Season 2018 ~ Mick's AFL Footy Blog

3 clubs, 23 rounds, A slab of passion….

Rounding the corner into September moments Round 21

Posted on August 18, 2014 by Mickey Gee

Injuries gutted two teams this weekend with vastly different results. Fortunately there was a family dinner party at our home which gave my pie loving Erin a rare out to avoid the carnage in the medical room and on the MCG that was Collingwood. Pendlebury gone in the warm up, Cloke wrecked his ankle, Reidy injured again early and Beams down too. A rampant Brisbane went at em like a tiger hitting the deer’s round the water hole just like on the National Geographic channel. Lions by 60 plus. Bucks devastated. Eddie hugging fans in grief and announcing a club summit to pick apart the club on field direction and mounting injury toll using the time honoured “wisdom of the crowd” technique. Anyone who’s been in the centre of a looting mob knows it’s the television that exits the building first.

After a promising start Melbourne are now in free fall after regular whackings the past few weeks, none more galling than the the serial bombing inflicted by an injury ravaged GWS down to one player rotation in the second half. Most tragic was the second knee injury suffered by big Jonathan Patton ward which will require re-construction. Members are back to the easiest and most freely available job at the MCG in booing off the Demons, a situation vacant thought withdrawn this season after those disastrous Bailey and Neeld years when it seem the club song was to be altered to “every heart beats boo for the red and the boo” .

Screen shot 2014-08-18 at 10.59.11 PMDaniel Wells back in the side after that year long foot injury repaid the clubs faith by coming under investigation by the match review committee after a high hit on a woof woof opponent and a sneaky wack in the guts handed out to his tagger. By the start of the 3rd quarter the Dog’s were staring into their Vet’s eyes imploring to be put out of their misery. Boomer Harvey followed Wellsy example in getting an early start on the Vet’s task by driving his forearm into opponent Picken’s throat and finding his way into the umpire’s book. Roo coach Brad “Anger Management” Scott must be chuffed to go into a season defining game against Adelaide without two of his prized weapons.

The Tigers join Adelaide in lining up for a jab of of September action after 7 wins in a row make it mathematically possible to sneak into the final eight. The log jam for that 8th spot stretches through them both to include Essendon, Collingwood, Gold Coast and maybe West Coast. A fan released a terrified black cat onto Adelaide oval in scenes reminiscent of the “pig at full forward” unreleased to mock Tony Locket way back in the 90’s.

Screen shot 2014-08-18 at 10.56.03 PMSome big possession winners put a couple of Brownlow smokies into the mix in Don Dyson Heppell with 39 and Hawk gun Jordan Lewis with 41 in a losing side against Fremantle. The Bombers came home after being well back against West Coast with skipper Jobe Watson erupting a 50 metre goal 10 seconds into his comeback game. Fremantle saved their best game for the year for the Hawks and after a first half shoot out catapulted 7 goals to 1 in the third. Big Pav kicked 5 after looking shot the week before. Nat Fyfe came out white eyed like he was a Bex habit sniffer in clocking Hawks Willy Langford and our man Jordan Lewis in the duodenum.

Carlton appeared robbed by the man in white, green, yellow and or pink for the second time at the death this season against the Cats after having their slender lead nationalised after a marking content miraged into an arm clipping free kick that was converted into the winning Cat goal. Some good news during the milk at Malted Milk House Park as the great man Juddy drags himself into 2015 after finding late champion form.

Buddy eclipsed his opponents total score with his 9.4 goals as his Sydney Swans clipped St Kilda senseless further entrenching their number one position.

Screen shot 2014-08-18 at 11.07.07 PMThe round ended with the tragic news that Bomber legend and one time Melbourne coach – the “Reverend” Neale Daniher was at 50 suffering motor neuron disease that will claim his life with the next 2 to 4 years.

Daniher had been football manager at West Coast until last year until an unspecified illness at that stage forced his withdrawal from the club and a return to Melbourne. Tonight in an interview with one time team mate Tim Watson he revealed the nature of his illness, and his awful fate.

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Merger Part 2 – Final fateful game

Posted on August 12, 2014 by Mickey Gee
Screen shot 2014-08-10 at 10.15.39 PM Screen shot 2014-08-10 at 10.15.26 PM

Someone in the AFL in 1996 must have been obsessed with the idea of wholesale dispensing of history by brokering unions, takeovers and mergers of Melbourne clubs, presumably to ease the load in supporting loss making teams in Sydney and Brisbane where the bid was to grow the national game in hostile markets was going pear shaped. South Melbourne had long been sent North. Before the merger proposition for Melbourne and Hawthorn that year , the Fitzroy and Brisbane clubs had been merged by the directive of the AFL commission to become the Brisbane Lions on 1 November. The AFL had kiboshed a club lead proposal to bring together North Melbourne and Fitzroy that would retain a Melbourne connection for the Roy Boys. Once however, the ‘Roys major creditor – the Government of Nahru, who lacked the inner suburban cultural connections and themselves under pressure from a world wide guano downturn, called in their debt with bankruptcy proceedings, the clubs fate was out of their hands.

1996mergerBut the fans were not so empty handed at Glenferrie. Or at the MCC.

Why the proposal? Off field the Demons were strong, but on the ground an essential basket case since their last flag in the black and white era of 1964. Stuck at Junction Oval during pre-season and kicked off the MCG for six months of the year due to cricket. The Hawks had been the on field benchmark in the 70’s and 80’s who’d waned during the ’90s. Despite their success,  a $1.7m debt threatening to send them into Government of Nahru territory however they brought to the table a success ethos along with a home base and social club at Glenferrie Oval, assets sorely lacking by the Melbourne blue bloods.

