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AFL 2022 PREMIERSHIP SEASON ROUND 1
MELBOURNE V WESTERN BULLDOGS
WEDNESDAY MARCH 16th 7:10pm AEDT (MCG)
FOREWORD FROM ESTEEMED BIGFOOTY MEMBER AND PASSIONATE MELBOURNE SUPPORTER BIFFINATOR
Biffinator
Easy.
It originates from the American Civil War: the opening verse of the Battle Hymn of the Republic: “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
It was quoted so eloquently by Martin Luther King on the eve of his assassination where he warned his congregation that the Promised Land might be beyond him. What has this got to do with the Dees’ Thirteenth Premiership? Plenty. I was six years old when my grandmother gave me a Dees jumper as my Uncle – wearing number 8 – had just joined the club as a ruckman. Made of wool, it was ever so itchy – God knows where it ended up. In retrospect, it was a Shirt of Nessus – an invitation to suffer eternally, to no vivid end. Thereafter, following the Dees was akin to walking an endless Stations of the Cross where one humiliation followed another until they all tapered into a state of misery and angst.
At the time of Norm Smith’s sacking, Tony Charlton described Melbourne as being the strongest club in the land. With the ranks having been decimated by time, ineptitude and ridicule, such a claim was bunk even before the Sixties came to an end. For year upon year, we were the easy-beats, the making-up-the-numbers – the do-not-matters – “broken on crosses too lonely to mention.” Even False Messiahs and fake dawns were rarities.
Things could’ve been different: my father and paternal grandfather barracked for the Dogs where the former sat on the boundary-line at the ’54 GF. For reasons which I’ll never understood, I loathe the Bulldogs. Bevo worsens things. Not once in his life has he had a decent haircut. When he played for the Dees, his Jack-of-Clubs mullet intensified our self-loathing. How envious I was in 2016. Every dog might have its day, but it’s questionable whether this axiom extends to once-were Demons.
Then came the 2021 Grand Final. I liken the last minute of the Third Quarter to the Battle of Midway which the Japanese should’ve won, but for one coincidence after another which conspired against the Rising Sun to deliver victory to the Yanks. Equally, the sequence of events in that last minute of Q3 is beyond analysis. It was to be. When Clayton Oliver raised an arm to the heavens, thereby channelling the Emperor Augustus of Prima Porta, did not seem like an answer to everything, in a cosmic act of redemption and transfiguration? Oh yes indeed: red, watery and aged though they be, “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”
In search of answers and more, I travelled to Footscray. My ancestors first settled in Donald Street when they arrived from Ireland. I had not been there since 1991 when I found their dust in the cemetery. What with gentrification, how the place had changed! Even junkies were well-dressed. Million-dollar apartments were everywhere. I met up with my old mate Kelvin Templeton, winner of the 1980 Brownlow Medal. KT looks his age – as if he was one of the first respondents at Chernobyl. That said, he’s a man of integrity and goodness as one would expect of a Gippsland boy. With but one knee to his name, he once propelled the Dees to victory at the Handbaggery with an eight-goal haul. God knows how many goals he would’ve kicked with the Tricolours in 1980 at CHF if he’d been playing in a decent team. What a legend!
“I’m not so sure I am ready for this, KT!” I growled as I parked my car in a side-street. “I don’t belong here – that’d be evident to Blind Freddy – and the array of Dees stickers on my car is an invitation to get it jacked-up or torched by some punk!”
“Don’t worry about it too much” KT replied. “They’re good honest people here. Like Scragger, their bark is worse than their bite. Besides, you’re with me!”
“KT,” I asked as we checked out the shops, “how do you see the opening match of the season – Dees v the Dogs, with the unfurling of the 2021 flag by Ron Barassi? Who’s going to win?”
KT grimaced. “Both teams started pre-season late so there’s no advantage there. The Bulldogs’ backline is nothing special. Steff Martin is a nice guy; he should be playing for the geriatrics at the Handbaggery. I cannot see how my beloved Doggies will reverse the result. It’ll take a minor miracle. Libber must stop drinking his own bathwater and act as a genuine sweeper at centre-square bounces. It was embarrassing how easily the Dees went through the ‘front-gate’ in the GF! I lost count, myself!”
He was about to elaborate when someone asked him for an autograph. That attracted a wider audience. Soon I had been pushed away to the side while KT posed for photos. With nothing else to do, I walked down the street until I came to one of the strangest sights in my life: the Temple of SM-IT-H. It looked like a Buddhist facility with plenty of bright flags afloat in the breeze – and not just in red, white and blue. Much like the depiction of Chairman Mao in Tiananmen Square, a giant photo of Bailey Smith (and his six pack) stared down from the rooftop. On either side of the doorway was a giant 4K screen, both of which displayed numbers on the rise. “Why, that’s Bailey’s number of followers on Instagram and Twitter!” I muttered to myself. “He’s a global beast! People join every second! Roll over Donald Trump!”
One of the Temple groupies must have seen the look of bewilderment on my face. She wandered over. “Friend, do you want to commune with SM-IT-H of the Golden Fleece? Join His Instagram or Twitter Feed! Inductees spend two minutes in His presence!”
“As a follower?” I growled (I so hate the term). She nodded. Wanting to get BS into gun-range (so to speak), I complied on the spot.“Take me to your leader” I demanded. She led me inside. The complex was ill-lit and furnished in a spartan fashion. Judging by the number of gorgeous women afoot, BS has the pulling power of the Beatles, I mused enviously to myself. Soon enough, we stood on the threshold of the throne-room, as I call it. There I beheld him in glory – Bailey Smith - otherwise known as SM-IT-H - topless and aureate of hair, basking in adulation as he held court with cronies and minions aplenty. Seated in a gigantic, carbon-neutral, friendly-to-animals bean-bag, he was in the middle of a discourse. Nearby, a scribe wrote down every word.
With his eyes shut, Bailey raised his arms towards the heavens. “Do not try to bend the Demons Cheese-Platter Board - that's impossible . . . instead only try to realize the truth . . . There is no Demons Cheese-Platter Board. Then you will see, it is not the Cheese-Platter Board that bends, it is only yourself.”
“Hey Bailey, how’s it going. Go Dees, eh!”
The spell was broken. The chanting stopped. BS opened his eyes. His devotees glared at me.
“What are you doing here Biff?” he rasped. “You’re not wanted. Your day is past. You’ll never be one of us. All you care about are numbers on a scoreboard – as if they matter! My golden fleece mullet is now the ultimate power in the universe: I suggest we use it!”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen up, tiger! People criticise Steven Stretch for shirking a contest with Dipper in the 1988 Grand Final – I can understand why he hesitated: it was Death from Above. The way that you were dispossessed by Christian Salem – of all people - in the last quarter of the ’21 Grand Final is one of the softest things I have seen in my life. Yes, softer than butter in the sun. After such knowledge, what forgiveness?”
Saying this was a mistake. The temperature in the throne-room lowered. Sparks flew from the famous mullet. It was time to make good my escape. That I did. Grabbing KT on the way, I returned to the car. Day was failing as we drove away. As we left Footscray, did I see the ghost of Ted Whitten in the rear-view mirror? Or that of Scragger, the ill-fated mascot of the Bulldogs? What of Charlie Sutton – did it all come to nothing? No such things were evident. KT was silent. In the crepuscular gloom, one thing was certain: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, keep your eye on the red and the blue! Dees by 30 points. But the end is not yet.
Quick links to all the club forum tipping comps:
And of course the Bay 13 Flogs Tipping Comp.
And the Knockout Comp
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