Lance Uppercut
3 Jun 2009, 10:56
I've been waiting for John Harms to turn his attention to the Dons :D
Red 'n black, Sunday school and health insurance (http://www.theage.com.au/news/rfnews/keeping-the-faith/2009/06/02/1243708456397.html)
ON MY Saturday evening flight from the Gold Coast I noticed that the bloke next to me and his two-year-old son were wearing Dunlop Volleys. So was I.
"Amazing," I said. "26F, 26E, 26D: all in Volleys."
We got chatting. Volleys will do that. He turned out to be Paul from Melton, a project manager in the construction industry.
"How'd you get into that?" I asked.
"I'm a big Bombers fan," he said. I must have looked puzzled. "I went to the RMIT open day when I was in year 12," he explained. "Saw on a poster that James Hird was a graduate in civil engineering. Thought, that'll do."
He's happy with his life. And why wouldn't he be. Wife. Kids. Family holidays on the Gold Coast. And he's not far from the new Victorian harness racing complex.
He tells me he recently took the kids to see Essendon train. Couldn't speak highly enough of the players. Nice blokes. Signed autographs till it was dark. And Gary O'Donnell. Bloody nice bloke. Played kick to kick with his little 'uns for ages and when it was time to put the footies away Gaz dropped his two-year-old in the wheelie bin with all the Sherrins. Photos. Sensational.
Tim Watson and the Maddens. Nice blokes too. Tim wouldn't drop in without a Boston bun. And the Danihers. Amazing blokes. Help you with your harvestin'. Old-time blokes. My word they are. Blokes who can play 500, and gypsy tap, and hook the speaker up to the driver's side window without lettin' the frost in.
At Essendon even their killers are nice blokes. Roger Merrett: ripper bloke. Runs a post office now. And Sheeds. Made us forget what a killer he was. Turned into a bastard the way we love them.
And all so very Essendon. Red and black. You just can't imagine James Hird in a St Kilda jumper, or Timmy in a Hawthorn jumper.
And there's a very good reason for that: Essendon stands for something. Decency. Resilience (which will be needed today).
Essendon is Sunday school and health insurance; Rotary and pesticides on the peach tree. It's Judith Durham and cadets and Girl Guides selling biscuits; fish and chips (not pizza) on Friday nights, and the races at Moonee Valley (because Flemington is so far away). It's The Bill and casual gear from Beard Bros, Napier Street; Cricket Australia merchandise and deodorant on the dashboard. Essendon is about going off to uni ("because I didn't have the chance") but given a choice between a John Pilger lecture and the XU1 that some bloke's got up on blocks in Pelham Street, it's about the Torana every time.
I sit among the Bombers faithful at Docklands, half asleep in the winter torpor. Keen to see Paddy Ryder again and waiting for Johnno to do his stuff. The Essendon ruckman, who seems very nice, starts brilliantly, jumping over the top of Mark Blake, but goes out of the game when Scott Mumford finds his body, blocks his approach, and won't let daylight pass between the two of them.
Then Johnno takes off. Brilliant. He's making Gary Ablett look like a try-hard. He's got a brain the size of Florida. And skills to boot. The Cats could win by 20 goals. At one point he and Ablett are like kids in the yard, toying with their opponents (and teammates) until Johnno snaps from the pocket (from a set shot).
Going home in the Epping train an Essendon fan says g'day. Nice bloke. Friendly. Shane from Preston looks and laughs so much like Bill Murray in Caddyshack I'm starting to wonder. He tells me he's from a Richmond family in Albury but when his mother went to buy each of her tribe a Tigers jumper the sports store was one short and he wound up with an Essendon jumper. ("She never got around to knitting the yellow sash").
He came to Melbourne years ago.
"To go to uni?"
"No, to follow the Bombers," he says.
I ask what makes a Bombers fan. "There's only one type," he says. "When we're struggling we have to have someone to blame. It's Walshy's fault. It's Somerville's fault. It's Roger's fault. It's Wallis' fault. It's Sheeds' fault. That's us."
"What do you do?" I ask.
"I'm the groundsman at Newman College," he says, and laughs. It's a rags to riches story.
