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.

I don't sit on no fence

This article was published on www.thebigtip.com.au on April 22, 2010

Mate. Think what’s expected of you, of your friends. What’s expected of you by your boss. Challenge those expectations. Man, you should challenge your own ideas about the world every day. Every day…

And so watchers of football do. We have no choice but to. The once solid foundations of our core belief system have been shattered by such random occurrences as Fremantle beating Geelong and Melbourne beating Adelaide. The majority of us can rest assured that our analyses and predictions, though seeming infallible and unbreakable when spoken, are lost in a cacophony of meaningless barroom chatter. Most of us are not accountable for our folly. Those that do publish their inner beliefs, that selflessly commit their thoughts to paper, stand as a target for ridicule, their brittle crediblity intact only until their next hypothesis is proven pathetically wrong.

But I don’t sit on no fence.

It’s how one reacts to the shattering of said belief systems that counts. How does a Fremantle supporter react to weekly match-of-the-round status and hard fought wins over last year’s premiers? Usually with a pompous strut around the office (or dock), much too much early talk of finals, and thoughts of new contract negotiations. Fremantle’s history of incredible underachievement and capitulation under pressure should have left it’s supporters with a morbid streak, but for some reason hasn’t. New messiah Mark Harvey would do well to put contract talks, and the Freo hype machine, on permanent hold until his team does something of substance, like play in a final. The response of Melbourne supporters is indicative of a group of people who know too well sustained periods of failure (46 years). The first response was to dust off the MCC card and jacket and tie, make an appearance at the ‘G, and live up to the stereotype. One commentator mentioned Melbourne fans turning up to Sunday’s game fashionably late. It wasn't fashion, just that the last time they went to the footy games started at 2 pm, not 1. (why do games start at 1?) For the hardcore Melbourne fans who have emotionally invested in the last three seasons of agony, there is a strange feeling of panic as the team seemingly stands on the brink of success. The solidarity felt by those supporters who went through the hard times together is suddenly fractured by returning (fairweather) supporters keen to bask in the sun. How does a person suddenly swap failure for success when said failure shaped his very self?

Fear of success is probably not that healthy. A good psychiatrist might suggest just packing it in and moving to Sydney. You can go to the movies and go shopping in Bondi on Saturday afternoons instead of going to the Royal Hotel and the MCG. According to Colonial/Telstra/Etihad stadium cheif Ian Collins “on Saturday afternoon people want to go shopping or the movies or watch their children play sport.” That’s why the MCG hardly has any games there at that time (9 out of a possible 22). The fact that the AFL makes more money from TV rights and people spend more money at night games has nothing to do with it. We’d all rather be down at Chaddy watching a flick with all the bogans. It’s the chicken and the egg. The AFL’s gross assumptions about its customer base are wearing thin, and claims that match attendances take priority over all other things are laughable and a little bit condescending.

So too are claims that Mum’s all over the nation dictate the future success of and participation in our sport (huge shout out to Mum!). A fact of human nature is that a great percentage of boys and young men enjoy aggressive and physical sports. It was not that long ago that generations of young men were involved in much more dangerous combative pursuits. With this in mind it would be good to see the constant god-playing and rule tinkering by administrators put on hold for a season, at least until their assumptions are backed up by solid market research.

As my year 8 school master once said in a moment of rare clarity: Never Assume. It makes an ass of u and me.

The writer of this article does go for Melbourne, did go to a private school, and is an MCC member. Does not, however, have a range rover, or work for a bank or as a lawyer. Cannot ski.

If patience is a virtue, too much patience is...

I write from afar. From very afar. Despite distance, the fortunes of my club resonate deep inside me, huge waves of pain maintaining momentum flowing recklessly across oceans. I know nothing of inner sanctums, post match reviews, warm downs, leadership groups or premiership windows. I don’t really want to. I watch from afar, disconnected, reveling in the purity of our relationship. I give faith, you give me hope. And occasional victory. On these terms we proceed, asking no more. I judge in simplistic terms. In the most simplistic terms. In concrete terms. I am patient because the alternative is burning fury and self loathing. I tolerated and came to terms with deliberate match losing and I am somehow comfortable, if not content, pinning my future happiness in the performance of a group of facial hair-less boys 10 years my junior. In most ways I am a reasonable, idiotically faithful supporter.

So, with credentials of reason and rationality in hand, with membership paid pre March and with no other expectations of my club, I ask a question: Why?

Coming from oblivion, answering a newspaper ad, beating a field of excellent candidates to get the job, there was a sense of the refreshing when Dean (who!?!?) Bailey was appointed to the Melbourne coaching position. He inherited an on and off field mess (no offence Rev, I yearn for your even years finals appearances), rolled up his sleeves, drafted a group of kids and by all reports is in the midst of a beautiful re generation of our sad old club which will one day achieve ludicrous, unimaginable success. Midst being the operative word. Because Bailey is in the midst, far from his objective. For his 22 brave faces, his reasoning of all wrongs, for the method behind each barely honourable loss, for his thousand bright sides and hundred new days, Dean Bailey has achieved, in my simple judgment, absolutely no success. Unless failure is success like last years game against Richmond. He may have a long term plan, and that long term plan may involve on field success, but until that plan is reality, he is still the obscure and crap coach of the worst team in the league. Might be the best bloke in the country but still...The team has finished last twice, has been destroyed regularly by many teams, has rarely shown the skill or aptitude to compete in the AFL and for that Mr Bailey has been given a contract extension.

