The bogan knows that Riverdance, that ridiculous slice of mid-90s faux-multiculturalism that involved people awkwardly linking arms and bouncing to fiddles which was embraced heartily by bogans for about a decade, is crap. About five years after the world cottoned on to the inherent lameness of Michael Flatley and Michael Flatley’s hair, however, the bogan began to realise that it was no longer cool to pretend to like Irish dancing.
The bogan also knows that it is Doing It Tough. Despite offering lip service to fiscal austerity, the bogan is congenitally incapable of foregoing anything today in order to afford something tomorrow. And while Tony Abbott and Tracy Grimshaw keep telling it that interest rates are too high and utility bills are unbearable, its food budget remains under threat. Eventually, when it is out of money, while demanding ever greater subsidies, ever cheaper credit and ever stupider television shows on ever larger televisions, it must forego things for which there is no offer of instant finance; like live music and performances.
However, there is one marketing tool at the disposal of the entertainment industry that is a rolled-gold guarantee of luring bogan bucks away from the latest piece of cultural wallpaper to be resurrected as a song and dance spectacular, and to a different recycled bogan cultural phenomenon; The Farewell Tour or, as we call it, the entertainment equivalent of the “Limited Edition Shane Warne’s 253rd Wicket Print”.
The bogan, faced with the limited edition farewell tour is stung into maxtreme action by the mere mention of not having the future option of buying something that it does not need. The Eagles are only going to tour again when hell freezes over?! Goddammit, let’s get the limited edition $560 platinum seats!
This method is so effective that the bogan, Pavlovian marionette that it is, can be lured into purchasing tickets to multiple farewell tours by the same artist. Hence, Riverdance. Despite the fact that the bogan once grew weary of it, the very fact that this is The Last Time the bogan can ever see a bunch of anonymous people bouncing in green tights means it will fork out exorbitant sums to see it. This applies equally to John Farnham, Hey Hey It’s Saturday and, speaking of puppets, David Fucking Strassman.
While Hey, Hey has its roots in faux 1980s nostalgia, Strassman is the only ventriloquist the bogan will tolerate. Because his puppets swore. While this was risqué in 1989, today, the bogan has its own litany of profanity, and needs no help from a stuffed toy. Yet, Ted E. Bear is having a farewell tour, in the only country that still gives a shit. Bogans will flock.