Bloodsports

I don't know if it's because I read Death In The Afternoon when I was a young bloke or some other reason, but I've always had a bit of a soft spot for bloodsports. Let's face it; fifty gazillion bloodthirsty peasants can't be wrong. Angry cattle with big horns getting poked with sharp sticks before some guy with a sword stabs them to death? Bring it on! Cockfights in Indonesia? Yay! Badger baiting in New England? Woohoo! Dogfights in Mount Druitt? Yippee! Quail fighting in Afghanistan? Meh.

With this in mind, I have created my very own Australian Native Animal bloodsport - fish fighting.

A while ago, the Young Bloke and I went to Roma for some liver abuse. On the Sunday morning we were staggering around waiting for the blood alcohol levels to drop sufficiently for the drive home when we spied an open Mitre 10. Every Aussie boy loves a hardware so we wandered in. Roma Mitre 10 is not only a hardware, it also has a little nursery and a pet store. Young Bloke expressed a desire for an indoor plant so we had a look around the nursery bit. One thing led to another and I bought a couple of standard ficus's, a couple of peace lilies and a couple of different philodendrons. As well as a little outdoor setting thingy and a fountain/water feature. I think I must have been channeling Jamie Durie. It's o.k. though fellow blokes, I also bought hand tools, power tools and a knife. The Young Bloke didn't buy a plant, but he did buy me a Barcoo Grunter, which is a fish native to the area North West of Roma.

The Barcoo Grunter is the world's most reclusive fish. He's got a little cubby house made of a rock and a bit of broken terracotta pot and the only time he comes out is when you poke him in the tail. He's getting used to that, too; he only moves a couple of inches and then he backs in again.

Yesterday afternoon, the Young Bloke accidentally caught a little Yellowbelly in a yabbie trap and brought it up for the Barcoo Grunter to play with. In a startling discovery, it turns out that the Barcoo Grunter is a territorial little beastie and has been giving the (larger) yellowbelly something of a towelling ever since.

I might have to declare a winner and chuck the yellowbelly back in the river. No wonder they call them yellowbellies.