Toast Tom Barrass

[Here2tellyouwhy]

Random but interesting fact: Barrass has finished in 18th place in the B&F in each of the last three years.

Shows how bad we were in 2016 (and/or how amazingly he burst on the scene in the second half of the year), he only played 10 games that year.

If he wasnt injured this year he would have won it

 

[Balls In]

Unbelievably sad news that Toms father has died today after a relatively short illness. Thoughts are with the Barrass family.

 

[DickDunn]

This is a great piece written by Tom's dad after the 2018 grand final - his love for his son really shines through. Very sad to hear of his passing.

More than a game for family, friends after years of pain and pride
OVER the years, it became a common household mantra; Mate, it’s a game of footy. No one is dead or dying. The sun will come up tomorrow.

It was a coping mechanism we used when he was playing Auskick or having a go with the juniors down at Abbett Park, and during one memorable, inconsolable derby afternoon about 15 years ago when the Dockers belted the Eagles.

But it stopped being a game in October 2013 when Tom was drafted into the AFL “system” just days after his 18th birthday. Very suddenly, “just a game” became a high-pressure career.

We had kept the draft day gathering at our house small, having heard horror stories of suicidal kids who missed out. A couple of Tom’s mates and family friend Wayne Smith, the celebrated WA golfer who had helped us deal with the growing interest from AFL clubs, came along.

We all went up like “Flying Ryan” at pick 43. Except me. I sat stunned. Neighbours five blocks away still complain about the party that night.

With morning came the realities of an AFL-listed player — and those of being the parents of one.

On the light side, the following years were full of robust dinner party discussions about sperm versus womb. Who in the hell was responsible for this? Where did this elite athlete come from?

Tom with brother Ted after being drafted in 2013. Credit: Simon Santi/WA News
His Pop and namesake came from a long line of tough NSW league and rugby footballers; clearly, he was a Barrass. But Nan Benda, on my wife’s side, set the record straight, weighing in with an obscure reference to a one-legged race won somewhere east of Toodyay by her forebears back in the 1890s. But when Tom’s cousin and best mate Nick — son of my wife’s sister — was picked up by the ACT Brumbies the next year after making the Australian Under-20 rugby team, the womb got the jump.

But while we banged on, Tom and his teammates were doing the heavy lifting. I recall watching television footage of his first Eagles training in 2014 running around the Subi boundary to the point of collapse, repeatedly vomiting while wobbling on his feet like a headless chook.

For a second or two, I thought it was funny, and then I turned away, distressed that I could not help him, or at least tell him to stop, I couldn’t watch it any more.

The physical rigours these kids are put through in the early stages of their tenure still make me wince; carting logs up cold mountains, SAS veterans pushing them to the brink. It’s no wonder they can run 15km a game and smash themselves to a pulp every weekend.

These are not extraordinary young men. They are just normal young men doing extraordinary things

Then come the endless injuries, operations and trips to the medical specialists.

Watching your child — and that’s what most of them are when drafted — lying on your couch after a double hernia operation while they are still in their teens (train track stitches up both sides of your groin, anyone?) makes any parent wonder; is it worth it?

The broken bones, the bad backs, the busted fingers. Tom was knocked unconscious during a training session after Mal Karpany accidentally took his feet from underneath him while in the air.

Again, you see the footage and shudder. God knows how Debra Brayshaw is holding up with the run of luck her fantastic footballing sons are having injury-wise.

Then comes the hard part. Like every other man-child, the draftees soon realise their new job comes with serious pressure from everyone; family, mates, community, footy clubs and the ever-present and highly critical media.

Tom Barrass lifts the premiership cup. Credit: JULIAN SMITH/AAPIMAGE
And as any parent knows, it’s their job to walk a fine line between managing expectations and encouraging them to be the best they can, to knowing when to back off and leave them alone.

Then there are the constant disappointments. The average AFL career is just four years long. It can be over before it starts. Youngsters are delisted every year. Players are dropped and suspended.

Eagles’ parents are a wonderful, welcoming cross-section of the community. While every year the faces change at the post-match functions — girlfriends become wives and mothers, mothers become grannies, others just vanish — it’s comforting to know there’s a bunch of people just like you on the same emotional rollercoaster.

Tom’s story, in a way, is no different to anyone else’s. These are not extraordinary young men. They are just normal young men doing extraordinary things.

Every parent wants to see their child succeed, be they tradie, truckie or tall timber down the backline. And every dad can only dream about their boy playing in a grand final at the ’G. And now he’s a premiership player, along with his wonderful teammates. It hasn’t happened overnight. Every single one of them has climbed a mountain of pain and faced many years of adversity, and as a reward will remember this until their last breath.