Screen shot 2014-08-10 at 10.21.12 PMThe market view was that Hawthorn and Melbourne would merge to become the Melbourne Hawks. With the vote by both clubs members on the fate of the merger to take place two weeks after the season concluded, the narrative for the final home and away game of 1996 could not have been scripted. To add to the drama, the Hawks were just outside the eight and had to win to keep their final’s hopes alive with a place there contingent on North overcoming Richmond the next day. Hawk full forward Jason Dunstall started the game with 90 goals for the season.

We headed to the G that glorious warm August night wondering if this was the last time ever.  From a distance, smoke seemed to pour upwards from the giant club like an early funeral pyre laying to rest the spirit of these great clubs. 63,000 people however require the chip fryers at full tilt and at that time you could puff on as many gaspers as you liked once inside the ground. Many were chain smoking. My own PJ’s got a workout. Outside, petitions were to be signed, posters to be raised, chants to be joined and speeches to be cheered. Not much different inside. Yet the atmosphere was more Russia 1917 than AFL match day 1996. Prominent Demon star Brian Dixon conducted a series of speeches at half time around the ground that punctuated the little league with cheers, boos and shouting. The famed Hawk “No Merger” posters pixellated the crowd scene. “Peace Bread Land” morphed into No Merger! Prior to the game Hawk “Operation Payback” leader and Hawk legend Don Scott held a rally at Glenferrie.

wbAFLhawkmerge_wideweb__470x224,0The game was close. Intense. Beyond routine. Dunstall kicked an astonishing 10 goals, the last bringing up his ton for the season and a massive crowd invasion that delayed the final quarter for 6 minutes. The Hawks hung on by a point, their potential stint on death row extended for a further week. Chris Langford Hawthorn’s full back, future AFL commissioner and father of present Hawk Will Langford, took off his Hawthorn jumper and proudly held it above his head as the Hawks left the field.

When the Kanga’s won we were off to Sydney the following week on the Greyhound for the elimination final. Burger with the lot at 2am at that crazy edelweiss themed servo somewhere out of Albury followed by witching hour instant coffee at West Wyalong. When we kicked our first goal, I was up on my feet before sensing the silence around me. A hundred yards away on some distant terrace I was mirrored in one of the other few Hawks supporters there that night. Dunstall’s knee collapsed on him in the third quarter and our hopes snapped with that ligament. Had we now seen that last fateful game?

Like bees round your orchard,  I’d gorged free at the buffet of the “all you can eat” Hawk successes of the 1970?s and 80?s. I became, and remain a member that year, purely so I could vote down that merger proposition via proxy when the proposition was finally put to members. On the day of the vote I – like most members – took 3 calls from various factions of the club seeking to influence my proxy.

scottThe votes at both clubs were held on the same night. Over at the Demon’s members meeting, they voted FOR the merger. At Hawthorn, Scotty held up a of knock off of the proposed Melbourne Hawks jumper ripping off a Velcro hawk and yellow V-neck to reveal a Melbourne jumper underneath with the immortal words: “What have you got? A velcro Hawk and a Melbourne guernsey!”. The merger was killed at that moment for no-one had so succinctly surmised that final ending of identity and culture that merger would bring. Scott’s role in galvanlsing opposition and reminding the club the debt we all – fans, players and administrators – owed the club, was primary. He had two careers at Hawthorn, one that celebrated his on field leadership in 3 flags in 71, 76 and 78; the other off field during these most difficult days that ultimately lead to rebuilding and success again in 2008 and 2013 for which he can rightly claim foundation credit.

One of the Melbourne players the night of that fateful game was Alistair Clarkson, now Hawk coach.

The pro merger protagonists within both clubs had even come up with a song for the hybrid club – a pastiche of existing club ditties that never echoed a victorious club rooms:

We’re the mighty Melbourne Hawks
We play each game and we play to win
Watch us, we play with a grin
Every heart beats true, for the gold red and blue
As we sing this song for you (Whadda we sing – presumably!)
One for all and all for one
Two will make you stronger
Keep your eye on the mighty Melbourne Hawks

Hawthorn 3.5 10.6 12.10 15.12 (102)
Melbourne 5.4 7.6 12.8 15.11 (101)

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Merger Fireworks – Part 1 1971 to 1996

Posted on August 9, 2014 by Mickey Gee

firecrakersI’d only experienced once before that bewildering package of emotions when I heard the news in 1996 that the AFL has ratified a request to merge from Melbourne and my Hawthorn. Shock, fear, helplessness, despair. Like your heart was on track to be ripped out. All the foundations to your supporterhood until that time were to be abandoned like a discontinued branch line to the far corners of your last stop memory. That other time had been when I’d dropped a penny bunger into the bee hive on the family farm way back at the start of the 70’s – that golden dawn at Glenferrie.

My getaway was framed by a barb wire fence that I’d need to negotiate once the fuse was lit. Beyond lay the freedom of a wide open paddock which I’d negotiate at speed to the shelter of the chook shed where I’d wait out the impending swarm storm. At this stage of my childhood I was obsessed with “beating the Nazi’s” and the ready availability of fireworks extended my wartime celluloid fantasy into real life. The bee hive in reality that the German base that as a special forces soldier I’d infiltrated ready to enact maximum damage.

I had history here –  I’d lobbed “tom thumbs” – clusters of small fireworks connected by a gunpowder fuse that blew in sequence – into the back of a passing neighbour’s pig filled truck that I’d recast as a “troop truck”. The passing freight train, possibly laden with looted European artefacts and gold reserves destined for the war machine had taken a hit in the guard’s van. My own Uncle Keith had suffered horrific burns from the “Guy” that sat atop our schools annual bonfire which we’d stuffed chock o block with bungers, catherine wheels, sky rockets etc. No one in Leongatha East can erase the memory of that one sky rocket liberated from a tilting Guy as the bonfire blazed below trapped in flight under Keith’s shirt as it sought to escape and deploy it’s payload. How the Education Department hushed that one remains testament to loyalty to internal machination.

