Milk crates, footy trips are not dim sins
Nathan Brown | May 10, 2009
MATTHEW Richardson is 34, the oldest player in the AFL, one of the most well-known — and loved — characters in the competition. His injury last round got me thinking about the game, and its traditions, and how it has changed since "Richo" made his AFL debut back in 1993.
Some of my "Y Generation" teammates would be unfamiliar with the the early '90s, when every man, woman and child in Australian didn't have a mobile phone, when the internet wasn't the household essential it is now, when there was only 15 teams in the competition — no Port Adelaide and Fremantle — and when the Meatloaf anthem I'd Do Anything For Love was No. 1 on the charts.
They would also be unfamiliar with many of the traditions of football that Matthew — and I — grew up with. Which raises the questions: are we losing our traditions in football? Missing out on some of footy's finest moments? What are those traditions?
Post-flag celebrations: One of my favourite memories as a young Carlton supporter was seeing my hero, Stephen Kernahan, belting out Stand By Your Man after winning the flag. You just don't see that sort of unrestrained gold any more.
The footy trip: The end-of-season footy trip, which is fast becoming a thing of the past at the elite level. Club hierarchies are so concerned about what could happen when 40 blokes go away together, let off steam and drink themselves silly, they try to discourage such trips. I can understand this as football is such a big business controlled by sponsorship money, but some of the best times I've ever had have been on a footy trip.
In my first year, we went to Cairns and, yes, we got kicked out of the hotel and, yes, a player was thrown overboard in crocodile-infested waters and, yes, a player jumped from the eighth floor into the pool and, yes, I can understand fully why football clubs are keen to ban football trips. But they were funny times and great stories to relive today when you catch up with an old teammate.
Sadly, the last footy trip I went on was in 2005, but my memory of 20-odd blokes arm in arm singing Bon Jovi's Blaze of Glory in the woolshed nightclub will stick in my mind forever.
Sunday special: The Sunday Special is another tradition that has died. When games were mainly played on a Saturday, all the boys would get down to the footy club on the Sunday for a barrel and a barbecue. There was no recovery in the bay, no injury clinic.
Kangaroo court: For those of you who don't know, "kangaroo court" is where a player stands before his teammates accused of such trivial things as being spotted holding his missus' hand in public or some PDA (Public Display of Affection), a teammate at the bar lip-locked. The jury was usually three unforgiving senior players and the punishment could be a nude run or a pint of Guinness. Yes, not the sort of behaviour clubs wish to encourage. Great times though.
The welcome: My first practice match at the Western Bulldogs was back in February 1997. I was a skinny young kid from Bendigo with long blond hair and a smart mouth. I weighed all of 68 kilograms and the man lining up next to me on the wing was Tony Liberatore, Brownlow medallist, club legend and nasty, nasty little man.
Tony trotted up to me, his stocky little legs pumping and his biceps bulging, and I thought: "Gee, he's very hairy". He then punched me so hard in the face that I didn't know where I was, though I quickly became coherent enough to remember what he said to me: "You're not going to get a kick today you big head punk and if you do I'm going to bash you again."
I do know I thought that was a bit harsh and I proceeded to get a few kicks and, just as Libba had warned me, he proceeded to belt me every time I did. After the game, he came up to me in the rooms and said: "Son, let's go and get a beer and talk about your football." That, to me, is a tradition in football, the old veteran teaching the young upstart a lesson and then helping him to become a better player. If that happened in today's game, there would be uproar.
Beer, dimmies and milk crates: I remember going to Princes Park and watching Carlton, standing-room only under the scoreboard, the smell of my old man's full-strength VB glass bottle in my nostrils as I stood on a milk crate which made me just high enough to see and was able to buy steamed dim sims at half-time if dad had money left over from the beers. Full-strength VB and steamed dimmies — you don't find that at the elite level any more.
You talk to guys from the generation before me and they talk about both teams going back to the home club's social room, having a beer together and sometimes with the umpires joining in.
So what are the traditions that have survived?
The national anthem: The national anthem before round one is breathtaking. Lining up, eye-balling the opposition, everyone's fit, healthy and tanned, and there's a big crowd at the MCG. If the hairs don't stand up on the back of your neck and butterflies don't race through your heart just before the end of Advance Australia Fair when the crowd starts to rise and roar as one, then go and live in Greenland. That's one of the best feelings you can have and it involves all players and supporters, regardless of loyalties.
Club song: The club theme song sung arm in arm after a win is another great tradition — the pride of the win and the happiness of sharing it is something to saviour. Fans get to join in after the game, on the train, in the car on the way home or across at the Royal Hotel.
Let's keep the good traditions in football, bring back some of the old-school fun, forget political correctness and let the chips fall where they may.
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