“The ladies looked at me as though I’d gone nuts. “Sam Kerr?” said their pleasant spokesperson. “She’s got a life too, you know. She’ll be back in Chelsea earning a living,'” writes columnist ROBERT MACKLIN. 

REGULAR readers might recall a column a couple of months ago when I speculated that someone from our Aboriginal community would become the focus of the great movement to complete our Australian Constitution with the inclusion of our continental forebears… and incidentally, the Voice.

Surely, I thought, cometh the hour, cometh the person. Not the man like, say, the talented but divisive Noel Pearson or Stan Grant. In fact, it seems Stan has made a major sacrifice and left the public scene for the duration; while Noel has traded his critical whiplash for the natural gentility that first brought him to national attention. Well, that’s what good blokes do.

At the time, I thought maybe Ash Barty or Cathy Freeman might come to the fore, perhaps with an elder such as the wonderful Pat Turner and/or Evonne Goolagong to gather the Boomers to the cause. 

It never occurred to me that Sam Kerr might come zooming in from Chelsea to light a fuse under the Matildas in the biggest women’s event the world has yet seen… and to do it in my dear old hometown of Brisbane. 

But as they prepared to square off against Ireland, the idea began to take root. After all, she’s probably the best striker in the world, a hero in the making. 

But then suddenly she was blasted out of the match by her strained calf muscle…at training, for goodness sake. Is coach Gustavsson crazy? If they hadn’t trained enough to beat the colleens the day before the match, he’s not worth a Swedish sausage, let alone the small fortune they’re paying him to get them all on the field in tiptop form.

Anyway, we beat them with a penalty; only learn that Sam’s calf was so crook that she wouldn’t be lining up against the Nigerians. Oh well, I thought, they’re a good way below our world rating, so Sam’s ripper little understudy,  Mary Fowler, will take us through to the next round.

Enter Mr Gustavsson stage left with another Swedish training session and Mary’s out, the team is unbalanced and down we went. But not for long. Those four goals against the Canadians sent us straight to the round of 16, where Sam was going to star. 

And then… well, I guess it’s up to the “Yes” case organisers to recruit her to their team.

In fact, that was my earnest suggestion when I met up with a group of six local ladies spreading the “Yes” word at the entrance to the Moruya Markets. 

They looked at me as though I’d gone nuts. “Sam Kerr?” said their pleasant spokesperson. “She’s got a life too, you know. She’ll be back in Chelsea earning a living.”

“Yes, but…”

“Give the girl a break. We really don’t need her anyway. This is one for us.”

That’s when I noticed that none of them looked even slightly of Aboriginal ancestry; and, neither, of course, is Sam whose dad came from India, her mum from Fremantle. 

The Moruya ladies were friends and neighbours who had responded to a general call from the “Yes” folk and they were loving it. They had a bunch of pamphlets, some regulation clipboards, and biros for signing your name.  

The organisers had given them some broad guidelines, but basically they just spread the word, and already they were optimistic about the result. “We can do this, you know,” they said.

“Sure,” I thought. “Give the girl a break. This is one for us.”

Just a tick in the box and our constitution is complete. Absolutely no training session required.

robert@robertmacklin.com