On the day that Kevin Sheedy was sacked as Essendon’s coach in 2007, I was in Paris.  It was four o’clock in the morning when I was awoken to the piercing sound of my phone ringing on my bedside table.  Looking at the screen, I was immediately startled.  It was my father.  Why would he be ringing at this hour? The good news was that my family was safe and sound.  The bad news was that my hero had been sacked. He would coach the rest of the season, but that would be it. At the time I was gutted.  I was appalled, furious, angry and upset.  I was sad.  I thought of the 24 years of my life to that point.  All of them were with Sheeds as the coach – all of them.  What the hell would life be like now?

From that moment on, life as an Essendon supporter has been a rollercoaster ride.  Later that year we said goodbye to Sheeds and Hirdy.  Then a new coach arrived with a daring, bold, attacking, kamikaze style of play that was as brilliant as it was shocking.  A year later we made the finals with only ten and half wins with pulsating victories againstCarlton, Collingwood and St Kilda to get there.  We then lost by a bigger margin than any other Essendon team in the history of the club had in a final.  Lucas retired and then Lloyd followed.  In 2010 we lead the reigning premier by nearly four goals in the second quarter of round one, only to have nine unanswered goals kicked against us.  We’ve beaten St Kilda, the Bulldogs, Hawthorn and Carlton, yet lost to West Coast and Port Adelaide.  This is the new Essendon.

Another slightly bizarre and wacky coach who is no stranger to success, Malcolm Blight, said from the Channel 10 commentary box on the weekend that Essendon at their best were very good, but if things didn’t go their way they completely fall apart. At 80 points down, I suspected he was onto something.  Blight’s comments reminded me again of another coach Sheeds used to do battle with in the ‘80’s – Allan Jeans.

Jeans used to say that his Hawthorn team of the 1980’s were so good because the gap between their best and their worst was very small.  When they were at their best they were brilliant.  When they were at their worst, they were still good.  Winning became their culture.

Which brings me to Bomber Thompson.  The three time premiership winning player, who captained the Baby Bombers to an inspired premiership in 1993 told fellow Essendon champion Tim Watson a few weeks ago that his Geelong team simply expected to win each game.  That was their culture.  He told Watson that’s what he knew at Essendon.  Only winning was accepted.  Only winning was expected.  He wanted to bring that culture he learnt at Essendon to Geelong.  And he has.

Which, bring me back to Sheedy.  His playing career was littered with team success.  Richmond of the late sixties and seventies were winners.  That’s just what they did – they won.  That became one of Essendon trade marks in the eighties, nineties and early 2000’s.  They didn’t always win, but they usually did.

Which, brings me to Knights.  Here’s hoping he doesn’t bring Richmond’s culture from the last 30 years to Essendon.

Next Sunday evening I’m attending the Essendon 2000 Premiership Team ten year reunion.  I’ll be heading along to reminisce with many other Essendon fans who will swear it seems like only yesterday that we boasted about how good we were and taunted other clubs to catch us if they could.  I’ll be clapping as Lloydy takes the stage.  I’ll be shouting loud as Scotty Lucas follows.  And then Wally, Wellman and Fletcher.  We’ll whistle for Smokin’ Joe, Longy and Barnard. Then I’ll be on my feet for Hirdy and Sheeds.  We’ll cheer for the whole team.

It was a golden year that virtually signalled the end of a golden era.  I wish I knew it at the time – I would’ve taken the next month off school to lap it up and savour the moment.  Who knows when it will happen again?

Before I attend the 10 year reunion I’ll be at the MCG, watching the current day Essendon take on the current day Melbourne.  I’ll be heading there with a mixture of hesitation and hope, looking for signs – any signs – that might provide me a glimmer of hope that this young Essendon team could one day replicate the feats of the 2000 team ten years ago.  As Sheeds told us at his farewell in 2007, “If you’re going to look back, don’t forget to then look forward and dream about what could be.”

It’s 6pm on Friday night and Swan Street Richmond is abuzz with excitement.  The street is littered with footy fans scurrying to meet their possie before wandering over to the lights of the MCG.  There’s a particular feeling in the air tonight.  It’s the anticipation and edgy feeling you get when there’s a big game on.  It’s the feeling you get when both supporters think they can win – when they think they will win.  It’s the kind of feeling you get when two teams that don’t like each other much are about to go at it and nobody wants to contemplate defeat.

