Even after some 24 years of attending SANFL matches, I still have the occasional experience which is completely new to me.
Today I had one such experience.
The match at Glenelg was, well, interesting - I hate to resurrect old cliches, but the result was perfect for the match.
Port was the better side for the first quarter and a half - no doubt. Port had the Bays measure, up by 3 goals at 1/4 time. Halfway through the second term Glenelg decided to make a go of it, and they had a fair crack. By the end of the quarter they had outscored Port by a goal or so. The third term was quite promising; Glenelg keeping pace with Port, maintaining a 2-goal deficit at the final break. The final quarter was superb. The Bays kicked away, snagging a goal with mere minutes to play to put them 2 goals up - the PA sparked into life to broadcast the "please keep off the ground after the siren" message, and me and my mates thought they were home.
Not to be - Port replied with a quick goal, and right on the siren, they jagged another to draw level. For the second week running I didn't hear the siren (why can't they swap the bloody PA speaker with the siren?) but I could tell the game was over 'coz every player on the ground - Port and Glenelg alike - slumped to the ground.
This was not the new experience - I've seen drawn games before. The most recent in memory was a game at Glenelg V South, 1997, when Glenelg had the largest lead of the match (3 goals) at the start of time-on, but South came back hard - and ultimately were very unlucky to not win it. I remember the last drawn game against Port, it was in 1980 I think - Port got a VERY dodgy free kick on the siren thanks to umpire Rick Charlesworth and kicked a goal to draw the match. I was a schoolboy back then, and Rick Charlesworth's kid went to my school... On Monday morning Rick turned up to frop his kid off, and the word went through the school like wildfire - Rick bloody Charlesworth was here! - and pretty much every male kid in the school was following the guy around in the hallway, too scared to say a word to him, but too disgusted to let his presence pass unnoticed. The only other drawn game I can remember is a match against the Eagles in the early '90s when I was in bed with chicken pox, and listened to the whole game on radio. Nasty stuff, chicken pox - I wouldn't wish it on even the most die-hard Port supporter.
In the end, I think the match deserved a draw - really. Neither side deserved to lose. As it happens, a draw helps both teams, thanks to the oddities of percentage: A draw is as good as a win to Port, who has an inferior percentage to the Eagles, and can now be pretty much assured of the minor premiership. Similarly a draw is as good as a win for the Bays, who have an inferior percentage to the Roosters, and are now pretty much safe from another wooden spoon. So in all practical terms, the draw is a win for both clubs.
But the new experience? For the first time in my life, I was yelling shoulder-to-shoulder with the Port supporters; my voice - and those of my Glenelg compatriots - united with theirs. I don't mean that I was cheering for Bryan Beinke. Nor do I mean that they were lauding the exploits of Brad Smith. Both sets of fans, Port and Glenelg, were united in rubbishing those white-clad whistle-sporting ********s.
I cannot recall the last time I saw such a poorly refereed game of footy. Those maggots were atrocious. I don't mean they were biased, for they were not - I mean rather that those fools were not umpiring the same game that I was watching. Never have I seen a performance where the umpires decisions were so completely arbitrary - not blowing the whistle for obvious frees, blowing it when there were obviously others, but awarding the free kick to the other team - giving one team a huge run, and then the other. It was incredible. Port and Glenelg supporters were turning to each other, thoroughly baffled with what was going on out on the field. As the game progressed, the fans became galvanised; still cheering for their team, but not rubbishing the opposition; this was reserved entirely for those idiots who were allegedly "controlling" the game. They were missing holding-the-ball calls which were there plum right in front of them. They were calling holding-the-ball for head-high tackles. They had no idea. Near the end of the second quarter they missed the most blatant holding the ball decision for Port (Bode got caught fully PLUM) I ever did see. I turned to my mates to say "well at least they're consistent" but the whistle went before I could get the words out. I turned to find they'd given holding-the-ball to the Bays - and none of us could see why. What a joke.
It would be easy to say the referees cost Glenelg the game; but it would be just as easy to say they cost Port. I was particularly incensed with Port's first goal of the third quarter, being manufactured from a series of umpire errors on centre wing - a dodgy free followed by a 50-metre penalty - but really, the umpires were so bad that they transcended any bias. There comes a point when the umpiring gets so bad that it does not favour any team, for the decisions are so arbitrary and coin-toss that one cannot blame them any more than one can blame a bad run on the roulette wheel. Another example springs to mind, where a free had been given to a Bays player near the centre (Cook?). He promptly passed it to Golding, but Golding was stopped by a shrill whistle blast and the ball was given to a Port player - with a 25 metre penalty to boot. For what? I didn't know, my mates didn't know, the Port boys didn't know - what a schemozzle. The referees lost it towards the end of the match - lost control so badly the players descended into a near-fight - and I do not blame the players one jot. Those idiots had lost the plot so badly the players couldn't tell whose bloody ball it was - no wonder the frustrations boiled over.
After the match, as those maggots left the ground, Glenelg and Port supporters stood united, booing those turkeys from the ground.
