He called me a poof, so I blew him a kiss

This link takes you to my football fiction blog. It’s not been about football fiction for a while (it will again). Its more about football writing and more recently the 2012 European Championships. It illustrates my version of what I want to see in, football writing, humour, observation, (hopefully) some intelligence and less concern about the facts – the stuff I can’t remember. We shouldn’t take it so seriously.

The material is also being posted every day on the footy almanac

Stilts The lush literary journal which published my work is run by former, very bright students of QUT. It’s attracting all sorts of attention and quality local writers. Mainly because its brilliant. You can buy a copy here. They are currently looking for submissions for the next issue.

They were good enough to publish one of my stories in the current issues. It goes a little something like this…

Rough Game
by Lee Hugh McGowan

He called me a poof, so I blew him a kiss.

No. It was what happened in between that landed me in here. And you can put that down to too much arse and not enough smart. Shit, these boys take their sport seriously.It started with the book really.

The big lad was walking past me. On the way to the Jacks. He slowed at my table. I saw him mouth the title. ‘Sheilas’, ‘Wogs’ and ‘Poofters’. Whispering to himself, like English was his second language. I marked the page with my ticket and sipped my beer.Yep. That’s what it’s called. It’s a history of Australian football. The boy who wrote it, Johnny Warren, championed the game’s cause here. Course, the title’s fuckin (sorry) lost on this lad wearing a waxy Akubra over matching jogging pants and sweatshirt in a country hotel bar. Hey, that nips.
read more>…

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