Can modern football pass the character test?Rohan Connolly
The Age
December 1, 2016We've just been introduced to a new crop of 130-odd AFL players via the draft system. As usual, they've impressed with their maturity and poise under the spotlight. Already well-versed in what's required to succeed, the vast bulk will toe the line on and off the field and most likely prosper for it.
Among their number will be superstars of the future, valuable parts of a team's premiership push, worthy wearers of their club's colours. Will, though, we come to see many of them as the sorts of instantly-recognisable characters upon which football has thrived? Is our game running short on them? They're questions I've pondered since the sad passing on Tuesday of former Richmond centreman "Bustling" Billy Barrot.
A household name of the late 1960s and early '70s, Barrot was a genuine star on and off the field. And there are two moments from the two winning grand finals in which he played that I think sum him up.
The first is deep in time-on of the 1967 grand final against Geelong, scores close. A wobbly kick on the outer wing bounces towards Barrot, waiting to take possession with his back to goal and a Geelong opponent bearing down on him. He takes the ball, shapes to turn on to his right foot, then, hard up on the boundary line, moves instead to his left. As his opponent sails harmlessly past, Barrot recovers balance and plants an immaculate pass on the chest of the leading Barry Richardson. Few blind turns in football history have been executed as sublimely.
Then there's the 1969 grand final against Carlton. Nearly 10 minutes into the final term, the Blues are in front. Barrot marks a pass running with the flight of the ball towards the MCG members' area.
Spontaneously, he holds the ball aloft to the crowd, as if to say, as former teammate Kevin Sheedy would later quip, "Have a look at this, ladies and gentlemen, because you're going to see something you don't see much of". Said Sheedy: "I thought, 'Well, pal, if you're good enough to kick this goal, you are a really great player'." And Barrot was. Just inside the boundary line, from 50 metres, he duly obliged, giving Richmond a lead they wouldn't lose again.
Graceful, powerful and chock-full of confidence, Barrot oozed charisma. He defined an era in which quirkiness was celebrated, often in the bestowal of a nickname, usually ordained by another huge character of the commentary world, Lou Richards.
Even people not particularly interested in the game came to know the noms de plume. Bruce Doull was the "Flying Doormat", spring-heeled Essendon key forward Paul Vanderhaar the "Flying Dutchman". North Melbourne had a couple all on their own, Mick Nolan, the "Galloping Gasometer" and Gary "Crazy Horse" Cowton.
Not all of them were champions. But they did all bring something unique to the table. Would they even be invited to the table these days? You wonder.
As spectacular as he was, Vanderhaar's penchant for late nights and the odd drink would have recruiters weighing up sheer talent versus dedication and discipline, with most likely a comprehensive win to the latter consideration.
Nolan, sadly also no longer with us, was a magnificent tap ruckman. But at 124 kilograms, and with a frame that a North guernsey barely fitted, he flunked what passed for skinfold tests in the 1970s. Lord knows what the fitness men of today would make of his dietary habits.
Barrot? Well, according to another teammate, Graeme Bond, he "took fitness in the '60s to a new level". But how would that cocky 1969 grand final stunt go down these days? Safe to say it was a gesture that would have filled several pages and several hours worth of grand-final coverage on its own. Particularly had Richmond ended up losing.
As much as we claim to celebrate character, we're also very quick to stamp on it when things don't go according to plan. Sometimes, even when they do. The recently-retired Dane Swan is a good example.
Though one of the most consistently-performed midfielders of the modern era, a Brownlow medallist, three-time best-and-fairest winner and five-time All-Australian, it never took much more than a few quiet games for critical attention to turn to Swan's lifestyle choices, his supposed cavalier attitude to the game, even his tattoos.
Now he's departed the AFL scene, we're not exactly flush with loveable rogues. Instantly-recognisable nicknames also seem to be a thing of the past. Cause and effect, maybe.
But there's an argument that football needs them now more than ever, with the points of difference between clubs via their shared homes, their similar cultures, even the sorts of players they recruit, being reduced year by year.
The new kids on the AFL block have plenty of time to write their own stories. But one I hope I'm still able to read is about the maverick, the showman, a kid not afraid to strut his stuff on or off the field, prepared not only to break the "football factory" mould, but remind us that ours is game that takes all shapes, sizes and, yes, characters. Someone, perhaps, a little like the late Billy Barrot.
http://www.smh.com.au/afl/afl-news/football-cries-for-lost-character-in-richmond-tigers-billy-barrot-20161130-gt10k5.html
