I grew up on a five-acre block in Beaconsfield, a parcel of inherited land that was inconveniently lumpy and swampy, but gave us plenty of space. There, my brother and I began to take our lanky shapes. I have lately wondered if our bodies didn’t grow rangy to accommodate the landscape. Inevitably we were introduced to Aussie Rules; it was a version of footy that fitted our paddocks perfectly. Even when we moved to a house on the edge of suburbia, the first thing we did was test out the backyard for our one-on-one matches. It had a 45-degree slope; it was nevertheless adequate for our needs, given that all we required was room to run and grass on which to hurl each other.