Life in the silly seasonMartin Blake
October 15, 2011BILL Nettlefold played a neat 100 games with three clubs in the 1970s, and won a premiership with North Melbourne in 1977, a triumph for a journeyman of the game. But he has never forgotten the way he was treated by Richmond, his first club, in the pre-season of 1976.
Nettlefold, who was captain of the Tigers' reserves in 1975, ran out onto the track at Punt Road one night in February, only to have a club official tell him that he was being sent to Collingwood in a trade for Craig Balme, and what's more, it was already in The Herald.
He had no idea this was happening, and it took a glance at the afternoon newspaper a few minutes later for it to sink in. Nettlefold loved Richmond; could not countenance the fact the Tigers would trade him without telling him.
When Nettlefold got to Collingwood, his pay had been cut. The Tigers, he said, had given the Magpies a lower quote of his salary to improve the deal. So he stood out until he could extract himself to North under Ron Barassi, where he spent a couple of happy years before finishing his career at Melbourne.
Loyalty has gone from the AFL, he says, because the poorly run clubs disrespect the players in the chase for success.
Of course, 1976 is a long time ago and the game has done some maturing. But it remains a cautionary tale in trade week - the silly season - as it's often called.
Trade week is an abomination in many ways. The very notion of trading employees is slightly rotten, dehumanising. It leaves a sour taste, even if it is a necessary evil.
In an industry which has a salary cap and a draft to equalise the teams, restricting the flow of employees between employers, there has to be a method of moving. Without it, the system would be pulled down by a legal challenge in an instant as a clear restraint of trade.
So the players get shopped around like plasma screens, with few boundaries. Paul Roos, on the surface one of the most touchy-feely of football people, once argued that, fundamentally, all players could be traded. At the right price, of course.
Big trades are actually rare. While many trades are successful, the Brendan Fevola experience, where the Brisbane Lions lost two good players and had their culture ripped up as a result, is instructive.
Clubs have to be careful of tampering with the ecosystem of the playing group. In the end, the best teams play for each other, like Geelong, where outstanding individuals are playing for salaries well beneath their market value, just to remain a part of it. You don't mess with that.
That is why trade week can be underwhelming sometimes. Often the players who shift are bit-part men, or ruckmen (now the wicketkeepers of football) without a place to play. Or kids wanting to go home to their families after being drafted interstate.
This does not diminish the media's appetite. Hours of air time has been occupied this week on stations like SEN. On websites like bigfooty.com, the biggest fan forum, they get more traffic this week than any other time of the year. The AFL has its own Trade Week Radio running through the day and into the night, with callers pontificating on players they would like to shift as though they are tinkering with their ''dream team''.
Players can reject a trade, of course, but tend to have the deal put to them as a fait accompli. Adam Schneider was on a beach in Bali in 2007 when he learnt he would be moved from Sydney to St Kilda. And he is a pretty good player. These are the trades that make you cringe.
Is loyalty dead? Not quite, in my eyes. For every Gary Ablett-to-Gold Coast deal, I can offer up half a dozen Chris Dawes and Dale Thomas re-signings. While loyalty might appear to be anachronistic in professional sport, I would hate to see the AFL adopt a fly-by-night culture like the English Premier League, or even the A-League, where you cannot keep track of players.
Right now, there is a disconnect between the people who call up radio stations wanting their team's dud players traded somewhere else, and the reality.
For me, reality is the Collingwood dressing rooms after the grand final, and Alan Didak's contorted face when he walked into the body of that room to be embraced by family and friends. Didak has had many triumphs; here on the day was a conspicuous failure and a grand final defeat, and it will hurt for a long time.
Reality is Cameron Ling's unbridled joy at snapping a goal to seal a premiership in what he knew was most likely his final five minutes in a Geelong jumper. It's a grieving Jarrad McVeigh putting aside his personal turmoil and playing brilliantly in Sydney's win over St Kilda in round 22, then bursting into tears. McVeigh's infant daughter, Luella, born with congenital problems, was still in hospital fighting for her life. She would not survive more than another week.
At this time of year, there's an inclination to talk about players like they are just pieces in a puzzle. Actually, they make the game what it is. And if you drill down, they are very human.
No wonder they all disappear overseas at this time of year. They would not want to hear the way they were talked about.
http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-news/life-in-the-silly-season-20111014-1lp1m.html#ixzz1alaFPTRc
