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A new year has arrived and new hopes for a big year. It's 44 years since 1970. The half time margin of 44 points was not much fun 
(imagine some soft incidental music, perhaps featuring a magical flute lilting, as we fly into the past to the year 1970).
I became a teenager in 1970. I was looking forward to my last year of u13 footy and the upcoming 1970 VFL footy season. Both teams were strong so I felt 1970 was going to be a successful year. At half time of the Grand Final, perched high on the top deck of the Northern Stand I was wondering what I had done to deserve this outcome.
I had some personal success along the way. I represented the Northern Districts Football League in an u13 game near Doncaster Shoppingtown. I don't remember which league we were playing against but I do remember that the original 'Milky Bar Kid' was playing for them. I always loved a brush with celebrity!
At the end of the home and away, my team had finished on top of the ladder and Carlton second.
We played a 16 game season and were undefeated. Our main rivals were the Catholics, Corpus Christi and Paramount, who reminded me of a godless horde. Now Corpo was local to where I lived in Glenroy. I knew them and they knew me so the rivalry was keen. A guy I went school with a key player, a mouth and naturally, a Collingwood supporter. His younger brother was born with a birth defect and was known as 'Three Fingers' but he too was a mouth and, you guessed it, a Magpie supporter. The second semi at City Oval was a fiasco which is funny because we had a player with that surname in our team. We lost the game, our first for the season, and, for me, there was nowhere to hide. The boys gave it me all week. The following week we fronted Paramount at the grounds in Park Street near the railway line in the knockout final. It was a knockout in more ways than one. I remember one of our better players getting knocked out by the madman Robbie Briedis, brother of Arnold. Robbie was a psychopath on the footy field and I saw many examples of it over the years. We lost the game and suffered the taunt of chokers. I was bitterly disappointed but the 'Kray Boys' were unrelenting. Thank god for the weekends!
Come VFL Grand Final day I had something to look forward to. I liked to get to the games early enough to see a bit of the thirds and then the remaining games. I was sitting with my brother-in-law newly arrived from the UK and seeing his first GF. Call it kismet but who is sitting in front of me but the 'Kray Boys' and their dad. Their dad reminded me of a slimy amphibian and, I knew, they were having a laugh at my expense. Our first half was a shocker and we were lucky to be as close as we were. I think Collingwood led by 6.8.44. We'd exchanged glances and a few words during the half and for them it was in the bag.
The third quarter changed football forever. Handball, handball handball. I think Carlton snagged 7 goals in a 12 minute burst that had the boys squirming in their seats. I remember two sublime efforts. A Syd Jackson goal from the boundary in the Southern Stand pocket. Eddie Betts would have been proud of it. The other from a skinny Robert Walls, playing at CHF, taking possession on the members side of the ground, sliding to the left of his oncoming opponent and slotting from 40. Collingwood steadied and had a handy break at 3/4 time.
The last quarter didn't break until midway. I remember Ted Hopkins slotting one after a handball receive from Syd Jackson. Crosswell was on fire (retrospective Norm Smith). A ball up about 25 from the city end goals. Like a tiger Brent pounced on the loose ball and Des Tuddenham got him high. Free kick. Cool as a cucumber, and with a slightly awkward kicking style, it was never going to miss. We'd hit the front and the goosebumps I felt then visit me again. The boys were now shitting themselves and I had a grin like a Cheshire Cat.
And then the pivotal moment. Peter McKenna on a lead, Kevin Hall defending grimly, McKenna puts his hands on the ball but it spills. All the Pies supporters scream mark and the ball dribbles towards the centre. Jezza comes from the Members Stand wing and grabs the ball. All the players have drifted up the ground and Mr Magic puts it on his left boot just forward of the centre. It covers 30, 40 and still has a way to go but it's heading in the right direction. The hapless opposition can only look on. It splits the centre and those goosebumps return. In the excitement I forgot Moriarty and his cohorts but when I look there are three empty seats and the flag is ours 
(imagine some soft incidental music, perhaps featuring a magical flute lilting, as we fly into the past to the year 1970). I became a teenager in 1970. I was looking forward to my last year of u13 footy and the upcoming 1970 VFL footy season. Both teams were strong so I felt 1970 was going to be a successful year. At half time of the Grand Final, perched high on the top deck of the Northern Stand I was wondering what I had done to deserve this outcome.
