Those sweet nights, those perfect games

The following article was published on thebigtip.com.au on April 30, 2010

He sat deep in the stands on a late winter night as waves of emotion overcame him. The field below, the scene of something scarcely believable just a few minutes earlier, was now devoid of life. Lights shining on emptiness. As families around him shuffled towards the exits, he finally sat down. The last few bars of the club song had drained his every last drop of energy. For a moment, suddenly, he needed to be alone, to block it all out. So he buried his head in his hands and cried. A few seconds later he lifted his head up, eyes red and tired. This was the line between pleasure and pain and it was all blurry. Around him people were confused. What happened? Isn’t this what you wanted? Was this not a scene of famous victory? The sort of victory you will remember for a lifetime but others will forget within weeks. Wasn’t being at games like this the reason you bought your membership? These weren’t tears of joy or pain but something unexplainable. Tears of pure emotion, pure exhaustion. They’d played their final series a month too early. Taken their supporters high then low then through sheer will dragged them back to the top again for a final glimpse. And that was it. Even heading into the finals everyone was exhausted. And they were gone the next week, and no one really remembers it.

HE sat in an internet cafe deep in a southern Chinese province and ate KFC and inhaled the smoke of cheap Chinese cigarettes. For 25 minutes he watched a slow line sneak across a screen symbolising events taking place half a world away. Finally the radio kicked in and a voice could give human life to something that didn’t feel quite real. They stayed with them for the first half, selling false hope to people who would never buy it again. Well maybe just a little bit. Half time was a reality check. This wasn’t gonna happen. Why would it? But he went back inside anyway and a kid nearly spat on his foot and it was on. They stayed with them in the third and the crowd lifted a little. Only the real supporters were still there during those dark times. The rest had their excuses. And the commentators sensed something. He could feel it too. Things were happening that didn’t usually happen. But someone so versed in disappointment didn’t fall in that easy. When they were still up with less than 10 minutes to go he reassessed, and hoped silently, treachorously, for some equilibrium. This didn’t need to happen. It wasn’t going to happen. The enemy kicked two in a minute and it was over. He threw the headphones at the screen. It was lacklustre rage at best like a poor actor in a poor movie. He just couldn’t summon it anymore. Not after this long. It even felt like relief. Then he picked up the headphones and listened again because he never left early, home or away. They had one last crack. Went forward. Marked. Goaled. The other team burst from the centre to snatch it back, but the backline was a flood. They held their nerve. Won it. He roared. Turned every head. Got up and walked back into those strange streets and it felt like it never happened because nobody else understood. And no one really remembers it.

Brad Green, Joel MacDonald, Melbourne Demons, celebrate, win, victoryIT was still warm in April and they took the train to the ‘g thinking, unbelievably, about 3 in a row. And it’s what they got. It was just one of those nights when every tackle sticks, when players are constanly bombing goals from 50 and umpires are paying easy frees. You lead at every change but the other team still has a sniff at three quarter time. Rather than shattering every nerve in every supporters body like before, this time you put the visitors to the torch and win by 8 goals. You don’t have a bad player on the field and the next day you can finally read the newspaper without avoiding your teams match report. Flags or finals or years of nothing these are the games you have to hold onto. You have to enjoy it. Or you’ll get nothing at all. Those sweet nights. Those perfect games.

In the bad times, those memories are what you have. What you have to remember, and what you have to look forward to. Essendon fans calling for Matthew Knights’ head might look back to last year and think about giving the guy a break. They did win a number of big games as underdogs against despised local rivals. Same gameplan, similar players. For clubs that are somehow living the opposite of Knights’ horror run (you know who I mean!), it’s time to enjoy the good times. Viewing a game and actually expecting, no demanding, to win is a wholly foreign concept and getting used to it should be one of life’s great pleasures. Ask Geelong supporters. Oh well not anymore.

Ode to the Natural Footballer

This article was published on www.thebigtip.com.au on 31 March, 2010

Detective Jimmy McNulty lies on the felt at his own wake and listens to a stream of derision delivered by his wise cracking and massively obese Sergeant Jay Landsman. Insubordinate, underhanded, over-confident and a gaping asshole that he is, Jimmy’s finished life as a cop is redeemed by one beautiful and undeniable truth. He was, agree his many enemies and few friends in the department, a ‘natural po-lice’, and if you were shot down in a Baltimore street you could do worse than have Jimmy on the case.

