This site will not be changing its name to Squashing Brisbane. Firstly, because I suspect my love for squash doesn’t run that deep and secondly because the Godzilla-esque connotations wouldn’t endear too many people – “hey mind, if I squash your city?”

I have had an immense week of sport – daily rides, two pre-season soccer sessions with the mighty Rovers, a pick-up game of indoor soccer and then, following a friend’s out-of-the-blue request, a hit of squash. My Dad played a bit of squash back in the day, so I knew the general score. What I had forgotten, however, was how beautiful, half-forgotten and downright strange squash centres are.

There is this intoxicating smell to indoor social sport venues. I think I detected traces of sweat, cleaning powder, some kind of glue and spilt Powerade. The fact such a large space, with six courts can even stay open makes the anti-bottom-line radical in me swoon. This is a place where economic rationalism is checked at the door. It’s where you put on your headband, lace up your Volleys and play like it’s 1987.

And then this got me thinking: hey there’s a grandstand behind this court, there’s a large white space in front of me that would be great to project upon, and they appear to be able to legally sell alcohol on the premises. What other logical conclusion could I come to? Roller racing on squash courts. Squash centres, the new bowls clubs.