more cheese Italian Amaretti biscuits, coffee, chocolates, and of course, more beer.
After an hour or so of this (at least I think it was an hour, my memory is a little hazy as to exact details) I noticed that the Glitterati had departed, the smiling bees had vanished, and 2 grim looking men with mops and vacuum cleaners had entered the room.Whilst they didn't exactly say "piss off" (at least I don't think so...) the ex pres and I got the message, and meandered down the corridor, down the stairs and out of the stadium.
What a great night! How can people afford it? They must have really deep pockets.
Anyway, we staggered back to JBOreillys where we met up with Coach (on his pre wedding night) and his mate David, spoke gibberish for as long as it took to down two pints of beer and again get kicked out at closing time, caught a taxi, and went home.
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Was the wait worth it - Ya betta baby 
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Originally Posted by fulvio sammut