I’m struck with an enormous sense of footy envy.  Being an Essendon fan, I want to go.  I’m watching footy fans meet and greet.  I’m listening to them talk.  Like them, I’m wondering who’s going to go to Buddy.  Can he be contained?  And Roughy?  What about Hodge? I’m wondering if Cyril will tear us apart in the ‘delicious’ manner he did last year.  All of a sudden, I’m wondering if Essendon can win.  Can we even get close?

Then, I look down at my ‘Yusuf in Concert’ ticket and my wondering continues.  I wonder if he’ll play Moonshadow as his encore. Or will it Father and Son.  Or maybe Peace Train.

As Yusuf Islam gracefully enters from stage right I get my first footy update from my mate, Zak.  Zak has been given simple and clear instructions – “send me two updates a quarter with scores and detail as necessary.”  With his first message Zak informs me that, ‘Scores are Hawthorn 0.0.0 to Essendon 0.0.0, five minutes before the first quarter.’  A good start from Zak, but as Yusuf gently glides into The First Cut is the Deepest I can’t help but feel Zak may have provided his best work first up.

Yusuf has the crowd spellbound.  He speaks to the crowd at a volume only a notch up from a whisper and sings a range of classics from Matthew and Son, Where do the Children Play and a personal favourite – I Love My Dog As Much As I Love You.  Zak keeps the messages coming, but I don’t like what I see. “18 points down at quarter time,” and then, “29 points down.  Buddy running riot.”

Yusuf performs a ‘dream time’ story of sorts based on a new musical coming up called ‘Moonshadow.’  His gentle, whispering voice makes you feel as though he’s talking specifically to you.  The lady behind me punctuates the story with plenty of ooohs and aaahs and I swear she’s listening to the footy.  Buddy’s probably kicked another one.  Zak messages – it’s half time and the Bombers are hanging in.

Yusuf is now on a roll.  His tempo has gone up a notch and instead of sitting with his guitar resting upon his knee, he’s now standing and a support singer joins him for a stirring rendition of Wild World.  Zak messages and the Bombers are back.  They’ve clawed within six points as the adoring Rod Laver crowd stands to applaud Yusuf.  I stand and clap.  I’m clapping for Yusuf and I’m clapping for the Bombers.

Yusuf leaves the stage for a rest and his band play Waltzing Matilda.  It’s a folksy song that matches the story telling of Yusuf’s most famous choruses.  The crowd are singing and swaying.  We’re celebrating everything good about Australia and I think of what might be happening at the MCG.  Zak messages.  Watson has just kicked a goal and the scores are even.  On cue, Yusuf returns to stage to sing Father and Son.  I think of Jobe and then I think of Tim – a great Essendon father/son combo.  I think of Dustin Fletcher and his father Ken.  I look at my phone and wonder what my father wanted an hour ago when he rang.  He’d be watching the footy.  He’d be swearing.  He, like me, would be praying for a Bomber victory.

Yusuf exits stage right, waving to the fans.  We stand again and chant for an encore.  We want him back.  We want Moonshadow and Peace Train.  I want an Essendon victory.  Zak messages.  “It’s all over.  Buddy beat us.  He’s too good.”  Suddenly Yusuf returns to the stage and the crowd roars.  I’m caught feeling sorry to myself.  And for Essendon.  What happened?

Yusuf tells us there are problems in the world.  I want to tell him the Essendon Football Club is one of them.  He tells us we need leaders.  I agree.  He plays Moonshadow.  It’s brilliant.  Everyone in the stadium sings and I forget about the footy.  He sings Peace Train and I’m on my feet.  I’m feeling good.  Yusuf leaves and the crowd chant his name.  Some call him Yusuf, some call him Cat.  It doesn’t matter what he calls himself.

I meet a mate after the concert who has been to the footy.  He breathlessly tells me about Buddy.  “Mate, I’ve just seen a pure genius in action.  He left the crowd spellbound by his magic.  He’s unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”  I look at him and nod my head. I know exactly what he means.

