In 2007, Hoff and I had been together for four years, and my life bore very little resemblance to the one I’d been living before we met. It was then that I was offered a job as the internal events manager at a top-tier law firm based in Melbourne, and just as I was hitting my professional stride, so too was Hoff. Now well into the new season, the Melbourne Storm boys had shot out of the blocks and were enjoying another successful year.
Despite the fact that Queensland had already won the three-game series, the third game would still be played, in Brisbane. In my naivety, I had assumed they would just give it a miss, but no. Something about the revenue of 50,000 ticket sales, major advertising dollars and it being a major fixture on the state’s tourism calendar gave it enough gravitas to go ahead anyway.
“I do. And you’ve never been there, have you? You’ll love it. I can’t stand those Queenslanders, but they do know how to put on an Origin.”I’ll love it? Does he assume I’ll be coming to this game, too? I stopped and thought. I’d only been in my new job for one week and this would require me to ask for two days off.
I was attempting to keep it light, but what I meant was, this is not about you, it’s about me. My career. My work ethic. The standards that I set for myself. Unfortunately, it was this unusual focus that seemed the most difficult to understand. In this way, Hoff was a product of his work environment – an environment that focused on player performance, nothing else.
It felt like our situation was a depressing microcosm of society as a whole – how many other people had fought to be valued for pursuing something not considered important? How many other people – other women – had been heartily encouraged to follow their dreams, but only if they could still manage all their existing duties to uphold the status quo?
Oh dear, how uninteresting
She married a complete wanker, why should she damage her career?