A Concise History of All Things FNO.

In the drab brown days before the birth of the Internet, we kids, just trying to survive the mean streets of outer-suburban Templestowe, were forced to make our own fun. Basketball was a favourite pastime, and the sort of fun that didn’t require a television and some fancy $300 gaming console; just a ball, a hoop, and a fancy $300 pair of shoes. Preferably Nike Air; preferably Air Jordans, but alright Ahab, if you want to wear your Agassi Air Techs, just this once. Only, pass the bucket; those fluorescent colours are making me feel ill.


The best place for basketball was on the outdoor courts of Templestowe Primary. Many a day was wiled away poundin' the asphalt, sippin’ the pines, makin' jump shots or, when vandals bent the rings down far enough, runnin' our own NBA-style dunk comp. During daylight saving hours, we’d be back up after dinner to keep playing until the setting sun sent us home. But where we always knew the sun would be there the following day, the same could not be said of our basketball rings. One day they were there...


...and then, like a set of rings taken down as a part of the staged demolition of a primary school because the kiddies of the area don’t need books and pens and ABCs they need netball courts, they were gone.


And so, like a two-headed chicken without any heads, we had an outdoor court without any rings, and a court with no rings was of as much use to us as eight netball courts.

So a new game was needed. A new game for a new landscape. As fortune would have it, two objects that were never in short supply were empty Pepsi Max bottles and, thanks to Stickboy’s love of sticks, sticks. Who knows how these things first occur, but presumably one day Stickboy idly swiped at an empty bottle, sending it skittling across the ground and lo, the New Game was born. Everyone scurried off to find their own stick, goals were established, a loose set of rules was determined, and the game was on.



So we had our game. Now all we needed was a name.

Around that time there was a familiar figure down at the Sheahans Rd Basketball Stadium called Ray Smith. Ray was an excitable parent who could frequently be heard exclaiming, “My Oath!” from the sidelines. “Great pass that one! My Oath!” would be typical. Cobbies quickly adopted the expression as his own, and it wasn’t long before the rest of us joined in. “My Oath” quickly evolved into “My Oath Ray Smith” as a tribute to the man, and became a general exclamation of approval or emphasis, to be delivered regularly with enthusiasm and conviction.

And then, into this storm of oathing rolled a rumbling, fuel-guzzling, V8 Holden Caprice named ‘FNO’.


FNO’s name came from the letters on its number plate which, to us, sounded like shorthand for a common Australian phrase. (If you’re unsure of the phrase, it’s one where the O stands for ‘oath’ and the FN stands for… um, ‘frenchconnection-ing’.) See also: ‘kenoath’. Inspired by this patriotic car, “FNOath!” (pronounced Efen-oath) soon became the emphatic oath of choice. And when this new Aussie game’s namestorming session kicked off, the question was asked if really this wasn’t just hockey, to which the reply came, “Mate, this isn’t just hockey! This is FNOckey!”

And lo, the name came to be.

Unfortunately though, FNOckey was a game not long for this world. The council, concerned it might be possible to have fun without netball courts, sent in the marines and bulldozed the FNOckey strip to hell. As the eight netball courts crashed down around our ears, we scarpered off to a nearby area known as The Birdbath. A small and open bricked square in the shape of circle, with a mosaic in its centre and benches around its perimeter, The Birdbath, oddly enough, features no birdbath. Historians will tell you, however, that before the great Vandal invasion of Templestowe there was indeed a lovely birdbath there, and that after its senseless destruction the name lived on in memorial.

Who knows how these things first occur, but presumably one day someone idly kicked at an empty plastic bottle, sending it skittling under one of the opposing benches and lo, another New Game was born.



As this new game bore some resemblance to soccer and was mostly just a variation on a theme, it was called FNOccer. The rules of FNOccer have never been written down; only passed on by word of mouth from generation to… other members of this generation. I’ve just tried to write them down, and I’ve given up. I think it’s a job for someone else. Writing rules requires a fluency in Legalese that I do not possess. This post is getting too long anyway. Suffice to say, FNOccer is a highly exciting game of tension and drama that is poised to take the world by storm, and if you’ve ever up for a kick, I’ll explain the rules then.

The game has not been played with regularity for some time, but there are whispers of the establishment of an Annual Birdbath Cup, so stay tuned! Unfit, rapidly ageing men kicking around an empty plastic bottle will no doubt make for compelling reading!

UPDATE: It happened! It's The Birdbath World Cup 2007.

FURTHER READING
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Stolp
A Concise History of The Annual Christmas Slurpee Toss
A Concise History of Super Slurpee Demolition Competition
A Very Concise History of the Milk Run