A naked truth about change rooms

THERE’S only one thing I hate about local footy. The postmatch.

No, I’m not scared of angry coaches after a loss. They don’t intimidate me at all.

I’m also not worried about being told to bugger off when I’m standing there in the corner watching a coach praise or rip shreds off his players.

But there is nothing more awkward than waiting to interview a coach while the players are starting to get changed.

Every coach is different. Some like to rip the Band-Aid off and get the post-game chat done quickly. They’re my favourite types.

You can walk up to them, give them the wink and two seconds later you’re standing outside picking the game to pieces.

Others like to go into their coaches’ meeting, talk to individual players and then have a chat.

So for me, that involves hanging around the change rooms until they are ready.

The problem is that coaches have so many things on their mind you can easily be forgotten. So the only way to keep their attention is to hang around the rooms so they can actually see you. But that’s where the problem begins. For those of you who haven’t been in a local footy change room … they’re small. Really small. And once the players start to hit the showers they become hot and sticky very quickly. The other problem? It quickly becomes an area full of butt cracks and, err, eggplant emojis. And the worst part is that there is no escaping it. If you want to stay in the coach’s eye then you’re in there for the long haul.

It means it’s just you and a whole heap of nude blokes walking around.

I get that it’s not awkward for the players. They’re around their mates and whatever.

For a stranger, though, there is no place worse.

I normally try to bury my head in my phone, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter and Facebook until I get a tap on the shoulder from the coach.

But I can’t help but feel that those players who don’t know me might think I’m some sort of weird pervert.

For those wondering — I’m not. And trust me, I’m hating my life standing there.

So next time you see me lurking around a local footy change room, please know I really don’t want to be there, but I have to.