The 1870s. Even though everyone looks super bored in photos, there were actually heaps of things going on. Like floggings, smallpox and making new friends, then killing those friends on the front lines of the Frontier Wars. Also, bushrangers! Australia was teeming with those bad boys of the bush, and frankly we’ve had a real cultural stiffy for them ever since. None more so than Ned Kelly.

In the 140 years since he carked it, Australia has put this bloke on an insanely high pedestal and spun him into a completely unwarranted frenzy. It appears our whole country is ablaze with unbalanced Ned Kelly addicts. We fell Akubra-over-heels in love with Ned’s ruggedness, audacity in the face of authority, but most crucially, with the headwear. However, I think it has all got way out of hand. This bloodlust for Ned has extended to all facets of society; it seems these days you can’t throw a goon sack without hitting someone telling you how fantastic Ned Kelly the bushranger was, be it at your local pub, club, or gynaecology appointment.

Yet, when I close my eyes and picture an Aussie outback bushranger like Ned, I see just another grubby white dude. A C-grade Johnny Depp impersonator who’s been left out in the sun for too long. A dropkick covered in rust. A man who instead of, I don’t know, helping his overworked and underpaid mum around the house with her eight children, got on his pony and caused a normal amount of nuisance for a dickhead of the time. Legend among men? I think not. A fitting 2022 Ned Kelly-esque equivalent would be that kid who tagged their name on a bus stop with a “cool S”, or that bloke who wolf-whistled at you with one hand on the wheel and another on his extra-large blue-flavoured slushy. If I saw Ned Kelly in a bar, I wouldn’t be tempted to shout him a cocktail, or shake his hand, or bow to him with pride. Nope. I’d probably be like: “Excuse me, bartender. There is a sad Irish man over there wearing a bucket on his head. Looks like he has eaten a dead possum and rubbed it all over himself, and I think he needs an Uber.”

I don’t really vibe on the whole Ned Kelly thing and I don’t think I ever will. This iconic figure of Australian mateship has taken up an F-ton of our cultural identity for far too long. Our hero is overdue for a glow-up and there are some tough questions we must all ask ourselves as a nation. Like, we all know that he might not have worn that bucket-hat twenty-four-sevsies, right? Also, who made it compulsory to make Ned Kelly cameo in every single Australian novel, poem, or painting ever? Not to mention Ned is tattooed on the lower backs of at least 30 per cent of our population by creed. But why? Get this, by my count Ned Kelly’s story has been told in more than 11 feature films, three miniseries, and two TV movies. I counted over 13 theatre productions inspired by this tinned-up weirdo. However, his highest honour was when he starred in the illustrious opening ceremony of our 2000 Olympic Games. An army of these bushranging freaks were chosen by the powers that be to represent visually how great we are as a nation.

This isn’t inspiring, it’s the stuff of nightmares. Get outta here, you agents of perverse nostalgia. Take your fire guns and go hang out with your best mate the Babadook! After all this carrying-on, who in god’s name consumed all of this Kelly-inspired content and asked, “Pwetty pwease sir, may I have some more”? Because it wasn’t me.

Everything about this normal guy has been taken out of context and blown up into a frenzy. Even his final words are overrated. “Such is life” is a phrase many believe was the last uttered by old dead Neddy. Many of whom have the slogan tattooed on their sick rigz. Cool choice.

However, much like in real life, what Ned Kelly actually said in death is slightly less impressive. The reality is, the content of his last words is uncertain; the only thing we do know for historical fact is depressingly on-brand for Ned. Turns out, on the day of his execution, the jail warden who was standing the closest to Ned at his hanging, wrote later in his secret diary that “Kelly opened his mouth and mumbled something that he couldn’t hear.” Talk about an anticlimax. But we couldn’t have a bunch of dudes with, “Hmm mumble grumble pfft” tattooed on their chest, now could we?