The following article was published on thebigtip.com.au on 7 May 2010
“Gambling is an issue for sport worldwide, and that is why we take it so seriously.” Adrian Anderson
We bloody well should. Where government, church and community fails, there is our great social leader, the AFL. The moral compass of good and bad. Brutal judge of anti-social behaviour and shameless self promoter of goodness all around. The AFL has done some great things for social progress over the years and should be commended. This Friday’s field of women is a good example. The leagues extremely harsh reaction to AFL or club staff betting on games is also reasonable, considering what betting has done to other sports. Gambling is poisonous when done by players and people who can influence games. But gambling done by fans for their own enjoyment is totally legal, despite how it affects the lives of the gamblers. The AFL stands on a pedastal on a number of issues and does its best to promote what is best for society. One example is the leagues condmenation of the binge drinking culture that prevails in many of Australia’s football clubs. Getting extremely drunk is not a crime, but doing it sometimes leads to a negative impact on ones life. The AFL felt the need to address this issue, though it has no parliamentary obligation to do so. So if the AFL is determined to improve the lives of people involved in football by reducing extreme drunkeness, where does it stand on another of society’s acknowledged ills, gambling?
Setanta O'hAilpin, Carlton Blues, vs Collingwood, Sportsbetting advertisingThe promotion of gambling in AFL related television, radio, and other media outlets has grown markedly this season, so that even non-gamblers must be aware of the pervasive influence sports betting now has on AFL. The worst website in the world, afl.com.au has a sporadically openable feature called gameday, which displays live betting odds for viewers, encouraging betting. Radio stations often throw to betting agency people for live reports on odds fluctuations before and during games. Even so-called journalists investigating Jonothan Brown’s mysterious stomach ailment got their quotes from a betting agency spokesman who questioned Brown’s integrity should his comments prove to be wrong. Betting agency logos are even presented on the most sacred AFL symbol, the mighty Sherrin football.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Leather Poisoning - Syndicated on ww.thebigtip.com.au
Articles from this blog are now also published each week on thebigtip.com.au
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.
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.
The Result... Only the Result
Ths article was published on www.thebigtip.com.au on 7 April 2010
There was to be no Easter miracle
Just reality’s harshest truth
They climbed towards the pinnacle
But were stopped by a black and white proof:
There are no miracles. No reasons. Things just happen…
There is nothing like a red wine hangover and a Monday morning to make a man reflect on life. Alcohol: that cliched and somewhat pathetic response to tragedy. Time worn and well proven. And in the cold harsh dirty light of a Monday, perspective brings no relief and the incidents of the weekend remain, without exaggeration, tragic.
How is it to approach a game with only apathy and absolutely no reasonable hope of victory? How is it to have those hopes raised moment by disbelieving moment, to have them build relentlessly to a violent crescendo and then have them mercilessly obliterated? It’s not very good. That’s how it is. The objective and impartial reviews of the Melbourne Collingwood game note Melbourne’s gallantness, improved ball use and general playing skills, and lack of luck. Luck having the habit of betraying those that need it most. But such reviews, though useful, do not fully capture or describe the emotional pain that such a game caused, and is still causing, real Melbourne supporters. For this game, destined to be soon forgotten by history, is what true supporters will point to when the team finally realises success in the years to come.
Did AFL clubs carry out cloning experiments two decades ago that resulted in the birth of large groups of identical twins with excellent hand-eye coordination and motor skills? Was this incident withheld from the public and did these twins secretly end up at various AFL clubs? Did Mark Jamar’s incompetent twin play in round one only to be replaced by his older-by-5 minutes but way better player brother? Did the same thing happen with Lynden Dunn, Joel MacDonald, Michael Newton, James Frawley and Cameron Bruce? Did Mick Malthouse rest the original Heath Shaw, Leon Davis, Nick Maxwell, Travis Cloke and play the crap twin?
Jokes aside, the form reversal of players in both teams was truly remarkable. MacDonald’s first game for Melbourne was utterly poor. He was a completely different player this week and his recruitment may pay dividends. Newton and Jamar have displayed about 5 seasons each of startling mediocrity, but remain on the list because there is simply no one better to replace them. Jamar’s performance was definitely the most astonishing of the game. The most used but most useless statistic in football is the ruck hitouts. So often one team wins the hit outs but can’t win a clearance. So how did Mark Jamar, Demon whipping boy of dubious Eastern European heritage, contrive to destroy Darren Jolly and Josh Fraser, winning numerous taps and directing the ball straight on to the lap of a moving teammate? There is no reason. It just happened.
