Loving the enemy
Robert Walls | The Age | June 28, 2008
IT WAS an eerie feeling. It was late October 1995 and I had just been appointed Richmond's new coach. Then-president Leon Daphne and chairman of selectors Tony Jewell were giving me a tour of the Punt Road Oval.
As I walked into the boardroom, it was like entering a time warp. The room was dark and musty with high ceilings. On the walls were tiger heads and pelts. They had been there for years. Premiership team photos and honour boards filled the gaps between the taxidermist's work.
The list of coaches was long. Many had coached for short periods. Only one year for Mike Patterson, Allan Jeans and Paul Sproule. Two for Len Smith, Francis Bourke and Barry Richardson. Little did I know that I would soon join them.
I wondered what my old Carlton mates and former foes at Tigerland would think of my defection to the old enemy. I would find later that many were not impressed.
My first game in a Carlton jumper was against Richmond. It was 1966 in an under-19s game at Punt Road. I remember a tall left-footer at centre half-forward for the Tigers taking mark after mark. It was Royce Hart.
Near me at the other end of the ground was a burly left-footer who could also take a grab. His name was Rex Hunt. They were 17, two years older than me. The other thing I remember was receiving my first match payment. It was a one-dollar note.
The next summer my coach Ron Barassi put me in stuff Sedgman's city gym. Royce was there, too. I watched him closely, as I would for the next 10 years when he became the best centre half-forward in the VFL.
If I was the next best, I couldn't complain. Royce was a star. And he knew it.
In 1969 we played centre half-forward for our respective teams in the grand final. More than 119,000 were in attendance. The Tigers swamped us in the final quarter to be easy winners.
The Richmond centre line that day was the famous idiot Clay, Bill Barrot and Bourke.
Three years later it was on again. Richmond was favourite after beating the Blues by seven goals in the second semi-final replay. Come the big day the Blues kicked the highest grand final score to shock and embarrass.
Richmond was stung. The Tigers couldn't wait for the next season to exact revenge. And they did. Carlton's captain-coach John Nicholls was shirt-fronted and knocked out by Tiger back-pocket Laurie Fowler and full-forward Neil Balme took out Geoff Southby with a vicious round-armer that broke his jaw, and then threatened to take out anybody else who showed interest. Sadly, few did.
So the Tigers won the fight and the flag. From then on, festering animosities became full-blown vendettas. For the next five years the games were full of spite. Even today some players refuse to speak to each other.
Most players would tolerate knees, knuckles and ankle taps. It was an era in which pretty much anything went, other than spitting and eye gouging.
Carlton next met its arch-rival in a final in 1975. It was the first semi. After the Thursday night team meeting before the game, coach Nicholls asked the senior six members of the team to stay behind.
He insisted that we had to fly the flag if any rough stuff started. And of course it did. It happened just before half-time, so I responded by punching Kevin Morris in the head. We rallied to kick a few quick goals and come in at the main break quite pumped up.
Some bonus money was promised so I felt even better. But it didn't last long as the Tigers came out and finished off our season. I got reported and copped a four-game suspension.
Over summer our president George Harris introduced a new ruling that stated that reported players were to lose match payments. That put me $2000 out of pocket.
It wasn't long before another report was written. I couldn't resist giving Kevin Bartlett a rib tickler. And then Bourke was reported for kicking me in the goolies.
Now St Francis called in everyone but the Pope to give character evidence for him. Even I was impressed. The charge was dismissed and I felt compelled to apologise to him, for allowing my groin to make contact with his boot.
After the 1972 grand final, Rex Hunt and I swapped jumpers. His was a canvas-type lace-up top, with a big white 5 on the back. When the laces were pulled tight, the fit was snug, and it was impossible to hold in a tackle.
I kept the jumper in perfect condition for 25 years. I had never used it and I thought it would be nice to return it. So I did. Rex appreciated it and auctioned it off for charity. No mention was made of my jumper, though.
So a while later I asked him if he had it. "Oh no," he said. "I threw it out decades ago when I used it as a rag on my boat."
Now Rex and I are work mates and mates. We call three games on a weekend together on radio. We don't take it for granted. We feel blessed we played for two very good teams that were fierce rivals.
The names still stand up today. Mention Hart, Bourke, Bartlett and Sheedy, and Nicholls, Doull, Jesaulenko and Southby and people nod in respect and appreciation. They were great days.
While my time as a Richmond coach was short, there are some good memories. Big crowds roaring "Yellow and Black" after a win made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
Wayne Campbell, Benny Gale, Matthew Knights, Tony Free and Duncan Kellaway were fine young men. Today Matthew Richardson and Joel Bowden will be the veterans of their side.
I'm pleased to be able to say I coached them. I feel for all the players playing today. None is a premiership player for their respective teams and yet all, to a certain extent, are measured against those who have worn the colours before them.
It is good and it is bad. It is good that they play for clubs with proud histories, where premierships are revered and remembered. It is bad because too many people regard them as failures if they don't emulate the feats of the past.
In the past two seasons each club has taken home a wooden spoon. That hurts. It won't happen in 2008. The climb to the top has begun. And today's winner could well play finals.
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