Dogs_R_Us
3 Oct 2007, 18:39
http://realfooty.com.au/news/news/victory-brings-joy-to-the-world/2007/10/02/1191091115107.html
Substitute Bulldog names and words where appropriate.
Victory brings joy to the world
John Harms | October 3, 2007
IT IS grand final morning. I am walking through the Fitzroy Gardens. By myself. Past the cenotaph. I look up at the majestic trees. I'm trying to understand my state. My thoughts. My emotions. My smallness.
I have an overwhelming feeling as I stroll along. It is the deepest of feelings: that life matters and that people matter. And I wonder why I am in such a heightened state of awareness on the morning of a footy match. Just a footy match. Why do I find such meaning in this?
I keep walking. I cannot remember life without footy. So many of my childhood memories are connected with footy. Great family days. The first Geelong game I can really remember attending was against Footscray at VFL Park in 1971. We happened to sit with the Geelong cheer squad. "Gee-Long CLAP CLAP CLAP, Gee-Long CLAP CLAP CLAP". We were part of it, stirred by it. The Cats lost after a Billy Goggin goal was disallowed in the final minutes. Ripped off. It was a shocking decision and we left wondering why that always happened to us.
As I get closer to Wellington Parade the crowd swells. Generations of Geelong supporters walk together. I feel I know them. I know they are struggling with this. Trying to be confident. Years of failure haunting them. "Is it me?" we ask ourselves.
Feeling inadequate. Feeling no sense of entitlement. Why? Why do I feel I don't deserve this? Why have the gods chosen the people of Carlton and Hawthorn and Essendon? Why does the world belong to them?
But I admire these Geelong people; that they are not embittered. I admire their loyalty and their sense of hope. I admire the gentleness of their souls and their understanding that profound relationships are born of shared suffering. I admire their capacity to forgive. But, God forbid, what if we lose today? Is this to be just another test of our character?
Only grace will save us, and the sausages and beers in Yarra Park. J. Dunne has gathered with C. Allan, B. Kane and Brian. GCJD Haigh turns up. Amber arrives ("I'm so nervous"). Then the Handicapper waddles up from Jolimont station like a grand final veteran.
The group disperses, heading to the various seats that we've somehow managed to secure. The Handicapper and I are three rows back, behind the point post, city end. We are next to the Geelong cheer squad.
Bobby Davis is introduced. My tears well. Not because of the 1963 premiership. Just because he is a wonderful man — a true tribe elder. The Handicapper holds my forearm.
The Cats burst through the banner. It's almost too much. Gary and Nathan Ablett make me think of their father. His brilliance. His restlessness. I think of my parents. My father's life-long love of the club. Him sitting with my mother in a little house in the Adelaide Hills. My brothers and their families. I think of those gathered around Australia and the world. Please.
The game starts like a grand final. Physical scrimmages. Nervous handballs go nowhere. Then the Cats settle. Chappie bombs, Mooney marks. Goal. Mooney marks again and dishes to Johnno. Another one. Johnno is alert. He intercepts a handball and bananas towards goal. Just off line. Gary Ablett spoils the kick in, paddles, steadies and goals. The players are washing our fear away.
The Handicapper's eyes speak the unspeakable: "I think we've got this."
I feel like we are chosen. At last. And we believe it. I feel like the boys are playing so brilliantly that something drastically awful would have to happen for us to lose.
They are showing us that they have had an epiphany. That they have invited in the football spirit. That they have worked out people are at their finest when they denounce the tyranny of self, in the interests of the team. And these are the fruits of that spirit.
Just in case I'm not convinced, something amazing happens. When Chad Cornes kicks for goal the footy lands a few rows behind me. It bounces up, and I reach up and mark it. I have the grand final footy in my hands. I handball it back to the boundary umpire.
By final siren time, I feel my own joy and the joy of others. The players. Mark Thompson. Billy Brownless. Us fans. You must understand suffering to know the fullness of that joy.
Substitute Bulldog names and words where appropriate.
Victory brings joy to the world
John Harms | October 3, 2007
IT IS grand final morning. I am walking through the Fitzroy Gardens. By myself. Past the cenotaph. I look up at the majestic trees. I'm trying to understand my state. My thoughts. My emotions. My smallness.
I have an overwhelming feeling as I stroll along. It is the deepest of feelings: that life matters and that people matter. And I wonder why I am in such a heightened state of awareness on the morning of a footy match. Just a footy match. Why do I find such meaning in this?
I keep walking. I cannot remember life without footy. So many of my childhood memories are connected with footy. Great family days. The first Geelong game I can really remember attending was against Footscray at VFL Park in 1971. We happened to sit with the Geelong cheer squad. "Gee-Long CLAP CLAP CLAP, Gee-Long CLAP CLAP CLAP". We were part of it, stirred by it. The Cats lost after a Billy Goggin goal was disallowed in the final minutes. Ripped off. It was a shocking decision and we left wondering why that always happened to us.
As I get closer to Wellington Parade the crowd swells. Generations of Geelong supporters walk together. I feel I know them. I know they are struggling with this. Trying to be confident. Years of failure haunting them. "Is it me?" we ask ourselves.
Feeling inadequate. Feeling no sense of entitlement. Why? Why do I feel I don't deserve this? Why have the gods chosen the people of Carlton and Hawthorn and Essendon? Why does the world belong to them?
But I admire these Geelong people; that they are not embittered. I admire their loyalty and their sense of hope. I admire the gentleness of their souls and their understanding that profound relationships are born of shared suffering. I admire their capacity to forgive. But, God forbid, what if we lose today? Is this to be just another test of our character?
Only grace will save us, and the sausages and beers in Yarra Park. J. Dunne has gathered with C. Allan, B. Kane and Brian. GCJD Haigh turns up. Amber arrives ("I'm so nervous"). Then the Handicapper waddles up from Jolimont station like a grand final veteran.
The group disperses, heading to the various seats that we've somehow managed to secure. The Handicapper and I are three rows back, behind the point post, city end. We are next to the Geelong cheer squad.
Bobby Davis is introduced. My tears well. Not because of the 1963 premiership. Just because he is a wonderful man — a true tribe elder. The Handicapper holds my forearm.
The Cats burst through the banner. It's almost too much. Gary and Nathan Ablett make me think of their father. His brilliance. His restlessness. I think of my parents. My father's life-long love of the club. Him sitting with my mother in a little house in the Adelaide Hills. My brothers and their families. I think of those gathered around Australia and the world. Please.
The game starts like a grand final. Physical scrimmages. Nervous handballs go nowhere. Then the Cats settle. Chappie bombs, Mooney marks. Goal. Mooney marks again and dishes to Johnno. Another one. Johnno is alert. He intercepts a handball and bananas towards goal. Just off line. Gary Ablett spoils the kick in, paddles, steadies and goals. The players are washing our fear away.
The Handicapper's eyes speak the unspeakable: "I think we've got this."
I feel like we are chosen. At last. And we believe it. I feel like the boys are playing so brilliantly that something drastically awful would have to happen for us to lose.
They are showing us that they have had an epiphany. That they have invited in the football spirit. That they have worked out people are at their finest when they denounce the tyranny of self, in the interests of the team. And these are the fruits of that spirit.
Just in case I'm not convinced, something amazing happens. When Chad Cornes kicks for goal the footy lands a few rows behind me. It bounces up, and I reach up and mark it. I have the grand final footy in my hands. I handball it back to the boundary umpire.
By final siren time, I feel my own joy and the joy of others. The players. Mark Thompson. Billy Brownless. Us fans. You must understand suffering to know the fullness of that joy.