Just like, when a game gets close, you want the ball in the hands of the natural footballer. The best teams have a few, the worst teams may have none. They are the players that win games and flags and they play football in all parts of Australia, not just the AFL. Some of them are overweight and injured and apathetic, some are young and arrogant and drink too much and most of them don’t find there way into the ‘system’ and never reach their potential. Some of them don’t give a shit about footy but when they are on the field they have an instinct that no one else does.

The natural footballer rises when the game is at its most important and vital stage. James Hird did it many times, most memorably when he stole the ball from the ruck and kicked the winning goal after a week in media hell. In Gary Ablett and Joel Selwood, Geelong have got the two ultimate natural footballers. Ablett reserves his most menacing efforts for when his team needs him most. When the game is to be won, he always imposes himself. Selwood thrives on the hard ball, bows to no one, yearns for constant physical contact, makes the instinctual decisions one million training sessions cannot teach. When Geelong picked him no one in their wildest dreams could imagine he would become this good.

And by all accounts Fremantle has got a natural footballer in 33 possession first gamer Michael Barlow. How refreshing that a ‘mature age’ player (he is 22) gets drafted and slips straight into the AFL with instant impact. Obsessions with drafting teenagers and ‘developing’ them to fit the AFL mould means overlooking significant amounts of natural footballers. For every 17 year old boring super fit footy jock making the most of his limited ability to strive through the AFL system, there is a natural footballer kicking bananas from the boundary line before training, underrated and overlooked because he is a late developer or hasn't yet the required attitude or maturity to play AFL at 19. Many players develop late, both mentally and physically, and to assess the whole football population and their potential at 18 years of age is folly. The human interest stories of mature age players given a chance by gracious clubs are much too rare.

God knows that some teams need natural footballers, even if they debut at 22. Like Melbourne. These pages called into question the wisdom (or lack thereof) of re-signing coach Dean Bailey just a fortnight ago. (Note that the Melbourne football media has followed my lead) Melbourne’s performance on the weekend, comprehensive in its patheticness, has vindicated those doubts. There is simply no positivity to be found in such an astoundingly poor showing. After watching the Collingwood-Bulldogs game one could justifiably wonder if Melbourne belongs in the same league as the other 14 teams (sorry Richmond). As one journalist so skillfully summed up, there is a ‘ danger of creating a climate so completely geared towards a still-distant future that it forgives too easily the insipid dross’ of the present. The insipid dross is served up by a small group of high draft pick pimply teenagers, a significant portion of wanna be 22-25 year olds (Bate, Dunn, McDonald, Frawley, Jones, Petterd, Rivers, Warnock, Sylvia, Bartram, Bell) and senior players who have played finals under Daniher. Nearly all of the above mentioned have served under Bailey for more than 2 years, and have shown almost no improvement. (Note the age of a large amount of the Bulldogs best players are 22-25: eg. Cooney, Griffen, Higgins, Hill, Harbrow, Minson, Williams). Bailey will do well to talk himself out of the scrutiny he is about to face over the next few weeks. The only thing that will save him is a few decent performances over 4 quarters or a monstrous Richmond capitulation on the weekend. Note that winning the final quarter when the team is already 12 goals down does not count as a decent performance.

About the only performance as bad as that of the mighty Dees was that of the umpires. Accuse me of being an umpire hater if you wish but some of the decisions on the weekend were quite ridiculous. Most notable was the new sheperding rule. A player is not allowed to block another players run at the ball when the two are going for a mark. Imagine that a player makes a lead and his teammate kicks it too far and over his head. The leading player then backs backwards and his opponent crudely jumps on his shoulders. According to this new rule, the leading player has given away a free kick, as he obstructed his opponents run at the ball. There was a number of examples of this rule where every person watching and playing the game thought that the free had gone to one player but the umpire gave it to his opponent. Actually this happened a number of times in round one and will surely happen throughout the year. The insistence on paying free kicks at ruck duels is just as frustrating, as usually neither ruckman knows who will get the free kick as both of them have infringed equally. The enforcement of certain rules is much too pedantic and gives the players no leeway whatsoever. Paying a 50 metre penalty because one player is simply in the vicinity of the player who received the free kick is much too harsh (see the Gary Ablett Jr example). Umpires are winning no friends by acting like school teachers and yelling at players to constantly do what they are told (turn the microphones off!). Shaking hands with coaches pre-game (and having commentators make mention of it, obviously under AFL instructions) will not make much impact either.

