- Feb 11, 2009
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- 35,083
- AFL Club
- Geelong
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- #rompingwins
The flags were at half staff in Geelong, and on one, a riot of colours replaced the traditional white and blue. It was the first tie-dyed flag to fly in front of city hall. The AFL was mourning the loss of its Papa Bear. Geelong, lead team of the past decade, had died Friday night, reportedly of heart failure, after nine years of finals and flags.
Thousands milled pensively at the corner of Moorabool and Carr streets, in the district where in 2000 Mark Thompson kicked open the doors of the Kardina Park reception with his perky message to the Cat’s Nation. The sweet sting of leather smoke drifted from doorways, as Bomber’s kids paid the revered coach a small token of their esteem.
A tree outside Kardina Park was adorned with photos, scarves and beanies, many beanies.
At this impromptu shrine, a griever named Teach left a rock he had found on a nearby beach. “I hope Frank Costa’s happy,” he said. Teach, who has attended nearly 200 Cat’s games, is fifty years old. The boy’s mother, Kathleen, 73, watched over him through her blue rinse. “I hope he remembers this day,” she murmured. “It’s a special thing–to feel all the love.”
In cities all over the A.U. this gentle elegy was replicated. More than 4,000 people massed in Yarra Park, passing out LONG LIVE THE CATS bumper stickers in Blue and White and creating a huge circle of drum players and mourner-celebrants. One sign read, “Fare thee well, fare thee well, we miss you more than words can tell.”
Why all this lamentation, at Brisbane or Hawks volume, for the Club 30 years had only three flags? Well, for a few reasons. One is that the Cat’s was a phenomenon as a road team: it played before more people for more years than any combo in history - almost 25 games a year. Another is that it was a time capsule for the elan of the 2000’s, hopeful and engaged, melodious and raucous. They was also the ragged champs of the art of improvisation. If AFL players prove their wits by vamping, the Cats were Mensa masters. A single passage of play, in its myriad tonal variations, could go on for the better part of an 10 minutes–or the worse part, if inspiration was lacking that night. Fans came for that inspiration, and found it in the roly-poly fullforward - Tummy Porkins.
Geelong’s influence spanned generations and social strata. This veteran of the counter-flood-culture had plenty of friends in high places. Gil’s mum gave the Cats gang a tour of her house, and Billy hung out backstage at a many a Grand Final. Hutchie, renowned flog, last week wore a black armband in memory of his favorite forward pocket, who could have played his last.
In an AFL.com.au interview last week the AFL President called them “a great talent.” Referring to Geelong’s kick ass playing style Gil added, “They also had a terrible problem that was a legacy of the life he lived and the Hawks demons they dealt with. You don’t have to have a destructive tribunal record to be a genius.” Referring to SJ and Mooney.
This is a lesson learned too late by many AFL stars. They get high on the double dream of being a sensitive poet and a swaggering stud–Rimbaud and Rambo.
Their epitaph could be three words: 2007. 2009. 2011.
Thanks boys, it was a hell of a ride.
Thousands milled pensively at the corner of Moorabool and Carr streets, in the district where in 2000 Mark Thompson kicked open the doors of the Kardina Park reception with his perky message to the Cat’s Nation. The sweet sting of leather smoke drifted from doorways, as Bomber’s kids paid the revered coach a small token of their esteem.
A tree outside Kardina Park was adorned with photos, scarves and beanies, many beanies.
At this impromptu shrine, a griever named Teach left a rock he had found on a nearby beach. “I hope Frank Costa’s happy,” he said. Teach, who has attended nearly 200 Cat’s games, is fifty years old. The boy’s mother, Kathleen, 73, watched over him through her blue rinse. “I hope he remembers this day,” she murmured. “It’s a special thing–to feel all the love.”
In cities all over the A.U. this gentle elegy was replicated. More than 4,000 people massed in Yarra Park, passing out LONG LIVE THE CATS bumper stickers in Blue and White and creating a huge circle of drum players and mourner-celebrants. One sign read, “Fare thee well, fare thee well, we miss you more than words can tell.”
Why all this lamentation, at Brisbane or Hawks volume, for the Club 30 years had only three flags? Well, for a few reasons. One is that the Cat’s was a phenomenon as a road team: it played before more people for more years than any combo in history - almost 25 games a year. Another is that it was a time capsule for the elan of the 2000’s, hopeful and engaged, melodious and raucous. They was also the ragged champs of the art of improvisation. If AFL players prove their wits by vamping, the Cats were Mensa masters. A single passage of play, in its myriad tonal variations, could go on for the better part of an 10 minutes–or the worse part, if inspiration was lacking that night. Fans came for that inspiration, and found it in the roly-poly fullforward - Tummy Porkins.
Geelong’s influence spanned generations and social strata. This veteran of the counter-flood-culture had plenty of friends in high places. Gil’s mum gave the Cats gang a tour of her house, and Billy hung out backstage at a many a Grand Final. Hutchie, renowned flog, last week wore a black armband in memory of his favorite forward pocket, who could have played his last.
In an AFL.com.au interview last week the AFL President called them “a great talent.” Referring to Geelong’s kick ass playing style Gil added, “They also had a terrible problem that was a legacy of the life he lived and the Hawks demons they dealt with. You don’t have to have a destructive tribunal record to be a genius.” Referring to SJ and Mooney.
This is a lesson learned too late by many AFL stars. They get high on the double dream of being a sensitive poet and a swaggering stud–Rimbaud and Rambo.
Their epitaph could be three words: 2007. 2009. 2011.
Thanks boys, it was a hell of a ride.