“Wack job” kids at school were recast as important Nazi military officer’s whose assassination was critical in the progression of the “war”. Under cover 10 minutes prior to lunch armed with penny bungers, sticky tape and a half shoe lace to serve as a time delay, I afix the device then retreat to watch the action. Like clockwork the officer’s arrive, sit down and commence their negotiations over a vegemite and cheese sandwich. Suddenly as the smoulder of the shoe lace met the gun powder fuse generating that tell tale hiss that informed the officers to their fate. A feeble attempt to flee is halted in a maelström of smoke, white crusts and home made banana custard. Another small step forward for the resistance.

Image first published and owned by Plan Bee - http://planbeeproject.wordpress.comImage first published and owned by Plan Bee – http://planbeeproject.wordpress.com

By now you can see with the benefit of my experience that my plan for the bees was perfect. Yet I hadn’t – in my mind rehearsed exit from the hive – factored in that one barb that snagged my jumper on the fence. Fire in the Hole!!! Now in fear, my frantic efforts undermined untanglement. I became hip to the jive of unrest in the hive as they tuned into that tell tale hiss of the slow burning fuse.

Now in despair I’m just about free when the hot blast of gun powder mixed with honey and bee sweat hit’s me like a pollened flower followed closely by the sonic shock wave of the explosion. The blast clears me free of the barb wire.  As I instinctively hit the dirt, the bee’s are out looking for perpetrators. Collectively they’re a tad pissed off communicating to me in the words of blues guitarist Albert King “if you hear a little buzz it aint nothin but us”. The first sting hits my earlobe.  12 o’clock high I got bandits coming in low. A rear guard action begins manoeuvres at the back of my legs.  Gunfire in surround sound. I’ve got no air support. It’s gonna be a turkey shoot.

All this before I’ve even got to my feet. Fortunately for me the majority of the swarm spot a calf joyously frolicking with its tail up kicking its heels and running with the kind of abandon only a baby animal can bring. Rather expressing the joy of existence, the calf’s flight  is triggered by the explosion from the hive raid. The bees latch onto it’s fear, baulking from me and is now calf bound. I get to my feet and run fending off the shrapnel and sniper fire of the renegade behind the lines crew. I struggle to outrun the persistence of their mop up but finally make it back to base for the midnight flight outta that hell hole back into the loungeroom on time for the start of “Hogan’s Heroes”. For years as I nurse the welts from the crossfire back to pristine dermis, I can’t get the screams of that calf out of my head.

zapruder_aThe whole Mick as “soldier/gun for hire”gig was up of course when I was months later gifted an air rifle. By this time my media landscape included the JFK assassination. A neighbour’s shiny new yellow Renault became the motorcade. The predictably of his journey’s to and from work put in train the conspiracy.

His vision of me firing at him from the grassy knoll of the 6th floor of the cypress tree book depository became the Zapruder footage that convicted me in the eyes of the American people – along with my father and my neighbour and the gun was gone for good.

I wrote through tears and shame the letter of apology that went beyond the reach of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Like bees round your orchard,  I’d gorged free at the buffet of the “all you can eat” Hawk successes of the 1970’s and 80’s. I became, and remain a member that year, purely so I could vote down that merger proposition via proxy when the proposition was finally put to members. The game that preceded this vote is the subject of my next post.

 

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Brain fades to grey

Posted on August 3, 2014 by Mickey Gee
Screen shot 2014-03-22 at 2.17.54 PM logo-geelong
(Source: realfooty.com.au)

(Source: realfooty.com.au)

Just 12 months ago we celebrated the Kanga’s extraordinary win over then flag favourite Geelong. The bloke in front of me in the members hugged me joyously sensing he’d witnessed a rebirth.  A summer of ’67 descended upon Arden Street with the conviction that while the 2013 season was road kill, the golden dawn of 2014 surely would bring light into mouldy September corners.

With September now a month away, we’re still no closer to understanding, knowing or possessing a deep familarisation with the Kangaroo character which this season has moved beyond enigma into nervous erratica.

As a Libran, I know well the uncertainty principle, with long hours spent weighing pros and cons of a particular decision that can unpredictably climax into either complete “what if” inaction or bouts of glorious gusto to affirm my final choice. “Let me think about that” is no longer a tactic, it takes pride of place in my own cliche wardrobe along with various excuses and of course favorite pat phrases and fob offs designed to buy more time or avoid the decision completely.

roos470_wideweb__470x274,2Project these traits onto the Arden Street psyche and you’ve got yourself a masterclass in multiple personality. I celebrate my registration with a supermarket trip fuelling up on party pies and sausage rolls, a frozen pizza and limited edition honeycomb magnums – essential block buster fuel. My mind refuses to submit to satiety, your hypothalamus in denial as you shovel in the sauce washed pastry until your system belatedly reboots and you realise your condemned to spending the next 12 hours digesting.

Roos jump the Cats early before the disastrous second quarter where Brent “Boomer” Harvey gives up two free kicks as a result of umpire over reaction to slaps on his opponent. Both acts results in goals. Daws gives away 50 metres turning a maybe into a gimme. Desperate drag down and holding efforts from Firrito and Scott Thompson prick up the nostrils as we speculate the shinbone’s been left out of the fridge. Cat pressure encourages the old Roo’s foibles – poor disposal, inability to run freely, and an incomplete forward line whose 3 talls – Black, Petrie and Daws take only 5 marks between them.

Small forward Lindsay Thomas tries all night and provides a real option up roo forward snagging 3 goals. He also provides the highlight of the night in a 1 on 2 marking contest. Feeling the tiniest hand in his back his propels himself forward as if ejected from a fighter jet with the kind of force that’s out of all proportion to the originating energy. Such actions bring respect in the world of wrestling, here at Etihad he cops the derision of Cat fans but  he wins a free kick and goal.

The night before, I’d introduced my father in law – a keen iPad communicator – to the “Face Time” concept where callers can have a video conversation. I’d entertained him by moving around his house exploring various treasured ephemera to his echoed guffaws that followed my one man crew. He’s hooked on the concept now and as the first party pie hits the epiglottis at around 79 degrees Celsius, I get a text from him “I’m waiting for Face???”. We chat for a bit, film the footy food and then back to the game. Another SMS – “More Face at Interval?”. Refreshing that as an octogenarian Irishman he couches the game timing into the cinema visit language of his 1930’s youth. This was the age for the birth of the shinboner spirit, another tradition in decline.

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Moments split in two duirng Round 18

Posted on August 3, 2014 by Mickey Gee
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Love dont live here anymore

Posted on July 28, 2014 by Mickey Gee
logo-hawthorn index

The air was distinctly clear. Light carried far from the MCG, over Port Phillip Bay a dark glow hinted at a potential dousing sometime during this blockbuster. A millimetre or two had peppered our seats on the half forward flank, Punt Road end, before our arrival. The emergency poncho is on standby ready to be donned – SWAT style – should that shower arrive. The MCG is light up with the tone of a white energy saver bulb. With Sydney boasting such a tall timbered forward line – Reid, Tippet, Franklin and Goodes we ponder the effect on the contested mark.

141109One of those tree’s is our once time hero Lance Franklin, but having taken the money at last season’s end to head north, we’re keen to see his reception tonight in his first game back before the one time faithful he left behind. Pre-game his ex-coach Alastair Clarkson labels him the “faceless man” who while living on in Hawk history will be just another name on his magnetic board to ponder how to counter. It’s respect delivered with a clip behind the ears and the novelty of the put down gets widespread coverage. Every time he touches it tonight he’s booed, but it’s hard to sense any real malice, it feels more like booing the big bad wolf at your child’s kinder Xmas panto.

“Not much of a crowd” sniffs my game companion as we took our seats 20 minutes before the bounce. The game, once it commences draws us in so totally that when we next survey the crowd, it’s a packed house – 73,000 are here, the Swan’s biggest home and away crowd through history.

Franklin and Tippett mark everything teasing and outbodying the under sized Hawk defence. Both however can’t find their kicking boots and spray more times than they salute. The sea mist creeps in releasing a few larger drops compelling the release off the interchange bench of that emergency poncho. But not for long. Later I manage to fold it back up to it’s original size and get it back into the quick release bag. I’m nominated for a Herald-Sun “Community Hero” award for the month of July.

In the second quarter, Adam Goodes kicks 2 in 2 minutes and when Buddy slots another it appears the caning many pundits have predicted begins to look likely. Jordan Lewis rolls the dice and bangs a torp into the forward 50 occupied by only Hawk Paul Pupolo and his opponent, he rewards the faith running onto the ball from behind his opponent, gathering the ball and after dropping off his man gallops into an open goal.

Half time I eat my first footy pie in years, a 4 and 20 Angus. I skool it. I bathe in the nostalgia of pies past such is the gastronomic pleasure it induces.  Both it and the  over fried cold burnt chips that accompany it ring on loudly like the newly enhanced MCG siren long after the post midnight replay we devour on our return to Hawk central.

The twists, turns and echos on my post pie duodenum become a direct metaphor for whats to come. Down 7 points in the premiership quarter, the Hawks dig again like that memorable preliminary final of last year. Bruest kicks three, Roughie in his 200th drives one from the top of the square and Smith marks and bombs one and suddenly the deficit is erased and we’re up by 8 points.

The Hawk midfield are beginning to get on top, winning the clearances and the hard ball gets out the middle.

Franklin outruns his ol mate Gibbo to twist one through. The Hawk momentum is further slowed as Ben McGlynn goals in the square over the top off an outstretched Josh Gibson. McGlynn signals ambiguously as if agreeing with the protesting Gibson who is claiming he touched it. We go upstairs and despite a shadowy video appartiton invoking a bent back finger on ball impact, the Swans are awarded a goal. The postscript follows on twitter.

 

 

During the last quarter I gaze over the Hawthorn forward and realise the stark differences in strategy to Sydney’s amazons. There’s Poppy – Paul Puopolo who faces some vertical challenge, along with mid sized Luke Bruest and Issac Smith. Lanky Sharpshooter Jack Gunston is shifted to a wing. The Hawk’s favour an agile set up, Sydney the big marking, long kicking guns. All 3 Hawks reward their coach. Poppy with a magnificent tackle to bring Rampe down in the 50 drives home the resultant free kick. Sydney keep coming but when Burgoyne intercepts a tentative Swan defensive jab at the top of the 50 metre arc, his goal provides the omen that it’s perhaps the brown and gold’s night. Then Goodes goals again, his fourth to put this most stunning of encounters into another age of doubt.

Luke Hodge takes a grab just inside 50 deep into time on. He methodically milks the clock before drilling a true captains goals. For a brief moment the Hawks are back on top until Ben McGlynn kicks a goal at the death. Swans the league leaders by just .08%.

