Power To The People

There's nothing flash about the foyer of the Broncos Leagues Club. It's welcoming, it's got a smattering of neon flair, but it's hardly extravagant. The setting is working-class and it's meant to be; this is the 'real' Australia that's supposed to represent us 110 undecided voters. It's 5.30pm in Red Hill, an inner city suburb of Brisbane that's roughly ten clicks across the river from Kevin Rudd's electorate of Griffith, and our small snapshot of the Australian voting public is filing into the venue before the people's forum, the second televised debate that marks the halfway point of the campaign trail.

Pulling up outside the club 30 minutes ago, it was the expected scene, with photos and slogans supporting the Prime Minister outnumbering those for Opposition Leader Tony Abbott ten-to-one. Probably a polite estimate and one that doesn't even count the amount of Labor-affirmative horn honking heard from passing motorists. But apart from a banner regarding sand mining on Fraser Island and some work rights threats for the future, there weren't many agendas being addressed in the streets. It was generally positive but all fairly subdued.

As we move forward to get our wristbands my spirits are immediately lifted when I gaze up at a huge photo of my childhood hero 'King' Wally Lewis. He's in attack mode and seems hungry to put points on the board; I imagine the two leaders will be looking to do the same shortly. For now, though, it's just the faithful that are making metres, moving through the doors swiftly to take the plum seats on the floor. However, most, like me, choose to sip post-mix and juice from tiny plastic cups before trays of quiches and muffins cause an intense scrimmage in front of the empty bar area.

Media and members of the general public mill about listlessly for the next 20 minutes, with everyone seeming a bit lost. There's a bloke in a high-vis shirt, a lady dressed like a mystic psychic and a few pairs of knee-length socks and sensible shoes shuffling about. I take a seat next to a bearded man in shorts who promptly falls asleep. Smartphones shoot snappy tweets into the ether, while the last of those muffins are snaffled by a couple of cameramen before show time.

To the right I spot Bill Glasson, the LNP candidate for Griffith, sitting in front of various national journalists. He seems somewhat smug, but is forced to feign a smile through gritted teeth once the Rudd family get comfortable in the same row. Then it kicks off. You hear it. It's not a roar; it's more of a shriek. It's a sound you'd associate with a pop star, not a politician. And although his popularity is far removed from the heights that were seen when he first took control of the country in 2007, there's no denying the love that Brisbane still feels for the Prime Minister. He goes by K-Rudd and this be his 'hood.

Through all the commotion no one really notices that Abbott's sauntered in also, sweeping in behind the cameras to shake hands with Sky News political editor and moderator David Speers, his gaze immediately focusing over Speers' shoulder at his opposition. While all this takes place, cameras whir non-stop. It's announced that Rudd has won the toss, Abbott shoots a wink to a clearly smitten Glasson and so it begins.

If you followed the Twitter worm for the first televised debate from the National Press Club in Canberra you would've been led to believe that the PM walked away the victor. But the social website is known to pull left. All other media outlets called the result in the favour of Abbott, and considering K-Rudd was scrambling at notes like a nervous high schooler, it was a fair assessment.

This time, Rudd's on the offensive immediately. He's dropped a “Brissie” in by the first minute and is up in Abbott's grill throughout his opening speech, striding towards him with every challenging statement. He's left the cheat sheets at home and wheels out all sorts of new hand gestures as he sweeps, waves and points his policies home.

As members of the public question the two party leaders on everything from paid parental leave to same-sex marriage, the pair verbally joust, trading subtle (Rudd: “Mr Abbott seems to be suffering from just a little bit of amnesia”) and not so subtle (Abbott: “Does this guy ever shut up?”) barbs, the latter eliciting the biggest response of night. When Abbott claims there's a “trust deficit”, Rudd gives a bored sniff and looks away. The Labor leader looks far happier when Abbott delivers a cringe-worthy “cut cut cut, build build build, jobs jobs jobs” monologue.

They both have their moments of glory and obvious stumblings. Abbott – cutting a lean figure in a sharp navy suit – is considered with his answers, but also cagey when pressed for additional information on potential job and funding cuts. Rudd, meanwhile, has unbridled passion, but he's behind in the opinion polls and it's clear he doesn't like it. By the end of the debate, he's the only man to have cracked his water bottle.

Later this evening all corners of the media will proclaim this as a “feisty” debate, which it is, if compared to the first stale head-to-head that took place in the nation's capital a few weeks ago. Overall, though, it was still tame – a trademark of contemporary Australian politics. There have probably been more lively bingo nights held in this room. And while we still try and dot the numbers from all the figures thrown out over the last hour, the two men assume their expected positions: K-Rudd posing in selfies, Abbott face-to-face with an attractive blonde. Now this could get entertaining.