The Finktank

Last night The Finktank attended the Johnny Warren Football Foundation Dinner in Lilyfield in Sydney's inner west, where the guest of honour was a late-arriving Tim Cahill.

The dress code was "lounge suit", but not being a suit-wearing kinda guy under any circumstances, I opted for a look of a cream linen jacket, white T-shirt and linen trousers. Miami Vice meets Somerset Maugham. Smart, inoffensive but enough to set me apart from the usual flood of grey suits and striped ties.

I thought I would quietly stand out. I was wrong.

In walked Jeff Fenech, dressed like he'd been fitted out by a couturier from the First French Empire. Black velvet. Oversized cuffs and collar. Three-quarter-length jacket. I'd seen photos of Fenech from social events before, mostly kitted out in gear from the Melbourne rag designer Ed Hardy, but this was loud even for him. And in a room of old men dressed like they were at an Italian funeral, it was very loud.

Not my bag, at all, but fair play to the guy. He wore it without a hint of unease and I don't think there was a person in the room who would have had the nerve to snicker. Even at 45, exuding that menacing veneer only former world boxing champions can hope to possess, he looks like he has the physical condition to still be slugging it out in the ring against fighters half his age.

And I guess if anyone should have the chutzpah to turn up to an event like the Johnny Warren Football Foundation Dinner dressed like Valmont from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, it's someone like Fenech. He's earned the right to be esoteric. On lesser mortals, he'd run the risk of not carrying it off.

It reminded me of the palaver that accompanied Harry Kewell's arrival at the Australian Football Awards in white shirt, skinny black tie and a grey cardigan buttoned right up to the top. Kewell is a good-looking bloke and he can virtually making anything look good, hence his lucrative deal with the Aussie fashion brand Politix, but the cardy did stretch the definition of smart-casual and there was tut-tutting in some quarters that he had disrespected the event by turning up having "dressed down".

In my view, though, it's a welcome thing that our sports stars are pushing the envelope a bit when it comes to their clobber.

In the United States, many sports stars, especially NBA basketballers, regard it as de rigueur to turn up to award ceremonies dressed like a pimp from an Oakland cathouse circa 1971.

Whether this approximates with "style" is open for debate but it brings some much-needed colour to what are otherwise dour affairs, creates a talking point and fuels the sales of women's magazines with their regular lists of the best- and worst-dressed celebrities.

In short, there's nothing wrong with a bit of showbiz, a bit of glitz, and that's what Australian sport events, relatively staid at the best of times, desperately need more of.

Long after the event is over, if people are still talking about what someone was wearing, in my view it's all good.

Even if they stick out like sore thumbs.


:: For more Fink musings on the big issues in football, check out Half-time Orange on The World Game.