Aquamarinejewel
Norm Smith Medallist
Murph writes about Mad Monday.....
Thinking amid the drinking
The Age
Robert Murphy | September 6, 2007
AS I awoke from a brief cat-nap travelling home in the front seat of my taxi on Monday evening, I was struck by two thoughts.
The first was that I had clearly had my fill at the day's wake. The other realisation that registered through the haze was that the rest of the country was probably enjoying finishing work, putting its collective feet up to watch the news and maybe enjoying a cold beer or chardonnay.
For the professional footballer, this day is unlike any other in the 365 that we tackle each year. It is a day spent in a parallel universe. A bit like Lord of the Flies if you added drinking games.
Mad Monday seems to have captured the imagination of the football public (a football public, I might add, that has an unquenchable thirst for information about how players spend their time away from the glare of the cameras). Year after year, I am asked about the antics of Mad Monday, which is more or less just a day spent sitting in a pub with a bunch of blokes talking over the top of one another. The funny thing is that many of the people who are so fascinated actually do pretty much that very thing every Friday and Saturday night.
So what happens on Mad Monday? Is it just a day of scallywag antics? Or is it a necessary release of tension that inevitably builds up over a long season?
After a season of disappointment, members of the eight teams that miss out on the finals get together at a designated watering hole for a day of male bonding. Nothing more, nothing less. Fast food, male hugging and the odd bit of beer-induced reflux are just a few of the standards on this day. It can be a day of embarrassment, but not humiliation.
Each club has its own Mad Monday laws. At the Bulldogs, it is always agreed upon that Chris Grant be the grand master; any dispute shall be judged finally by him, any penalty is imposed at his discretion. Retiring players — Luke Darcy and Matthew Robbins — were given concessions this year, but by no means total immunity.
As with most clubs, the first-year players had a lot asked of them, and each did himself proud.
The restrictions on what players can and can't do in modern football are immense. Alcohol, sleep and diet are closely monitored all year to maximise performance. When the season is over and 40 or so teammates in the prime of their lives are allowed to step away from the game for a few weeks, a pressure valve is released and these young men like to sit around over a well-earned beer and tell stories. The same thing has gone on in this country for as long as the eyes of history can see.
I'm sure our early settlers did something similar, and I can be pretty sure that the Anzacs enjoyed each other's company over a cold beer. Mad Monday has another name — and that is mateship.
In this climate of scrutiny on players misbehaving, let us not forget that mateship is one of the cornerstones of this country and shouldn't be lost because of a few bad apples.
Football is the toughest sport going around, and your peers require you to push your body and mind further than maybe you thought possible. The only way people will undergo such strain with so much faith is due largely to bonding. Mad Monday, or whatever you want to call it, is just another example of the bonding each club tries to build, year-in and year-out.
I awoke from my slumber on Tuesday morning feeling a little fuzzy in the head, as I'm sure my teammates did. But the pain of a wretched season was not forgotten. That will take a few months to heal.
Even through all the silly games and immature jokes, there were quieter moments on Monday for reflection and a realisation that we have a long and hard road ahead to get where we want to go.
Thinking amid the drinking
The Age
Robert Murphy | September 6, 2007
AS I awoke from a brief cat-nap travelling home in the front seat of my taxi on Monday evening, I was struck by two thoughts.
The first was that I had clearly had my fill at the day's wake. The other realisation that registered through the haze was that the rest of the country was probably enjoying finishing work, putting its collective feet up to watch the news and maybe enjoying a cold beer or chardonnay.
For the professional footballer, this day is unlike any other in the 365 that we tackle each year. It is a day spent in a parallel universe. A bit like Lord of the Flies if you added drinking games.
Mad Monday seems to have captured the imagination of the football public (a football public, I might add, that has an unquenchable thirst for information about how players spend their time away from the glare of the cameras). Year after year, I am asked about the antics of Mad Monday, which is more or less just a day spent sitting in a pub with a bunch of blokes talking over the top of one another. The funny thing is that many of the people who are so fascinated actually do pretty much that very thing every Friday and Saturday night.
So what happens on Mad Monday? Is it just a day of scallywag antics? Or is it a necessary release of tension that inevitably builds up over a long season?
After a season of disappointment, members of the eight teams that miss out on the finals get together at a designated watering hole for a day of male bonding. Nothing more, nothing less. Fast food, male hugging and the odd bit of beer-induced reflux are just a few of the standards on this day. It can be a day of embarrassment, but not humiliation.
Each club has its own Mad Monday laws. At the Bulldogs, it is always agreed upon that Chris Grant be the grand master; any dispute shall be judged finally by him, any penalty is imposed at his discretion. Retiring players — Luke Darcy and Matthew Robbins — were given concessions this year, but by no means total immunity.
As with most clubs, the first-year players had a lot asked of them, and each did himself proud.
The restrictions on what players can and can't do in modern football are immense. Alcohol, sleep and diet are closely monitored all year to maximise performance. When the season is over and 40 or so teammates in the prime of their lives are allowed to step away from the game for a few weeks, a pressure valve is released and these young men like to sit around over a well-earned beer and tell stories. The same thing has gone on in this country for as long as the eyes of history can see.
I'm sure our early settlers did something similar, and I can be pretty sure that the Anzacs enjoyed each other's company over a cold beer. Mad Monday has another name — and that is mateship.
In this climate of scrutiny on players misbehaving, let us not forget that mateship is one of the cornerstones of this country and shouldn't be lost because of a few bad apples.
Football is the toughest sport going around, and your peers require you to push your body and mind further than maybe you thought possible. The only way people will undergo such strain with so much faith is due largely to bonding. Mad Monday, or whatever you want to call it, is just another example of the bonding each club tries to build, year-in and year-out.
I awoke from my slumber on Tuesday morning feeling a little fuzzy in the head, as I'm sure my teammates did. But the pain of a wretched season was not forgotten. That will take a few months to heal.
Even through all the silly games and immature jokes, there were quieter moments on Monday for reflection and a realisation that we have a long and hard road ahead to get where we want to go.