For all their cockiness and legitimate premiership hopes, the Pies have some weaknesses. Jolly is not the next coming of Christ, just a good hardworking ruckman. Ask Jamar. Luke Ball is too slow to tag a genuinely fast midfielder. Ask Davey. Heath Shaw plays loose and isn’t that quick. Ask Petterd (new favourite player anyone?). Leon Davis is a frontrunner and couldn't handle the Demon pressure. Cloke is erratic and out of form. Offended Collingwood supporters can point to the match result in rebuttal, with good reason. Some analysts may say that for Melbourne and its players, the result is really not that important. The courage and aptitude shown is reward enough, despite the loss. That is rubbish.
Melbourne fans who rode all the way, who saw obscure teenagers perform feats of heroism, and who saw victory disappear in the most brutal way can only concur: It’s about the result. Only the result. God we need a win.
*The author would like to formally apologise to Mark Jamar for bagging him for years.
There was to be no Easter miracle
Just reality’s harshest truth
They climbed towards the pinnacle
But were stopped by a black and white proof:
There are no miracles. No reasons. Things just happen…
There is nothing like a red wine hangover and a Monday morning to make a man reflect on life. Alcohol: that cliched and somewhat pathetic response to tragedy. Time worn and well proven. And in the cold harsh dirty light of a Monday, perspective brings no relief and the incidents of the weekend remain, without exaggeration, tragic.
How is it to approach a game with only apathy and absolutely no reasonable hope of victory? How is it to have those hopes raised moment by disbelieving moment, to have them build relentlessly to a violent crescendo and then have them mercilessly obliterated? It’s not very good. That’s how it is. The objective and impartial reviews of the Melbourne Collingwood game note Melbourne’s gallantness, improved ball use and general playing skills, and lack of luck. Luck having the habit of betraying those that need it most. But such reviews, though useful, do not fully capture or describe the emotional pain that such a game caused, and is still causing, real Melbourne supporters. For this game, destined to be soon forgotten by history, is what true supporters will point to when the team finally realises success in the years to come.
Did AFL clubs carry out cloning experiments two decades ago that resulted in the birth of large groups of identical twins with excellent hand-eye coordination and motor skills? Was this incident withheld from the public and did these twins secretly end up at various AFL clubs? Did Mark Jamar’s incompetent twin play in round one only to be replaced by his older-by-5 minutes but way better player brother? Did the same thing happen with Lynden Dunn, Joel MacDonald, Michael Newton, James Frawley and Cameron Bruce? Did Mick Malthouse rest the original Heath Shaw, Leon Davis, Nick Maxwell, Travis Cloke and play the crap twin?
Jokes aside, the form reversal of players in both teams was truly remarkable. MacDonald’s first game for Melbourne was utterly poor. He was a completely different player this week and his recruitment may pay dividends. Newton and Jamar have displayed about 5 seasons each of startling mediocrity, but remain on the list because there is simply no one better to replace them. Jamar’s performance was definitely the most astonishing of the game. The most used but most useless statistic in football is the ruck hitouts. So often one team wins the hit outs but can’t win a clearance. So how did Mark Jamar, Demon whipping boy of dubious Eastern European heritage, contrive to destroy Darren Jolly and Josh Fraser, winning numerous taps and directing the ball straight on to the lap of a moving teammate? There is no reason. It just happened.
For all their cockiness and legitimate premiership hopes, the Pies have some weaknesses. Jolly is not the next coming of Christ, just a good hardworking ruckman. Ask Jamar. Luke Ball is too slow to tag a genuinely fast midfielder. Ask Davey. Heath Shaw plays loose and isn’t that quick. Ask Petterd (new favourite player anyone?). Leon Davis is a frontrunner and couldn't handle the Demon pressure. Cloke is erratic and out of form. Offended Collingwood supporters can point to the match result in rebuttal, with good reason. Some analysts may say that for Melbourne and its players, the result is really not that important. The courage and aptitude shown is reward enough, despite the loss. That is rubbish.
Melbourne fans who rode all the way, who saw obscure teenagers perform feats of heroism, and who saw victory disappear in the most brutal way can only concur: It’s about the result. Only the result. God we need a win.
*The author would like to formally apologise to Mark Jamar for bagging him for years.
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.
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.
Reflections: Goalkicking
This article was published on www.thebigtip.com.au on March 26, 2010
Now that’s out of the way, we can settle in for the real stuff.
Were Carlton good, or were Richmond just terrible?