Certainly doesn't take us to task like he does some teams :cool:
Red 'n black, Sunday school and health insurance (http://www.theage.com.au/news/rfnews/keeping-the-faith/2009/06/02/1243708456397.html)
ON MY Saturday evening flight from the Gold Coast I noticed that the bloke next to me and his two-year-old son were wearing Dunlop Volleys. So was I.
"Amazing," I said. "26F, 26E, 26D: all in Volleys."
We got chatting. Volleys will do that. He turned out to be Paul from Melton, a project manager in the construction industry.
"How'd you get into that?" I asked.
"I'm a big Bombers fan," he said. I must have looked puzzled. "I went to the RMIT open day when I was in year 12," he explained. "Saw on a poster that James Hird was a graduate in civil engineering. Thought, that'll do."
He's happy with his life. And why wouldn't he be. Wife. Kids. Family holidays on the Gold Coast. And he's not far from the new Victorian harness racing complex.
He tells me he recently took the kids to see Essendon train. Couldn't speak highly enough of the players. Nice blokes. Signed autographs till it was dark. And Gary O'Donnell. Bloody nice bloke. Played kick to kick with his little 'uns for ages and when it was time to put the footies away Gaz dropped his two-year-old in the wheelie bin with all the Sherrins. Photos. Sensational.
Tim Watson and the Maddens. Nice blokes too. Tim wouldn't drop in without a Boston bun. And the Danihers. Amazing blokes. Help you with your harvestin'. Old-time blokes. My word they are. Blokes who can play 500, and gypsy tap, and hook the speaker up to the driver's side window without lettin' the frost in.
At Essendon even their killers are nice blokes. Roger Merrett: ripper bloke. Runs a post office now. And Sheeds. Made us forget what a killer he was. Turned into a bastard the way we love them.
And all so very Essendon. Red and black. You just can't imagine James Hird in a St Kilda jumper, or Timmy in a Hawthorn jumper.
And there's a very good reason for that: Essendon stands for something. Decency. Resilience (which will be needed today).
Essendon is Sunday school and health insurance; Rotary and pesticides on the peach tree. It's Judith Durham and cadets and Girl Guides selling biscuits; fish and chips (not pizza) on Friday nights, and the races at Moonee Valley (because Flemington is so far away). It's The Bill and casual gear from Beard Bros, Napier Street; Cricket Australia merchandise and deodorant on the dashboard. Essendon is about going off to uni ("because I didn't have the chance") but given a choice between a John Pilger lecture and the XU1 that some bloke's got up on blocks in Pelham Street, it's about the Torana every time.
I sit among the Bombers faithful at Docklands, half asleep in the winter torpor. Keen to see Paddy Ryder again and waiting for Johnno to do his stuff. The Essendon ruckman, who seems very nice, starts brilliantly, jumping over the top of Mark Blake, but goes out of the game when Scott Mumford finds his body, blocks his approach, and won't let daylight pass between the two of them.
Then Johnno takes off. Brilliant. He's making Gary Ablett look like a try-hard. He's got a brain the size of Florida. And skills to boot. The Cats could win by 20 goals. At one point he and Ablett are like kids in the yard, toying with their opponents (and teammates) until Johnno snaps from the pocket (from a set shot).
Going home in the Epping train an Essendon fan says g'day. Nice bloke. Friendly. Shane from Preston looks and laughs so much like Bill Murray in Caddyshack I'm starting to wonder. He tells me he's from a Richmond family in Albury but when his mother went to buy each of her tribe a Tigers jumper the sports store was one short and he wound up with an Essendon jumper. ("She never got around to knitting the yellow sash").
He came to Melbourne years ago.
"To go to uni?"
"No, to follow the Bombers," he says.
I ask what makes a Bombers fan. "There's only one type," he says. "When we're struggling we have to have someone to blame. It's Walshy's fault. It's Somerville's fault. It's Roger's fault. It's Wallis' fault. It's Sheeds' fault. That's us."
"What do you do?" I ask.
"I'm the groundsman at Newman College," he says, and laughs. It's a rags to riches story.
Certainly doesn't take us to task like he does some teams :cool: