Season 2018 ~ Mick's AFL Footy Blog

The new season is almost upon us! Not too late to get some terrific new fan merchandise for yourself that tells it like it is. Here’s a selection that have caught our eye.

“Time is the fire in which we all burn” quipped Captain Kirk in his last cinematic performance. Whilst referring to the “Ribbon”, a kind of weapon that ripped apart the time-space continuum, the quote is equally applicable to the Richmond Football Club. This clock makes the perfect gift for the Tiger fan operating under the delusion that time is in fact on their side.

Lofty claims building on the northward influence of Paul Roos upon the Demons in 2014 have been given a cold shower by the man himself as he prepares the club for ongoing turbulence. This door mat is the perfect gift for the opposition fan greedily scanning the draw for the clash against the Dees. Dee fans can drop one at the back door to reinforce the perception that the whippings are now marginally slighter than 2013.

Western Bulldogs last flag was two generations ago in 1954. After deviating from the famous “Footscray” tricolour guernsey and all those historic benchmarks, the Club became a powerhouse in the 90’s only to be stopped at successive preliminary finals.  Last year the club returned to its famous horizontal strip and regained some lost fight. Many commentators however have the Dogs in the bottom 8 bringing to mind Economist John Maynard Keynes quip on economic futures that “in the long run we are all dead.”

Don’t them bottles and cans make a noise? Sydney’s “Love Child” status with the AFL is now over in the crater from the Buddy Franklin monster 9 year deal.

This handy bin is a terrific boost to the fan whose house is over stuffed with Swan’s memorabilia. Dispose of past heroes Shane Mumford, Jesse White and Andrejs Everitt. Take pride in recycling the future need to “keep the group together” to tilt at future glory now that the main bin is full with Buddy and Tippet and there’s nothing now left to throw out nor drink from.

Sacking a coach at the end of the season is not unusual. Waiting til pre-season starts is positively novel-making it tough for Waters to pick up another gig in the coaching fraternity. This pet mat should give him comfort given the feet will be up for most of this, and following seasons.

Novelty item celebrating that rare day in ’99 when Geelong Champion Garry Hocking changed his name by deed poll to Whiskas as part of a long shot marketing stunt with a cat food manufacturer to support a skint Geelong. Incredibly, the AFL refused to print the Whiska’s name in the Record that week. No cream for the cat that year slumping to tenth and losing coach Gary Ayres. Warning: Do not eat cat food from this or any other bowl.

This attractive bar mat can take pride of place in the Roo man or woman cave. Proudly presented to reinforce the self-fulfilling prophesy that is the current shinboner spirit. Drink – Lose the close one – Forget – Win Big – Drink – Forget – Lose the close one – Drink – Forget ad nauseum. Easy to clean those pesky Brad Scott’s “missed it by that much” glass rings from the post surrendered game press conference.

This little beauty might inject a new dynamic into the conversation with mates whether pulled out for a swig on the fairway, schoolyard, gym or at the game itself.

It’s not all laughs and talking points however. Just make sure you actually get confirmation via email, text, statutory dec; carrier pigeon, Chinese whisper etc that the water – plus any additives (eg raspberry cordial) – you consume are in fact free of the dreaded substance. Be doubly on guard when filling the bottle on level 1 at Ethihad. Lock these ASADA/WADA communications away for a rainy day – in court.

Remember to wash out the contents after each use lest the container get a little dank.

Like you I was gutted to learn of frightening rumours about the possible recruitment of Jeff Kennett to the  role of AFL cheif executive once Andrew Demitriou steps down at season end. Been in footy a long time. Remembers the smell of the men’s urinals wafting over the standing room being the highlight of heading to the Old Hawk Glenferrie oval as a youngster. One silver lining – after taking credit for the Hawks 2013 flag with a massively tentative argument, finally he’d be responsible for every premiership – every year. Wipe your life for good of Jeff with this cheeky little winner.

Get on board your own merchandise insights. Have a ball at Supporters Central.

The art of the spectacular mark compels us to suspend our understanding of gravity. As a child I internalised the notion of the bird man and came to the realisation that I wanted to be an action man. Permanently steeped in aftershave, tackling mountains with or without sherpas, skooling vermouth mid bar brawl, hitting a ton in boiling humidty on a spinners paradise in Madras, trumping the house with a royal flush, necking lagers out of a toothpaste tube on the command module after putting my footprint on the moon and parachuting in solo to a rampant oil rig fire to quell the inferno Red Adair style. This was the life ahead of me at age 4.

Then I saw the film Mary Poppins.

Her ability to fly like the emerging jet man conjured up aspirations of flying hitherto available only to those indulgent within lysergic culture. Other insiders amongst the chosen to ride the backs of their fellow man in one spectacular speccie after another also had inside passage  to share Mary’s astral visions. I couldn’t wait to get out of the cinema and onto the roof with mum’s brollie to traverse the neighbouring farms and enchant the various animals. Beyond the gal was offered an 18 foot drop. I stepped off that roof confident in the visions to come. Once mum’s trusted umbrella failed to provide sufficient drag to slow my descent, let alone glide me into the treetops,  I knew my days of action were essentially over before they’d even been removed from the gift wrapping. Once the swelling had subsided and the reality shock – nay grief – internalised,  I’d learnt a new concept I was to revisit time and again through life – free falling free and, in public.

All was not lost. From this lesson, I took heart in the persona of the poseur.  I looked into the heart of Roland Barthe’s essay on wrestling – “What the public wants is the image of passion, not passion itself”.  I realised that posuering was a type of action into which I could safely buy in, for “what is thus displayed for the public is the great spectacle of Suffering, Defeat, and Justice.” The act of posing gives the wannabe a way – with dignity – into worlds that are beyond him or her. For example lads recreating sensational marks on the park – be it Jezza, Shaun Smith or Brett Burton.  While all eyes focus on the actor taking the recreated “mark”, the true performance of purity belongs to he who provides the “sit”, the “ride”…the “lack of timing” … “the incomplete and inept competitiveness” to the climax of final and total public outplayedmanship. In the recreation of bad timing, pain, loss of muscular and skeletal control, surprise, humiliation and humility lies the true essence of the immortal poseur. Like mutants, we are everywhere going about our business ready to perform being bowled all ends up by Steyne, sold a dummy by Cyril or beaten easily down the line by Dokovic amid footwork in disarray. Its not the act of defeat but the joy of defeat’s performance that is the poseurs hard won province.

The genius behind the cinematisation of Mary Poppins Walt Disney was long rumoured to be “frozen” on his death in 1966 awaiting maturity in the after life of the nascent cyrogenics industry. While the 24 frames a second deep freeze is rumoured to be simply a rumour, should Walt be returned and re-energised, he’ll emerge into a world comfortable and familar with the less noble aspect of posuer life in an endless cycle of selfies and status updates. Confronted with social media, Walt will make the surmise that cats and food now reign in place of crest fallen Christianity.  Poor Walt will be out of touch with digital mores,  will struggle with the tablet and glass and be behind the animated eight ball before you can say mitosis. Potentially he risks infamy with the sort of comeback afforded Tony Lockett’s return after a year or two out of the game – unless mashed up in some post 23rd century techn goth mix When you wish upon a star.  Personally I’d prefer an augmented reality version of Mary so I’d have someone to talk to as I crashed to earth holding my virtual umbrella. At least she’d “like” my fall. We’re now a long way from Barthe’s nirvana:

“Wrestling (Football – sic)  presents man’s suffering with all the amplification of tragic masks. The wrestler (Footballer sic) who suffers in a hold which is reputedly cruel (an arm- lock, a twisted leg) offers an excessive portrayal of Suffering; like a primitive Pieta, he exhibits for all to see his face, exaggeratedly contorted by an intolerable affliction (getting a bake – sic).”