This has truly been an epic match. My voice is gone, the pie is singing the song in my stomach and the rain has gone. The Hawks have survived so far the long line of injuries thrown at it to overcome the league benchmark and keep alive the goal of that all important top four finish.

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If you believe they put a man on the moon

Posted on July 21, 2014 by Mickey Gee

This week, 45 years ago, Neil Armstrong stepped off the lunar module ladder and placed a tentative foot upon the surface of the moon. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” he said. Half a billion breathless earthlings 384,400 away watch engrossed in the ghostly high contrast signal transmitting to earth to enable the live action. The jet engine is barely 25 years old, yet rocket technology has evolved to sent a human payload into space and upon our nearest neighbour. So rich in mythology across all cultures and epochs, the Moon we gaze upon that night is for the first time inhabited.

1972-Hemi-2656-cylinder-VH-Pacer2I’m in Grade 3 at Leongatha East primary school. It has one building set on an acre and there are 12 children enrolled. John Wall our teacher has converted the majority of our school to the Hawthorn football club. His shyness undermined by his choice of motor vehicle – a two-tone black and burnt orange Chrsyler hemi pacer, a direct relative of the legendary Charger. A beast with an associated tone and horsepower. But not in the ball park of the Saturn V rocket array that pushed our Apollo 11 astronaut trio into space.  We’ve got an old second-hand TV upon a stationary cupboard and a ceramic wood heater that’s filled with smoldering gum embers. Everyone is watching it. It’s a different time, the interest in exploration is strong, the faith in progress that this represents is manifest. My grandma who we’ll lost just 6 weeks later was gone from the first motor vehicle and bi-plane to inter-planetary travel. Has there been such an age of technological change in one generation? No doubt the world and cold wars in that time have contributed to that rapid pace for the survival imperative engenders innovation in most evil of motivations. It’s then up to the peace to transform them into tools at our disposal at the domestic level. Such was the hope of Isiah 2:4:

“And He hath judged between the nations, And hath given a decision to many peoples, And they have beat their swords to ploughshares, And their spears to pruning-hooks, Nation doth not lift up sword unto nation, Nor do they learn any more — war.”

It is a war of ideas that sends men to the moon in that time. The cold war isn’t just about pitting two systems against each other, it’s also about misplaced pride through the dominant vision of progress and conquering new frontiers of territory, science, convenience and culture:

“I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth. No single space project in this period will be more impressive to mankind, or more important for the long-range exploration of space.”
-President John F Kennedy, Address to Congress on Urgent National Needs, May 25, 1961

Back in Leongatha East, I’m young, in awe and oblivious to all that. Deep in winter, we arrive at school that morning with the knowledge that the lunar module has successfully separated from the command module to carry Astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin toward the sea of tranquility, the preferred landing point on that barren rock. Michael Collins stays above in lunar orbit.  “The Eagle has landed” reports Armstrong as the soft dust greets the silence of the engines. Around lunchtime, Armstrong emerges like an apparition on the old Pye set.”Beautiful view. Magnificent desolation” Buzz manages when it’s his turn to get to the bottom of the ladder a little while after Armstrong. They hang about on the moon for 21 hours, plant the stars n stripes flag where no wind will caress it; and collect over 20 kilogram of moon rocks destined to travel the world like a bearded lady. Amidst the dying 60’s dream of peace, love and understanding the Moon expedition is to some the last hopeful buzz of a turbulent decade, to others the loudest shout of a nation in excess. A raft of space race inventions spin off into civil society.

The jaunt to the moon ends when the they  splash down off Hawaii on July 24, 1969. Aldrin struggles with post moon walk life falling into depression and alcoholism. Armstrong heads into teaching, serves on a succession of boards and is appointed to two enquiries into space incidents – the near tragic Apollo 13 voyage and the catastrophic Space Shuttle Challenger take off explosion that claims 7 lives.

St Kilda and Carlton this round replicated the feats of the Apollo program with their emergence from a season long traverse through the dark side of the moon emerging into a victory orbit. Carlton cut through the atmosphere with their best performance of the season as Waite, Henderson and Casbolt fire as one to destroy the North Melbourne defence. The Roo’s run of inconsistent wins about the big teams and losses to those they should beat up sees their season fall back to earth in a spectacular glowing burning show of space junk  as they attempt to re-enter the September atmosphere. St Kilda’s space program has been in disarray since their single moon walk in 1966. Ill fated voyages in 1971, 2009 and 2010 (2 expeditions) have sapped what little optimism remains of planting a St Kilda flag upon that most desolate of places where the echo of the club song is mathematically impossible. Heads of the space program have come and gone in quick succession in the bid to win the space race – Alves, Watson, Blight, Thomas, Lyon, Watters and the present Head of Aeronautics Richardson. A victory of pride occurred this round with their frenetic attack on the contested footy that cause a top four seeking Freo’s finals intentions explode into a desolating fireball.

If you believed they put a man on the moon
Man on the moon
If you believe there’s nothing up his sleeve
Then nothing is cool
– REM

3523181

Top 20 July 20th 1969
Courtesy – Rate your Music
http://rateyourmusic.com/images/all?type=w&assoc_id=2392582

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Moments found wanting in Round 17

Posted on July 15, 2014 by Mickey Gee

I’ve long been found wanting – since time immemorial – like the time I was advised of this by my father under heavy harvest stress when I totally botched the corner raking on a hay windrow making it impossible for him to follow with the baler.  Luckily for me, with my knock about personality I can today wear his in the moment epithet laced with colourful obscenities presumably learnt in the air force,  as a key reminder of the benchmark for being found…wanting. I could easily build a list here attesting to further incidents but you get the idea. Yes, this is the round where the chosen – indeed men of a certain generation in our great game were found wanting. Men who get to their middle aged years with a touch of arrogance, entitlement and inflated sense of freedom to speak their mind as a little bit of gospel. So….