A Bird in the hand thanks

I’m a Melbourne supporter. I’m similar to a Richmond supporter. Victory is a cruel novelty, sandwiched between weekly heartbreak and humiliation. I don't expect to win and I feel a strange guilt when we do. I and my fellow demon fans watch the football expecting pain. And that’s what we usually get. For Melbourne supporters, victory, like a stay of execution, is about relief. So like all humans suffering from long term pain, periods of respite, no matter how short, should be celebrated and enjoyed.


And so I feel the cruelty of humanity penetrate my true-beating heart as idle brains pursue the topic of ‘tanking’. The argument, quite simply, is that Melbourne should win one more game for the season and no more. To win two or more games would cost us a very high draft pick and most likely negatively affect our long term future. It is a reasonable argument. But sick. Melbourne are experiencing their biggest hot streak in 30 months. They have responded to the illness of their president and club legend with defiance and emotion. And victory. Finally they have given tired, hopeless supporters a glimmer of optimism. They may well go down to Kardinia with a swagger in their step and smash the Cats. But inevitably, the relief of a Melbourne supporter must be blackened by the pathetic pragmatism of the ‘long term future’ obsessed common man. Where, I ask you, does reason stop and romance begin? And for every person who has said in a time of frustration and despair: ‘live for today’. I ask, who has actually done so???.


Of course, most of the injustice of today’s world can be traced back to governing bodies that were not democratically elected. Bodies that pursue equality and provide eternal hope. Like the AFL. The priority draft pick system is honourable in theory but flawed in practice. It’s purpose is to assist the clubs that perform extremely badly, even though the draft already does this. In practice it rewards extreme failure and pathetic underacheivement. Some people would argue that it is even wrong for the bottom placed team to get the number one draft pick. That even this may be an incentive to lose and may lead to game-throwing. Most people would agree that the priority system will lead to, and has already led to, a form of game-throwing. The term game-throwing, or tanking, may conjure up images of Hanse Cronje and Indian bookmakers, but in the ever growing AFL dictionary, game throwing has morphed into a newer, honourable term, used ad nauseum in football circles: rebuilding.


Coaches don’t need to tell players to play poorly. They don’t need to have team meetings and talk about how to lose games. They can sleep soundly at night. Club leaders can face the media and sell the future, while ignoring the past. Play young players way before they are ready, to give them some experience. Play players out of position to test their versality. Drop older players because they may not be part of the team next year, even though they are part of the best 22 now. Make players have operations early, so they can start their preseason on time. All these tactics are logical and honourable. Clubs must look to the future. But whilst the result of these tactics may be losing games, the main reason for these tactics should never be to deliberately lose. At the moment it sometimes is. To create a situation where a club, let alone several clubs, gets a reward for losing, is, for want of a better phrase, a blight on the game. The draft system as it is now not only rewards failure but punishes success. Clubs like North Melbourne, Collingwood and Adelaide strive for the finals every year and, admirably, try to regenerate and be consistently successful, rather than rebuild at the first sign of poor form.


The priority draft pick system has been criticised for a long time, and no real changes have been made. It should have been abolished years ago. Clubs are fielding poor teams and happily losing games every year. The draft system also needs to be changed. Perhaps the ladder needs to be split into 4 groups, so the bottom placed team doesn’t automatically get the first pick. It may well get the 4th pick, depending on a draw. At the moment we have the laughable situation where Melbourne might have to try to lose to Fremantle at the MCG just to appease members who want an extra draft pick. For real Melbourne fans, the promise of a brilliant future will never excuse tanking against the pitiful Dockers. The lure of football lies in the possiblilty of a weekend victory. A weekend where a fan would prefer a loss is just not in the spirit of the game.