I felt the sniffle coming on when I woke up on Saturday morning.  My throat was sore, my head was beating, my eyes were slightly watery and my nose was running wild.  It was only the fact that I couldn’t possibly be sick that made me discount the fact that perhaps I was coming down with a cold.  In a few hours I was off to Sydney where I was planning on cuddling up to a schooner or two while chewing the fat with the locals about the following day’s big clash between the Dons and the Swans in Sydney.

To ensure I’d fit into the Sydney way of drinking, I began sampling a few schooners while still in Melbourne.  With my nose now fully blocked and taste buds failing, I got through the first couple with an ease that assured me I’d be right at home in the NSW Capital.

I boarded my flight and began looking around in earnest for a wide eyed Sydney-sider who I could talk footy with. Kristy, a shopping enthusiast from Sydney’s West, told me she’d never been to a game of football.  Furthermore, she didn’t plan on going to a game in the next decade. So, after blowing my nose, clearing my throat and learning about the benefits of flying from Sydney to Melbourne to go shopping for the day, I was able to explain to Kristy that her city’s team were the Swans and that they wore red and white.  She was impressed.  She liked the colours.

Later that night, while watching Aussie Sam Stosur crash to a straight sets loss in Paris, my mate Ricky and I met a group of bankers from Manly who were warming up for the Manly Vs Brisbane game the following day with a few Saturday night schooners.  After telling me I looked sick, Ben, a twenty one year old trainee told us we’d wasted our time coming to Sydney because “the Swan’s won’t lose five in a row mate, the AFL wouldn’t allow it.  Tomorrow’s match will be fixed.  We’re certainties.” Generously, Ben then bought me a scotch to help with my cold and, it would seem, the pain of certain defeat tomorrow.

On the way to the Captain Cook Hotel the next morning, I cleared my head by sampling a $12.95 nose spray, which gave me a new, clear sense of enthusiasm.  Rick and I met another mate Zak at the pub, and with ex Melbournian, Ian, we sampled a few more schooners while Ian told us how Carlton kicked the ball out on the full 47 times in the last quarter of the 1968 Grand Final against Essendon to win by 3 points. In 1969 the ‘out of bounds on the full’ rule was brought in.  Ian told the same story last year at the Captain Cook.  In fact, we went over a lot of old stories at the Captain Cook, including stories of Essendon’s last 4 premierships and the last time we’d all been sick with the cold.

The game was a beauty.  17 lead changes, great goals, tough contests everywhere, schooners of Carlton Draught, beautiful sunshine and sleeting rain.  Marian, an English woman who accidentally kicked over Ricky’s beer at ¾ time, wondered aloud how a team could be called ‘the Bombers.’  “It’s a bit controversial isn’t it?  You can’t just go around bombing everything can you?”  After assuring her that the only thing we were bombing were our chances of winning, she handed me a couple of tissues and suggested that I go and find a seat under cover to escape the rain.

After the game, feeling a little battered and bruised I slowly walked towards Kings Cross with my mate Rick to contemplate the 9 point loss.  When we arrived at an ‘AFL friendly’bar, we were greeted by a big, bushy bearded ex Sherriff from Nevada, Hal.  Hal wondered why I couldn’t speak.

“What’s happened to your voice?  You been hollerin’ all day?”

“Yes, at the footy Hal.  My team played against Sydney and we lost.”

“Oh, you came all the way up here to watch your team and they lost?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve been hollerin’ all day.”

“I have.”

It seemed Hal was almost on the same page as me now.

“Did they lose by much?”

“By 9 nine points.”

“And you’ve got yourself a cold?  Now you’re all wet. And you’ve been hollerin’ all day.”

“That’s pretty much it, Hal.”

“Why the hell did you bother coming?”

Hal was scratching his beard, a little bemused. The answer, though, was simple:

“Because there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be, Hal.”

We then shared a schooner and did what I’d set out to do when I left Melbourne – we chewed the fat about the Dons and the Swans in Sydney.

I am by no means surprised by the negative reaction to Folau’s signing.  Not too long ago I completed a Master’s thesis about the commercialisation of sport and the impact this has had on the sporting community.  I wrote about how games were once an expression of the people, where citizens gathered for a common cause and worked together with a sense of fun and spontaneity to express shared interests and values.  The VFL, at its founding, showed many of these characteristics, and all of its clubs were a result of the passion and uprising of its community.