I had some personal success along the way. I represented the Northern Districts Football League in an u13 game near Doncaster Shoppingtown. I don't remember which league we were playing against but I do remember that the original 'Milky Bar Kid' was playing for them. I always loved a brush with celebrity!
At the end of the home and away, my team had finished on top of the ladder and Carlton second.
We played a 16 game season and were undefeated. Our main rivals were the Catholics, Corpus Christi and Paramount, who reminded me of a godless horde. Now Corpo was local to where I lived in Glenroy. I knew them and they knew me so the rivalry was keen. A guy I went school with a key player, a mouth and naturally, a Collingwood supporter. His younger brother was born with a birth defect and was known as 'Three Fingers' but he too was a mouth and, you guessed it, a Magpie supporter. The second semi at City Oval was a fiasco which is funny because we had a player with that surname in our team. We lost the game, our first for the season, and, for me, there was nowhere to hide. The boys gave it me all week. The following week we fronted Paramount at the grounds in Park Street near the railway line in the knockout final. It was a knockout in more ways than one. I remember one of our better players getting knocked out by the madman Robbie Briedis, brother of Arnold. Robbie was a psychopath on the footy field and I saw many examples of it over the years. We lost the game and suffered the taunt of chokers. I was bitterly disappointed but the 'Kray Boys' were unrelenting. Thank god for the weekends!
Come VFL Grand Final day I had something to look forward to. I liked to get to the games early enough to see a bit of the thirds and then the remaining games. I was sitting with my brother-in-law newly arrived from the UK and seeing his first GF. Call it kismet but who is sitting in front of me but the 'Kray Boys' and their dad. Their dad reminded me of a slimy amphibian and, I knew, they were having a laugh at my expense. Our first half was a shocker and we were lucky to be as close as we were. I think Collingwood led by 6.8.44. We'd exchanged glances and a few words during the half and for them it was in the bag.
The third quarter changed football forever. Handball, handball handball. I think Carlton snagged 7 goals in a 12 minute burst that had the boys squirming in their seats. I remember two sublime efforts. A Syd Jackson goal from the boundary in the Southern Stand pocket. Eddie Betts would have been proud of it. The other from a skinny Robert Walls, playing at CHF, taking possession on the members side of the ground, sliding to the left of his oncoming opponent and slotting from 40. Collingwood steadied and had a handy break at 3/4 time.
The last quarter didn't break until midway. I remember Ted Hopkins slotting one after a handball receive from Syd Jackson. Crosswell was on fire (retrospective Norm Smith). A ball up about 25 from the city end goals. Like a tiger Brent pounced on the loose ball and Des Tuddenham got him high. Free kick. Cool as a cucumber, and with a slightly awkward kicking style, it was never going to miss. We'd hit the front and the goosebumps I felt then visit me again. The boys were now shitting themselves and I had a grin like a Cheshire Cat.
And then the pivotal moment. Peter McKenna on a lead, Kevin Hall defending grimly, McKenna puts his hands on the ball but it spills. All the Pies supporters scream mark and the ball dribbles towards the centre. Jezza comes from the Members Stand wing and grabs the ball. All the players have drifted up the ground and Mr Magic puts it on his left boot just forward of the centre. It covers 30, 40 and still has a way to go but it's heading in the right direction. The hapless opposition can only look on. It splits the centre and those goosebumps return. In the excitement I forgot Moriarty and his cohorts but when I look there are three empty seats and the flag is ours 
Jack Dyer had a column named Dyer 'Ere. To get the full comic effect you had to pronounce it as one word. Jack was the master of the understatement and coined the term "yes, he's a good ordinary footballer" to describe a star of the game.
