Once upon a time there was this country where all the people were sports-mad. They loved their Soccer, their Rugby, their Cricket, their Golf, their Tennis, even their Basketball. They loved sports that were played in other countries, like Baseball, EPL and that funny game that their American cousins enjoyed so much with the big men in the funny helmets and the thousands of advertisements for viagra and beer. They even loved Netball and horse racing.
The sport that the fine citizens of this ancient country loved the most was, of course, their indigenous game, the one they all grew up calling Football. They loved this sport so much that for six months of the year they played it, watched it being played, read about it being played, jumped on the Internet and discussed it being played, talked about it at work and obsessed about it. They loved it so much that they even built great stadiums where they could gather together to worship it. They loved it so much that they formed a commission and charged it with the important task of improving their sport and making it even better.
This commission, in their wisdom, decided that what they really needed to do was protect this sport from all the other sports, all of which they thought were mean-spirited and jealous of their position. In this way, the voracious beast known as the AFL was born.
It wasn't long before all the other sports that competed with the beast were marginalised and reduced to side-shows. They stole their players, they drove them to the smaller stadiums, they banished them from the pages of the their daily newspapers. Soon, AFL was the only game in town. Almost. There was one exception. Only one.
The Melbourne Cup!
Yes, that famous old horse-race that stopped a nation. For four weeks, from the beast's Grand Final until the first Tuesday in November, the Melbourne Cup became the darling of this mythical country. The people wore their Sunday best on Saturdays and drank copious amounts of alcohol. They returned to the traditional form of gambling, betting on horses rather than on football games. They discussed horse-flesh and fashions instead of marks and hamstrings. For four weeks, AFL was barely in the newspapers.
The commission was a-flutter. What can we do to stop this ridiculous horse-race, they wondered? How can we reclaim our rightful place in the hearts and minds of the people?
Finally, in one glorious moment of divine inspiration, a nameless flunky at head office had his "a-ha" moment.
"A-ha" he said. " Let's extend Trade Week to four weeks and deal the fatal blow to that annoying horse-race.
And so it came to pass that the people, bored to the verge of insanity by this abomination, started making up all sorts of rumours and stories, just to pass the time of day while they waited for the next trade, should it ever come.