This is no longer the case.  Sport and sporting teams are no longer necessarily a result of an uprising of passion from the grassroots.  They are no longer produced from the ‘bottom up.’  If that was the case, Tasmania would have produced an AFL football team long ago. Today, the AFL picks a profitable market, produces a team, and sells it to consumers.  It’s manufactured from the ‘top down’ like ‘entertainers’ who come out of Australian Idol, the X Factor and other profit making juggernauts.  Personally, I think it’s a shame.

However, I do hope through all of this that people do not take aim at Team GWS, Kevin Sheedy and in particular, Israel Folau.  They are simply trying to build a club.  As I’ve already stated, Team GWS will not be built from the ‘bottom up.’  It will not be the result of an over flowing passion and will of the locals.  Its heartbeat did not begin with the sound of supporters running to see them play.  No, the AFL wants a team there – and nobody within shouting distance gives a damn about it.

So, they need to attract attention.  It is far too simplistic to suggest that ‘the game will sell itself.’  It just doesn’t happen.  You could send Chris Judd, Gary Abblett, Jonathan Brown and Nick Riewoldt up to GWS and nobody in the GWS region would care.  However, you take a couple of high profile rugby league players and everyone will start talking.  Perhaps a few thousand will even come and watch them play.

Folau and Hunt are obviously young men who don’t mind a challenge.  Surely they would’ve known the stir their transfer was going to make.  Surely they are aware of how difficult the challenge ahead will be.  Surely they are aware that many, many people are sitting, hoping and waiting for them to fail.  Surely they are aware that their move could damage the NRL brand.  And yet, they are willing and ready for the challenge.  Sure, the money is a big factor, but the only factor?  I don’t think so.

Some members of the Sydney press – clearly in a negative and slightly angry and bewildered mood – said they had trouble understanding what Kevin Sheedy was on about when he spoke at Tuesday’s press conference.  Surely they do not lack the skills to understand English?  Kevin Sheedy stated that he’d played, coached and lived his entire career taking risks and stepping forward gamely.  He stated that he’s never had a lot of time for negative thoughts, opinions and expressions and that this is a huge challenge.  He said he’s ready for it.  He said Team GWS will succeed and if you don’t like it, Team GWS doesn’t really care.

I hope Folau is a roaring success.  I hope young kids from Greater Western Sydney are spellbound by his talents.  I hope they look at him as a role model and ask their mums and dads to take them along to the see him play.  Just because they attend an AFL match one day, doesn’t mean they can’t attend the NRL tomorrow – there need not be a war.  I hope they purchase a Team GWS membership. I hope their parents do too.

The NRL will survive – only two players have signed with the AFL, not 200 – and so will all of the other AFL players who believe they are underpaid.  Mind you, I don’t see too many of them putting their hands up to head to Team GWS. Perhaps the challenge would be too big for them.  As for all of the VFL players that want a spot in the AFL – Israel Foloa is only taking one spot on the Team GWS list.

The AFL has given the coaches and administrators of Team GWS the most difficult task in the history of the game.  And, I for one love the game so much, I hope they succeed.  Israel Folau may be just what they need to do that.

By Sam Duncan

Generally if Essendon isn’t playing I don’t really care who wins.  I love watching footy – I love observing the match-ups, the contests, the tactics and the play.  I love observing the raw, unbridled emotions of the fans.  I love how much Australia’s very own game means to Australians.  You only had to be at the MCG on Saturday to see that football, in some special, unique, undefined way, is so much more than just a game.

But I’ve never really felt nervous for any team that wasn’t wearing black with a red sash.  I didn’t feel at all happy for Brisbane when they won their first flag for they had marched to victory by demoralising my team and taking greatness from our grasp.  I was happy for Sydney to break their 72-year premiership drought in 2005, but I bemoaned the fact that they chose to play a style of footy that won them a premiership by kicking just eight goals on a sunny Saturday in September.  And I was there in 2007 when Geelong won their first flag since 1963.  I was happy for them, but not emotionally involved. Read the rest of this entry »