Who said it’s only a game?

 

[Wild Kelly]

This is a great piece written by Tom's dad after the 2018 grand final - his love for his son really shines through. Very sad to hear of his passing.

More than a game for family, friends after years of pain and pride
OVER the years, it became a common household mantra; Mate, it’s a game of footy. No one is dead or dying. The sun will come up tomorrow.

It was a coping mechanism we used when he was playing Auskick or having a go with the juniors down at Abbett Park, and during one memorable, inconsolable derby afternoon about 15 years ago when the Dockers belted the Eagles.

But it stopped being a game in October 2013 when Tom was drafted into the AFL “system” just days after his 18th birthday. Very suddenly, “just a game” became a high-pressure career.

We had kept the draft day gathering at our house small, having heard horror stories of suicidal kids who missed out. A couple of Tom’s mates and family friend Wayne Smith, the celebrated WA golfer who had helped us deal with the growing interest from AFL clubs, came along.

We all went up like “Flying Ryan” at pick 43. Except me. I sat stunned. Neighbours five blocks away still complain about the party that night.

With morning came the realities of an AFL-listed player — and those of being the parents of one.

On the light side, the following years were full of robust dinner party discussions about sperm versus womb. Who in the hell was responsible for this? Where did this elite athlete come from?

Tom with brother Ted after being drafted in 2013. Credit: Simon Santi/WA News
His Pop and namesake came from a long line of tough NSW league and rugby footballers; clearly, he was a Barrass. But Nan Benda, on my wife’s side, set the record straight, weighing in with an obscure reference to a one-legged race won somewhere east of Toodyay by her forebears back in the 1890s. But when Tom’s cousin and best mate Nick — son of my wife’s sister — was picked up by the ACT Brumbies the next year after making the Australian Under-20 rugby team, the womb got the jump.

But while we banged on, Tom and his teammates were doing the heavy lifting. I recall watching television footage of his first Eagles training in 2014 running around the Subi boundary to the point of collapse, repeatedly vomiting while wobbling on his feet like a headless chook.

For a second or two, I thought it was funny, and then I turned away, distressed that I could not help him, or at least tell him to stop, I couldn’t watch it any more.

The physical rigours these kids are put through in the early stages of their tenure still make me wince; carting logs up cold mountains, SAS veterans pushing them to the brink. It’s no wonder they can run 15km a game and smash themselves to a pulp every weekend.


Then come the endless injuries, operations and trips to the medical specialists.

Watching your child — and that’s what most of them are when drafted — lying on your couch after a double hernia operation while they are still in their teens (train track stitches up both sides of your groin, anyone?) makes any parent wonder; is it worth it?

The broken bones, the bad backs, the busted fingers. Tom was knocked unconscious during a training session after Mal Karpany accidentally took his feet from underneath him while in the air.

Again, you see the footage and shudder. God knows how Debra Brayshaw is holding up with the run of luck her fantastic footballing sons are having injury-wise.

Then comes the hard part. Like every other man-child, the draftees soon realise their new job comes with serious pressure from everyone; family, mates, community, footy clubs and the ever-present and highly critical media.

Tom Barrass lifts the premiership cup. Credit: JULIAN SMITH/AAPIMAGE
And as any parent knows, it’s their job to walk a fine line between managing expectations and encouraging them to be the best they can, to knowing when to back off and leave them alone.

Then there are the constant disappointments. The average AFL career is just four years long. It can be over before it starts. Youngsters are delisted every year. Players are dropped and suspended.

Eagles’ parents are a wonderful, welcoming cross-section of the community. While every year the faces change at the post-match functions — girlfriends become wives and mothers, mothers become grannies, others just vanish — it’s comforting to know there’s a bunch of people just like you on the same emotional rollercoaster.

Tom’s story, in a way, is no different to anyone else’s. These are not extraordinary young men. They are just normal young men doing extraordinary things.

Every parent wants to see their child succeed, be they tradie, truckie or tall timber down the backline. And every dad can only dream about their boy playing in a grand final at the ’G. And now he’s a premiership player, along with his wonderful teammates. It hasn’t happened overnight. Every single one of them has climbed a mountain of pain and faced many years of adversity, and as a reward will remember this until their last breath.

Who said it’s only a game?

Tommy might be given the day off this weekend.

 

[Matera92]

'These are not extraordinary young men. They are just normal young men doing extraordinary things'


What a line.

 

[Hap Hapablap]

Who said it’s only a game?

whats this salty discharge coming from my eyes....

in all seriousness what an article. vale tony