Making big sweeping predictions about the season before round one is silly enough, making more predictions about the season based on the result of the round one game is almost as silly. For those who said Carlton will struggle to kick goals without Fevola, Carlton supporters can rightly point to the spread of goalkickers in response. This was just one game though. For a while there Carlton was directing every kick into the fifty to the leading Eddie Betts. The tall forwards were either making poor leads or being ignored, or both. Against good teams with decent defences, using Betts as the long option will be very dangerous. Think West Coast using Phillip Matera as their only leading forward a few years back. The most dominant forward apart from Betts was probably Setanta O’Hailpin. He was surprisingly useful, mainly because he doesn’t often lose his feet in marking contests and his opponent does. The fact that he was better than McGuane is a big problem for Richmond, as McGuane will have to pick up much better players than O’Hailpin throughout the year, and will probably not cope. The most unthreatening thing about O’Halpin is that he is a very ordinary kick for goal and so if he does take a surprising mark, he will usually kick a point. Which Fev rarely did.
Astounding it is that teams train for hours and hours throughout the pre-season but many players kick for goal with absolutely no system or routine. Daniel Jackson, one of Richmonds best players, had a set shot that he put no where near the goals. His lead up, kicking action and follow through were all pitiful. First gamer Nason put his into the man on the mark, inexcusable even for a nervous debutant. The excuse for these pitiful efforts is usually that the player is tired, or is a backman. Mitch Morton, Richmond’s best forward, put through a few nice set shots last night, but he spent all last year trying to find ways to play on so he could kick on the run. How does a midfielder feel putting it on Mitch’s chest knowing he doesn’t have the confidence or set routine to guarantee a goal from 30 out? Coaches, especially losing ones, often bemoan how their team was only a few missed opprtunities away from a win. How in reality they are only a few goals away from the competition leaders, even though they sit on the bottom of the ladder. But these same coaches oversee large numbers of professional players who can’t kick for goal and even worse have no set routine when taking a set shot. With players spending countless hours in weight rooms, steam rooms, ice baths, video analysis meetings, leadership meetings, respect and responsibility classes etc, all with the aim of winning games, how can players constantly kick points from easy set shots?
It’s a craft that really has not improved in the same way that all other skills in the AFL have, and coaches and players need to take responsibility. Richo, legend of the game and all round loveable nice guy, spent years desperately searching for a way to kick straight from 30 in front. He never found it. Fevola was born with it. And every time the Blues go down by a few goals this year they will probably try not to think of what difference an accurate goal kicker would have made.
Now that’s out of the way, we can settle in for the real stuff.
Were Carlton good, or were Richmond just terrible?
Making big sweeping predictions about the season before round one is silly enough, making more predictions about the season based on the result of the round one game is almost as silly. For those who said Carlton will struggle to kick goals without Fevola, Carlton supporters can rightly point to the spread of goalkickers in response. This was just one game though. For a while there Carlton was directing every kick into the fifty to the leading Eddie Betts. The tall forwards were either making poor leads or being ignored, or both. Against good teams with decent defences, using Betts as the long option will be very dangerous. Think West Coast using Phillip Matera as their only leading forward a few years back. The most dominant forward apart from Betts was probably Setanta O’Hailpin. He was surprisingly useful, mainly because he doesn’t often lose his feet in marking contests and his opponent does. The fact that he was better than McGuane is a big problem for Richmond, as McGuane will have to pick up much better players than O’Hailpin throughout the year, and will probably not cope. The most unthreatening thing about O’Halpin is that he is a very ordinary kick for goal and so if he does take a surprising mark, he will usually kick a point. Which Fev rarely did.
Astounding it is that teams train for hours and hours throughout the pre-season but many players kick for goal with absolutely no system or routine. Daniel Jackson, one of Richmonds best players, had a set shot that he put no where near the goals. His lead up, kicking action and follow through were all pitiful. First gamer Nason put his into the man on the mark, inexcusable even for a nervous debutant. The excuse for these pitiful efforts is usually that the player is tired, or is a backman. Mitch Morton, Richmond’s best forward, put through a few nice set shots last night, but he spent all last year trying to find ways to play on so he could kick on the run. How does a midfielder feel putting it on Mitch’s chest knowing he doesn’t have the confidence or set routine to guarantee a goal from 30 out? Coaches, especially losing ones, often bemoan how their team was only a few missed opprtunities away from a win. How in reality they are only a few goals away from the competition leaders, even though they sit on the bottom of the ladder. But these same coaches oversee large numbers of professional players who can’t kick for goal and even worse have no set routine when taking a set shot. With players spending countless hours in weight rooms, steam rooms, ice baths, video analysis meetings, leadership meetings, respect and responsibility classes etc, all with the aim of winning games, how can players constantly kick points from easy set shots?
It’s a craft that really has not improved in the same way that all other skills in the AFL have, and coaches and players need to take responsibility. Richo, legend of the game and all round loveable nice guy, spent years desperately searching for a way to kick straight from 30 in front. He never found it. Fevola was born with it. And every time the Blues go down by a few goals this year they will probably try not to think of what difference an accurate goal kicker would have made.
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