Mick or Eddie for the main prize here?  Mick’s nominated for his less than encouraging leg up to his captain Chris Judd to kick on into another season lest he be remembered as a hack struggling for a touch in his last game. Or for talking up his opponent Sydney pre game as having the greatest list he’s ever seen. Talk about keeping a lid on the confidence amongst the boys he? Or for his public pasting of Channel 7 crew and boundary rider and Geelong premiership captain Cameron Ling at half time when his Blue boys were in with a sniff having taken it right up to the COLA (Cost of living allowance) Swanees. When Ling was ejected from the rooms later, the momentum was gone and the Blues via Buddy’s 6 big goals were pulverised beyond the need to be wanted.

Eddie cant stop slugging it out with the Swans motivated by the sense the extra $1 million dollar accrued annually in their salary cap is being blown on superstars. Caught in a slanging match with Sydney President Andrew Pridham who began to give as good as he got to setting Ed straight on:

His view on Eddie:
“He is the AFL equivalent of Clive Palmer,He represents one 18th of the clubs, which is 5.5 per cent of the clubs, but he just dominates the agenda for reasons of self-interest.

The need to reign in Eddie:
“No one seems to bring him to account but I’m happy to”

The entry of the Greater Western Sydney whom Ed claims Sydney opposed:
“Eddie @sydneyswans voted for @GWS_Giants.  I was at the meeting and voted. You must have been asleep in that meeting. Tell the truth.”

His longetivity at the Swans:
“Been on @sydneyswans for 13 years not 5 minutes. Perhaps Eddie has been around too long?”

Ed came back with a depiction of Sydney as  “The greatest protectors of their self-interest of any organisation that god’s put breath into.” I’m with Ed even though he was on the angry pills after his Pies were obliterated on Sunday by the Dons. Take way the COLA, the annual subsidies and see what happens in a level playing field. “Get stuffed Sydney’’.

Sydney’s Swanee coach John Longmire sniffed at then pushed back the plate offered his way as assistant coach of the Australian team in which Ed has some titular diplomatic role for that ridiculous hybrid our code insists on continuing to play about the Irish. Eddie felt this petty but fellas a spate over that inane Round ball? Please…

Brian Taylor’s reference to Harry Taylor as a “big poofter” live to air amongst co commentator guffaws brought a social media storm that forced his apology just two quarters later. Now what does the “big” he invokes here refer to ? That Harry’s got an extra scoop of gayness? Built like a Village person? Out, proud and showy on his teammates shoulders innocently celebrating his 150th? Its the “big” that’s the most ambiguous for me. Bound for counseling and “education”. Now Harry who hasn’t come out yet if his wife has anything to do with it,  left Ian Thorpe’s interview with a media exhumed Parky do the talking while the world balanced the contradictions of the lead broadcasters’ marque talent on the wrong side of the street viz a vee their AFL partner’s commitment to stamping out homophobia in football.  There’s some famous pedigree here – Who could forget Ted Whitten who,  after 25 years of media experience going back to this infamous “Hit the boundary line” incite in the commentary box to St Kilda on the road to their first flag in ’66; invoking the poofta jibe at a co-panelist during a handball competition on the first ever Footy show. No “big” for Ted here, a real man, he cut straight to the chase.  I’m glad Ted never whacked me. I remember him being taunted by a smart arse Adidas sales rep where your humble writer was conscripted in whites and bow tie to serve the drinks and offer up canapes that should have come with their own forensic report. The salesperson foolishly thought he was in Ted’s inner circle when he started up his bullshit. Ted’s jab to his arm delivered with serious menace beneath a veneer of good natured mates having a big night. Laughs all round. Ted laughing. Salesperson laughing. 2 hours later he’s in the corner still rubbing that arm.

But what of the footy and those all important finals places? Whose found wanting there?

Port’s stream and run game bogged again this time in the fields of Etihad against a christian revivalist Richmond. Hopes of a home final melt like Macarthur’s Park.

Gold Coast without their wounded king fall to another bunch of young canine stars emerging from the PETA raided West Footscray puppy farm.

Collingwood’s mid field stung by Essendon’s intensity fails to hold up a depleted backline and goals fall upon them unfettered.

Adelaide’s initiative is rebuffed after 3 Hawk revivals to see off a plucky opponent before a hostile 50,000 plus crowd.

ed

 

 

 

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Wall of Sound

Posted on July 12, 2014 by Mickey Gee
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Everyone talks about the noise, the sheer wall of Adelaide oval sound. There’s over 50,000 stuffed into every seat, burrow and bow at the ground. It’s an unsettling surprise, reminds me of an incident last summer while in search of forgotten rail up through the ancient side lines of the Bendigo line. Once we follow the route of the Daylesford – Carlsruhe line, we stand on the station platform in Kyneton as an older diesel with goods load drifts through hav an earlier at speed modern Velocity passenger train.  Out of nowhere appear a possee of foamers complete with SLRs ready to spit out the digital Kodachrome as self styled train spotting paps whose work is bound for another blogpost and a lost weekend buried in comments, cross postings, model disputes and engine reminiscences.

It’s a pure world of fascination, nostalgia, heritage and obsession.  As the Diesel and it’s manifest traverse the crossing,  the noise subsides and we turn to find the snappers have scarpered. As we walk back to the car, we hear the noise of a long forgotten steam train slowing moving off a siding. It’s building momentum, getting louder, closer. But where is it? There’s no smoke. Only the precarious vibrations of the old beast rattling us. Suddenly one of the gunzels in his beat up Ford Escort pulls slowing past us. His Pioneer cassette stereo is up full bore and he’s captive listening to a “Great Engines of the Steam Era – the Goods Train Years Sliver Series – Volume 27” CD. After serious greetings, he mentions in passing he’d discerned from the recording impending maintenance was required on the boiler and a pistol valve was just about shot.