And now, for the REALLY completely new bit: the game was so poorly referreed, and I was turning and whinging to the Port blokes next to me so often, that I struck up a bit of rapport with them - and at the end of the match I asked them to join me in the club for a beer to vent our mutual frustration.
Never in 30 years of life did I ever envisage myself asking Port fans (with the exception of my Port mate Bazzer) back into the club for a beer after a match. If one good thing came from the umpires - that was it.
At one point in the club, I had to push past Brenton Honor to get to the bar. As I did so, Sneezer walked up holding a mobile phone which he passed to BH. From what I could tell, somebody had called up from London to see how the Bays had gone - and BH had to tell them it was a draw. Colour me impressed.
As a footnote, I should like to relate something which Brenton Honor said in the after match speeches. I cannot remember the exact words he used, so allow me to paraphrase:
"The siren went, and we were just filled with this emptiness, not knowing how to feel- myself, Sneezer, Hodgey, etc... I don't want to go on about the umpires (loud jeers from crowd), but I looked down and I saw them walking off, one of them was smiling from ear to ear like it was a big joke or something. I went down to the rooms, and I saw five of our boys in there with tears in their eyes."
Puts it in perspective, I think.
And another completely tangential footnote:
When I got to the ground I entered between the 2 grandstands. I went to the budget seller there to get my budget. As is always the case, I had a bit of conversation with the guy. Something along the lines of "aren't the reserves doing poorly, hope the league can get up, so we've got such-and-such an umpire again this week, etc". Just basic smalltalk - thorougly inconsequential, but something which I find indispensible for a proper footy experience.
While I was yarning with the guy, this other little prick comes up and chews out the budget seller. "I pay you to sell bloody budgets, look, you're letting all these people walk past, etc".
"Look here mate", I says to him, "this guy is just giving me a bit of customer service here".
"Too right, gotta serve the customers", the prick says back, completely missing the point.
I stepped away from the vendor and had another word with this prick: "Look mate, the bloke was just having a bit of a chat with me, when I buy a budget I like to have a bit of a yarn - it's all part and parcel of the job. Why don't you get off his back".
"Do I tell you how to do your job?" he replies.
"No mate", I says, "and I'm bloody glad you're not my boss". I walked off.
If any of you is ever at Glenelg Oval, may I urge you to enter through the centre gate and give my regards to the budget seller here. He does a great job - let him know it.
And if any a-hole tries to chew him out while you're there - tell him to get fu<ked for me.
I will be writing to the Football Budget editors immediately after completing this missive.
Oh, and Jars: Handby played a serviceable match this week; though by no means in Glenelg's best.
Today I had one such experience.
The match at Glenelg was, well, interesting - I hate to resurrect old cliches, but the result was perfect for the match.
Port was the better side for the first quarter and a half - no doubt. Port had the Bays measure, up by 3 goals at 1/4 time. Halfway through the second term Glenelg decided to make a go of it, and they had a fair crack. By the end of the quarter they had outscored Port by a goal or so. The third term was quite promising; Glenelg keeping pace with Port, maintaining a 2-goal deficit at the final break. The final quarter was superb. The Bays kicked away, snagging a goal with mere minutes to play to put them 2 goals up - the PA sparked into life to broadcast the "please keep off the ground after the siren" message, and me and my mates thought they were home.
Not to be - Port replied with a quick goal, and right on the siren, they jagged another to draw level. For the second week running I didn't hear the siren (why can't they swap the bloody PA speaker with the siren?) but I could tell the game was over 'coz every player on the ground - Port and Glenelg alike - slumped to the ground.
This was not the new experience - I've seen drawn games before. The most recent in memory was a game at Glenelg V South, 1997, when Glenelg had the largest lead of the match (3 goals) at the start of time-on, but South came back hard - and ultimately were very unlucky to not win it. I remember the last drawn game against Port, it was in 1980 I think - Port got a VERY dodgy free kick on the siren thanks to umpire Rick Charlesworth and kicked a goal to draw the match. I was a schoolboy back then, and Rick Charlesworth's kid went to my school... On Monday morning Rick turned up to frop his kid off, and the word went through the school like wildfire - Rick bloody Charlesworth was here! - and pretty much every male kid in the school was following the guy around in the hallway, too scared to say a word to him, but too disgusted to let his presence pass unnoticed. The only other drawn game I can remember is a match against the Eagles in the early '90s when I was in bed with chicken pox, and listened to the whole game on radio. Nasty stuff, chicken pox - I wouldn't wish it on even the most die-hard Port supporter.
In the end, I think the match deserved a draw - really. Neither side deserved to lose. As it happens, a draw helps both teams, thanks to the oddities of percentage: A draw is as good as a win to Port, who has an inferior percentage to the Eagles, and can now be pretty much assured of the minor premiership. Similarly a draw is as good as a win for the Bays, who have an inferior percentage to the Roosters, and are now pretty much safe from another wooden spoon. So in all practical terms, the draw is a win for both clubs.
