So many hard days at work this week: Monday, a day-off for Straya Day, then came the blase hungoverness of post-Australia Day, and THEN ... oh yes ... ohhh shit ... I got to meet Peter Fitzsimons.
Now, I've been trained well by Dad (real name John, fake name Bruce) and as soon as the Saturday paper arrives I turn straight to the back page of the Sports supplement for the Fitz Files. Fitzy is actually the epitome of everything a good bloke should be - funny, smart, a sportsnut AND he's married to Lisa Wilkinson who's one of my favourite Australian women (along with Ricki-Lee and Jeanie Little, of course).
He has such a presence. For one, he's HUGE. In photos people had to stand on boxes next to him just to reach his shoulder. And secondly, he is so charismatic - in an intelligent, not sleazy, way. He had the whole crowd guffawing with laughter at his self-deprecating jokes - myself included. He is actually the bomb.
He was about to leave, when I jumped up from my desk and ran over to introduce myself in the nick of time. To set the scene, I am a lowly Editorial Trainee and he is a Neanderthal-sized Ex-Wallaby who is very busy and important with heaps of cool people to see and clever things to write about. And yet, even though he was already taking off his tie getting ready to bail on us in the office, he stopped and gave me five minutes of his time. LEGEND.
He said he didn't have long to talk, but imparted this piece of wisdom; he said, in journalism you should never feel limited by what your job title is. Editor's always want good ideas, good stories and good writing and they don't care who it's coming from. So always try out new ideas, pipe up in meetings, show people your stuff - you've got nothing to lose. Hey, it worked for him and his wife.
Then he said if I ever wanted to meet his wife (um YES!) he could arrange it.
WOW McFRICKIN WOW. The wisdom...
And that my friends, is why I love Fitzy. Boom.
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