This world is in direct parallel to the world at Adelaide oval where there’s a pre game “crowd sourcing” activity to push the noise meter past the 105 Decibel benchmark through a series of visual stimuli. Independent acoustic testing suggests up to 50 dB is due to the intestinal effects of consuming the local Southwark brew. To put this into perspective standing as close as 70 metres from the explosion of a 1 TNT ton bomb generates a decibel count of 210. So much for that crowd. That old freight train and it’s broadband frequency horn you’d hear rumbling past the now lonesome footy park is well in the hunt for that record.

This is a crowd that likes the sound of it’s own voice. So its important the Hawks quieten it early. From the beginning, the Hawks get the space that eluded them so glaringly last week against North Melbourne. Gunston is playing one out 30 odd metres from goal. He snaffles a hard ball get in a pack, pivots and pitches it onto the boot half standing up as he’s slung and drills his first. Then, a pack mark hanger and goal followed by a regulation mark and goal. Sammy Mitchell gets punched in the throat which requires the umpire to ping him for holding the ball. In the forward pocket, the scene of  two recent goal of the year contenders, the whole bay is wearing yellow “Eddie Betts pocket” t-shirts, many of them a few kg’s over their playing/grazing weight. As you know, yellow abhors a vacuum.  When Matthew White goals from there, it’s almost a disappointment to the bay, his outstretched messiah like hands sniffed at by the fans because it’s simply not Eddie. But strategically in bracing the fortress qualities of Adelaide oval for opposing teams, why would you fill a bay with your own supporters in the colour of your opposition? At least they’ll generate plenty of reflected moon light on the pedestrian bridge back into the CBD. A thousand likes to  those agile “working out loud” hipster marketers hyping something out of nothin. Not all campaigns are meant to be as tonight Eddie is shut down in his 200th with only 7 possessions. Grabs a cheapie off the ground but Litherland gives the lesson in reverse marketing.

The Crows get to within 2 early in the second and the jug is back on the boil in the crowd. Geelong refugee Podsiadly is in everything, goals off a mark and free kick;  drags Hodge down in a tackle unleashing the bog standard Adelaide oval caterwauling. When they re-take the lead at the 8 minute mark after a Taylor Walker bomb you’re googling the nearest Government funded hearing test. Bruest plugs his 28th straight goal and the Hawks go into the break a goal up.

The third opens optimistically for the home boys with two more from Jenkins in 2 minutes. The Crows are within a point. Bang Bang crows number 5 for game, then Gunston and Bruest to equal that record with Tony Lockett of 29 goals in a row. Crows white hot in the middle but Hawks punish them off the rebound. Durea’s bomb pushes it out to 16 points.

Umpire Ray Chamberlain pulls up Luke Bruest as he negotiates Crows defenders and the boundary line on the way to goal. Claiming to have heard a siren in his headset that no-one in the stadium, watching TV or communicating with the spirit world or monitoring transmissions in a surveillance satellite hears, he blows time. When told by a boundary umpire “I dont think the siren’s gone Ray” he utters the immortal “Oh Shit”. The look on his face carries an allegiance with that look seen by every Homicide cop as the accused realises his story has more holes in it than your Uncle’s moth infested Hawaiian button up surf shirt.  Guilty of stuffing up – majorly. Blame the noise again – the noise in Ray’s head that’s only an echo of his mind.


In the last, a bevy of points from Bruest (the first blot on his goal kicking streak since 29 goals ago) , Langford (woodwork from 15 metres out) and Ceglar leave that ol barn door ajar and Brodie Smith goals to push the argument. What a game! Langford finds Bruest in the square and he marks and goals, Ceglar seals it at the 8 minute mark as Hawks take a 26 point lead before a couple of junk Crow goals missed by most streaming for the exits.

Earlier in pre-game SMS interplay with Crow acquaintance who mentions the likelihood of a cold front sweeping Adelaide during the game. It holds off until just after the final siren much to the joy of cross town rivals.

Crows now derailed in the journey to make the final 8 needing at least 5 wins out of the 6 remaining games. Hawks however maintain a grasp on top 4 for now with that most difficult of runs home ahead and Sydney, Collingwood, Geelong and Fremantle lining up to make some noise. The intrigue remains with us!

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Mick’s Round 16 RANT!

Posted on July 7, 2014 by Mickey Gee

Upsets and boilovers, this round is beset by upside down results that raise the metabolism in July but be barely remembered in September. Well, that’s what I wanted to tell the Roo’s supporter who baited me on the siren. Hawthorn and Port Adelaide, 1st and 2nd respectively capitulate along with Collingwood to a Gazza less Gold Coast Suns.

Gazza was almost unbackable as 2014 Brownlow medal until the Brent McCaffer tackle dislocated the great man’s shoulder in the 3rd quarter. He comes off looking with a pot roast. Rather than snuffing out the Suns it brought them to life as they ran over the top of the Pies. All wait nervously for the scans on Monday to confirm the extent of the damage to both punter hip pocket along with the remnants of Garry’s season and that potential first finals appearance.

Meantime a tale of two cities with Adelaide anaesthetising Greater Western Sydney before orange grandstands characterised by fan indifference. Back home at the one time fortress Port fall for the second week in a row and third time in four games putting the Creed to the test. This lets Sydney sneak to top after a rain sodden slog across the continent at Subiaco where Adam Goodes kicks 3 goals in a celebration for overtaking Crow wonder-man Andrew Macleod for the most games by an indigenous player.