But the new experience? For the first time in my life, I was yelling shoulder-to-shoulder with the Port supporters; my voice - and those of my Glenelg compatriots - united with theirs. I don't mean that I was cheering for Bryan Beinke. Nor do I mean that they were lauding the exploits of Brad Smith. Both sets of fans, Port and Glenelg, were united in rubbishing those white-clad whistle-sporting ********s.
I cannot recall the last time I saw such a poorly refereed game of footy. Those maggots were atrocious. I don't mean they were biased, for they were not - I mean rather that those fools were not umpiring the same game that I was watching. Never have I seen a performance where the umpires decisions were so completely arbitrary - not blowing the whistle for obvious frees, blowing it when there were obviously others, but awarding the free kick to the other team - giving one team a huge run, and then the other. It was incredible. Port and Glenelg supporters were turning to each other, thoroughly baffled with what was going on out on the field. As the game progressed, the fans became galvanised; still cheering for their team, but not rubbishing the opposition; this was reserved entirely for those idiots who were allegedly "controlling" the game. They were missing holding-the-ball calls which were there plum right in front of them. They were calling holding-the-ball for head-high tackles. They had no idea. Near the end of the second quarter they missed the most blatant holding the ball decision for Port (Bode got caught fully PLUM) I ever did see. I turned to my mates to say "well at least they're consistent" but the whistle went before I could get the words out. I turned to find they'd given holding-the-ball to the Bays - and none of us could see why. What a joke.
It would be easy to say the referees cost Glenelg the game; but it would be just as easy to say they cost Port. I was particularly incensed with Port's first goal of the third quarter, being manufactured from a series of umpire errors on centre wing - a dodgy free followed by a 50-metre penalty - but really, the umpires were so bad that they transcended any bias. There comes a point when the umpiring gets so bad that it does not favour any team, for the decisions are so arbitrary and coin-toss that one cannot blame them any more than one can blame a bad run on the roulette wheel. Another example springs to mind, where a free had been given to a Bays player near the centre (Cook?). He promptly passed it to Golding, but Golding was stopped by a shrill whistle blast and the ball was given to a Port player - with a 25 metre penalty to boot. For what? I didn't know, my mates didn't know, the Port boys didn't know - what a schemozzle. The referees lost it towards the end of the match - lost control so badly the players descended into a near-fight - and I do not blame the players one jot. Those idiots had lost the plot so badly the players couldn't tell whose bloody ball it was - no wonder the frustrations boiled over.
After the match, as those maggots left the ground, Glenelg and Port supporters stood united, booing those turkeys from the ground.
And now, for the REALLY completely new bit: the game was so poorly referreed, and I was turning and whinging to the Port blokes next to me so often, that I struck up a bit of rapport with them - and at the end of the match I asked them to join me in the club for a beer to vent our mutual frustration.
Never in 30 years of life did I ever envisage myself asking Port fans (with the exception of my Port mate Bazzer) back into the club for a beer after a match. If one good thing came from the umpires - that was it.
At one point in the club, I had to push past Brenton Honor to get to the bar. As I did so, Sneezer walked up holding a mobile phone which he passed to BH. From what I could tell, somebody had called up from London to see how the Bays had gone - and BH had to tell them it was a draw. Colour me impressed.
As a footnote, I should like to relate something which Brenton Honor said in the after match speeches. I cannot remember the exact words he used, so allow me to paraphrase:
"The siren went, and we were just filled with this emptiness, not knowing how to feel- myself, Sneezer, Hodgey, etc... I don't want to go on about the umpires (loud jeers from crowd), but I looked down and I saw them walking off, one of them was smiling from ear to ear like it was a big joke or something. I went down to the rooms, and I saw five of our boys in there with tears in their eyes."
Puts it in perspective, I think.
And another completely tangential footnote:
When I got to the ground I entered between the 2 grandstands. I went to the budget seller there to get my budget. As is always the case, I had a bit of conversation with the guy. Something along the lines of "aren't the reserves doing poorly, hope the league can get up, so we've got such-and-such an umpire again this week, etc". Just basic smalltalk - thorougly inconsequential, but something which I find indispensible for a proper footy experience.
While I was yarning with the guy, this other little prick comes up and chews out the budget seller. "I pay you to sell bloody budgets, look, you're letting all these people walk past, etc".
"Look here mate", I says to him, "this guy is just giving me a bit of customer service here".
"Too right, gotta serve the customers", the prick says back, completely missing the point.
I stepped away from the vendor and had another word with this prick: "Look mate, the bloke was just having a bit of a chat with me, when I buy a budget I like to have a bit of a yarn - it's all part and parcel of the job. Why don't you get off his back".
"Do I tell you how to do your job?" he replies.
"No mate", I says, "and I'm bloody glad you're not my boss". I walked off.
If any of you is ever at Glenelg Oval, may I urge you to enter through the centre gate and give my regards to the budget seller here. He does a great job - let him know it.
And if any a-hole tries to chew him out while you're there - tell him to get fu<ked for me.
I will be writing to the Football Budget editors immediately after completing this missive.
Oh, and Jars: Handby played a serviceable match this week; though by no means in Glenelg's best.