So why should this coach be given an extension on his contract before the team has even played a real game? (they played a fake game and got duly flogged by powerhouse fremantle) Is he in demand in the marketplace? He was given three years as a show of patience at the very beginning. Is that not faith enough? It is highly possible that Melbourne will finish last again this year. If that happens, how can a club justify allowing the same coach to coach 3 wooden spoons and let him, no ask him, to coach a fourth season? How can they justify it to supporters whose expectations are so pathetically low that many of them would be happy to finish 14th? The simple answer is they can’t. I will stick by Dean Bailey for 11 rounds of this season, but until the team starts winning regular games his ‘achievements’ of player development are rubbish and a poor excuse for these poor times. Give me victory or tell your story walking... In no other way shall you be assessed.

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.

Robbing Melbourne to pay Tassie...Not likely

The AFL commission. The name is not as intimidating as it should be. There is definitely a need for a more menacing title. Perhaps something similar to the threatening names of totalitarian governments in times gone by. Those governments that siphoned the wealth of a nation into their own hands. Forgetting to redistribute it, they spent it, and blamed the people as the country declined into poverty.

Plans of national domination are first priority on the AFL agenda. The Sydney and Gold Coast teams seem mere formalities. Though one wonders why the Gold Coast license hasn’t been granted. An 18 team competition is a matter of time. The AFL’s plan is completely understandable and maybe necessary. The way they execute it needs to be examined. Australia is definitely a competitive sporting market and if the league wants to one day be the most popular sport all around the country it needs to start its investment now. But it is terms like market and investment that lead people to talk about the AFL like it is purely a business entity. It is clearly not.

People love to mention the term brand in reference to our game. Fans are consumers. Buying a product. One day the term club, conjuring up ideals of community and friendship, may be replaced by that dreaded American word franchise. Plenty of wealthy brands have entered hostile markets and succeeded. But the word brand connotes an item that is sold to people for their use. Something that they buy as a requirement or as a luxury. Sure, certain brands go beyond mere use and become emotional items. People do become attached and emotionally involved with brands. But the vast majority of brands just serve a purpose. Brands and consumers are not the same as a sport and its fans, and confusing them can lead to some big errors.

People in Sydney and Queensland have grown up with Rugby as their main sport. Assuming that in time that they will grow to love AFL is almost as insulting as assuming that with the same investment, the NRL could slowly convince us to love Rugby more than Aussie Rules. The AFL really has no solid precedent to support its investment in new territories. The Swans, after years of investment and pain, had their most successful period in the last 5 years. They still couldn’t draw more than 20,000 to a home final. Brisbane lost more than 2 million last year and their membership was similar to Melbourne’s in 2008. They just emerged from a period of unprecedented post-VFL success (on field). It is reasonable to suggest that investing in a football loyal state may be a better option than the high-risk investments in hostile territories.

Many forever-stepped-upon Tasmanians agree, and with all the talk of new AFL licenses around, Tasmania has put together a compelling case for consideration. Sadly, consideration is all they will ever get. The league will most likely never extend to more than 18 teams. A further two teams will already devalue the standard of the game. When the new Sydney team and Gold Coast team join the league, the only chance of Tasmania getting a team is to usurp a Melbourne team. (Relocate is a dirty word). The Tasmanian market is simply not lucrative enough to invest in. The population of the state is just 500, 000 and the team would have to play games in both cities. Attendances for Launceston games would need to grow considerably. That is not to mention the public relations battle the AFL would face. Most Victorians are probably quite supportive of the Tasmanian bid. Every Victorian club has had a legend from Tasmania, and at least a team there would be supported by genuine footy supporters. But a relocation would surely galvanise the Melbourne football public. Such hostility was shown by North Melbourne chief executive Eugene Arocca. The Roos and their members, like Melbourne members, have had just about enough of ‘footy supporters’ insisting on their clubs inevitable extinction. So when an ANZ banker (insert ‘w’ where appropriate) proposed that for a Tassie team to join either Melbourne or North would have to die Arocca took umbrage. Said banker forgot that North had 6 million lying in his bank. Promptly withdrawn.

North has already fought some tough battles, and after beating off the Gold Coast relocation they will be in Melbourne for a while yet. So will the Dees. For all the talk of teams moving one must remember that a lot of Melbourne clubs have fought the AFL to the death and won. Footscray, Richmond, StKilda, Hawthorn, North Melbourne and Melbourne (thanks Don Scott). Perhaps the AFL, sitting in piles of money, needs to join the dots. Most of its wealth comes from television. Television is watched by obsessed fans, not consumers. And those fans love a game produced by the clubs. Some socialist thinkers may argue that some, if not most, of the fortune in the AFL coffers rightfully belongs to the clubs. But builders of empires rarely think of their loyal subjects. It’s not likely the AFL will start now.