Footy these days in between actual game time is a cacophony of ads, home team pump ups and inconsequential crowd interviews. We can’t be left alone with our thoughts lest another allegation of boredom is further thrown at the AFL. While never been one for too much nostalgia, I do miss the reserves and the brass bands at half time along with sound amplified with barely up to date Phillips outdoors speakers like you’d see only at your school sports carnival. North Melbourne have taken this to a new level with a recording of players from some post game celebration as a preamble to the the club song before they run out – “the out they come, out they come, out they come to play” which is played just prior to the game and again at the end. There’s also a “video grab shown after each Roo goal extolling fans to Make Some Noise in a strobing, shaking 2003 style Christian website font accompanied by a pressure cooker gauge that just about ready to blow! Everyone dutifully screams, bangs chairs and whistles on command. Another fabulous tradition we’ve borrowed from the US NFL.

Richmond saved themselves from a fan meltdown after finding 3 quick goals in succession in the third quarter to break the deadlock about the injury raddled Brisbane Lions.

drugs-are-bad-mmkayCan you keep up with the Essendon supplements saga? Can you give a stuff? The whole debacle is best summed up by possible JFK assassination conspiracist David Ferrie in Oliver Stones movie JFK: “Oh man, why don’t you fuckin’ stop it? Shit, this is too fuckin’ big for you, you know that? Who did the president, who killed Kennedy, fuck man! It’s a mystery! It’s a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma! The fuckin’ shooters don’t even know! Don’t you get it?” . Then on Friday pops up a video featuring AFL medico Dr Peter Harcourt rapping at a Zurich medical conference where confidentiality for presenters had been assured for the “delicate geniuses” in attendance, Until Thursday the video had only 6 views and by Saturday is pulled running the YouTube server rapid as hungry journos streamed it in slow mo in the hope of picking gnat shit out of peppercorns. Claiming 35-odd” former and current Bombers players were being monitored for “potential hormonal issues or cancer”, Harcourt also suggests on tape there was passive acceptance by Bombers players of the supplement program. Still no-one can tell us the missing piece of vital documented information about just what the the players were injected with, when, and where. But gee you’d hope all that hard work to get into the final 8 doesnt be naught a second year in a row.

Whilst on drugs, more dirt split at that conference as Dr Peter Harcourt claimed the league had retired three players hopelessly addicted to illicit substances and who’d come to their attention through testing. Speculation on who these might be grips the public imagination. One less highlight fact was that AFL players were low users compared to their age group out in the community writing, reading and wrapping up fish n chips in newspapers.

Eveyone seems to have a bit of round ball World Cupitis. I got up and yelled for the boys, wept with joy as Tim Cahill punctured the net at will,  sunk into despair when eliminated from further contention in the second game and wept as we were punished in the last game….Then I flicked the set over to Fox Footy where it’s squatted ever since. It’s easy to think that something so special we can only afford it once every 4 years once we’ve guaranteed the likely bankruptcy of the host nation and banished the impoverished inhabitants out of prime real estate is so much better than our code served supermarket like up 9 times a week for 23 weeks straight. How the hell can AFL compete with getting up at 2, 4 and 6 am? But carry over into support for the local national “football” (soccer a dirty world right?) league over the journey to the next cup in the next big thing in democracy the Russian federation followed in 2022 to the fashionable but extreme UV environment of Qatar? We rarely mention other sports in this blog, however we feel its time to make a stand the endless ongoing criticism of our magnificent game. So it was a shock to read Pie fan favourite “Joffa” quoted in the Herald Sun that he’d rather watch the World Cup than his own beloved AFL! Whhaaaattttt????? Paramedic!!!!

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Now, unlike many I’ve long admired his passion for both the Pies and the disadvantaged. But just what is it with this game bashing this season?  It’s like a virus more and more feel compelled to catch. Should we relieve some of boredom that by asking Channel 7 to never show Joffa behind the goals again? Maybe jazz up the game but getting contestants on Project Runway to compete to fashion a replacement for that gauche gold “victory” jacket. Or withdraw the advantages Joff’s had in promoting various charities he rightfully support  that AFL involvement has give you? Or is just a more simple justification about where his heart still lies – that Collingwood are nearly as unpredictable as North this year and the path to September is further littered with impediments than a haberdashery strewn with discard sequins. The last quarter of Joff’s beloved Pies versus Gold Coast this round and presumably after his comments were given to an eager Herald Sun happy to trade off his presumably off the cuff innocent comments was perhaps one of the most exciting this season. Boring? Hand in the membership Joffa!

Whilst on that game Pie Clinton Young’s chest bouncing attempt at marking 25 metres out in the dying moments put paid to a Pie victory. This costly error belied the sublime influence he’d earlier with the first couple of long goals in the game but I sure the mythical “even grandma would have pulled that in”.

“What person under the age of 50 is called Brian?” messaged Hanna to my daughter Fagyn high up in level 3 after Lake’s brain fade in the 3rd quarter of Hawks V Roos? 50 metre penalties, wrestles with threats to tracias and unceremonious move up forward to quell his nonsense all in a days work in a performance that goes straight past the match review committee to the AFL tribunal.

file1762The Dogs and Cats context has been the beginnings of literacy for many children given their frequent appearance in early readers. No doggy get’s his dinner here as the cats predictably win on their own litter hill. Only real excitement is the vintage steam engine on the line to the west of the ground blowing it’s whistle continuously during the first quarter on return from excursion.

Picture of Joffa from http://www.bigfooty.com/forum/threads/joffa-on-the-big-screen.932906/

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