Nowhere To Hide

 

It's hard to believe that six years have passed since that glorious day in 2016 when the Western Bulldogs won the AFL Premiership for the first time in 62 years. Tom Boyd was an integral part of that victory, playing perhaps the best game of his life, scoring three goals, including the breathtaking kick that sealed the game and resulted in this iconic image, with teammate Toby McLean jumping on his back, the very personification of joy and triumph:

Image: Fox Sports

Bulldogs supporters claim that in that single moment, Tom Boyd justified his enormous contract, at the time the biggest ever awarded to a player -- he was worth every penny. But that moment, and the huge contract deal, came at a tremendous personal cost to Boyd. Nowhere To Hide is the story of his football career, and more importantly, his personal journey through hell and out the other side.

Reading this book, combined with the recent appalling allegations of racism emerging from Hawthorn, and the long and sorry history of racism, misogyny and other scandals, have done a lot to put me off the whole sport of football. Correction, it's not a sport -- it's an industry. And like any business where there is far too much money sloshing around, common decency toward individuals, let alone empathy and compassion, seem to get lost in the mix.

On the surface, Tom Boyd seemed to have it all -- a young, white, privileged male, gifted with athletic talent, smart, articulate, good-looking, a number one draft pick -- surely he was living the dream? And he copped a huge amount of abuse for this very reason. If anything went wrong, he felt ungrateful, and he felt the pressure of everyone's expectations. When it sunk in for me that when he made the decision to leave GWS to come to the Western Bulldogs, he was younger than my daughter is now, I was horrified. He was a twenty year old kid, prone to injury, suffering from anxiety and insomnia, not sure who to trust, reluctant to admit he was struggling, because he felt as if he was letting everyone down.

After reading Nowhere To Hide, I don't think I will ever voice a criticism of a footballer again, even in the privacy of my own living room. I feel ashamed of the casual insults I've voiced aloud, telling myself it's all part of the theatre of the game. No, these are vulnerable young men, many of them just kids, trying their hardest, and suffering demons in their heads that we know nothing about. Shame on us all.

Leather Soul

Have I mentioned that I love Bob Murphy? A writer's footballer, he earned his stripes as a quirky commentator for The Age newspaper in a series of delightful, left-of-centre columns that sometimes concerned his sausage dog Arthur or buying coffee rather than the usual earnest ruminations or boasting of some player/analysts. Those columns were collected in Murphy's Lore.

Leather Soul: A half-back flanker's rhythm and blues is a meandering memoir, with memories of a carefree childhood interleaved with a diary of the Western Bulldogs annus mirabilis, 2016, when they joyously, unexpectedly, snatched the premiership with a month of magnificent football. But poignantly, Bob himself, captain of the team and its heart and soul, wasn't able to play in that premiership team because of injury. On Grand Final Day, when the coach called Murphy up onto the dais and put his own premiership medal around the injured captain's neck, it was a moment of the most perfect love and sportsmanship, a bittersweet and precious gesture.

Bob is honest about how much missing out on that year hurt him; he put on a brave face all year, swallowed his pain and gave whatever support he could to 'his boys.' But the pain didn't go away. He is honest about his own failings (even though the conventional wisdom in our house is that he is a perfect human being!) when it would have been easy to leave out those incidents from his story. Maybe that makes him even more perfect, who knows!

If you're not a Western Bulldogs supporter, or at least an AFL football fan, you probably won't pick up this book. That would be your loss. Get to know this lovely, wise, funny man, who happens to have played wonderful football for half his life, a little better. You won't regret making his acquaintance.

A Wink From The Universe

I've been waiting for this book for AGES -- Martin Flanagan's account of the Western Bulldogs magical, unexpected 2016 premiership. So when my preordered copy hit the doorstep, I took a brief, indulgent break from Elena Ferrante so I could gobble it down.

Martin Flanagan, more than any other football writer, captures the mystery and the drama and the poignancy at the heart of the game of AFL rules, and he gets the Bulldogs. He helps explain to me how I, a football hater, became drawn in to the community of this particular club, and how I too gradually got it.

His writing is superb. Every page sparkles with a perfect metaphor, a brilliantly drawn description. He writes about the history of the Bulldogs, an egalitarian club, a working man's club from the wrong side of the river. He writes about Bob Murphy, a footballer with rare wit and soul, the premiership captain cruelly denied his place in the playing team. He writes about Luke Beveridge, an ordinary player who became an extraordinary coach, a passionate story-teller who wove the power of his belief into a team without superstars, and transformed them into winners, a team surfing a wave he created right up to the ultimate prize.

Flanagan's account of the Grand Final match itself makes me want to go back and watch it again with the book in my hand, to pick out the same moments he narrates with such perfect, lively description. Any excuse!

But this is not just a book for those with 'Bulldog dreaming.' It's a fairy tale, a story about the power of belief, about the magic of belonging, and a joy long-denied.

The Mighty West

A massive exception to the No New Books rule: I pre-ordered The Mighty West long before it came out. I feel as if I know Kerrie Soraghan (aka The Bulldog Tragician) from her blog and her posts on the Whitten Oval Online Forum; a lifelong Western Bulldogs supporter, she has chronicled the fans' journey in poignant and funny prose.

This book draws on her blog posts from the last couple of years, so I was already quite familiar with a lot of the material. It was a quick and effortless and very pleasurable read, re-living the Bulldogs' journey to a flag which reached its glorious fairytale conclusion in October last year. Soraghan writes so beautifully of the fan experience -- of the emotional investment that supporters place in these young men, who we kid ourselves we know (from 'a few stilted interviews' and their exploits on the field) and love (often fiercely, often beyond all reason). Fans feel like insiders, and the actions of the team and the club matter to us so much -- and yet ultimately we are not insiders. We know hardly anything of what really goes on inside the club, and we are powerless to affect what happens, whether that's a club captain walking out, or a team winning an impossible game. All we can do is tell ourselves that our silly superstitions (sitting in the same place on the couch, wearing a lucky badge) and our barracking, our cheers and encouragement -- our love -- really do make a difference.

And once in a lifetime, that those dreams and hopes come true.

For Western Bulldog fans, this is a must-read; you will relate to every word. As soon as I finish this post, I'm buying it for my mother-in-law.

Southern Sky, Western Oval

Southern Sky, Western Oval by Martin Flanagan, is the story of one season in the life of the Footscray Football Club, as it was still known in 1993. (The Western Oval has changed its name, too, to the Whitten Oval.)

I took this cover image from Fishpond, so I suspect it's the actual copy I bought! Bornadog, from WOOF, tracked it down for me after I said I'd been hunting for it for a while. The Whitten Oval Online Forum is a wonderful community. When the Bulldogs made it into the Grand Final last year, 60 years after their last appearance, WOOF's motto was 'no Bulldog left behind.' Somehow, everyone looking for a ticket was helped to find one, thanks also to the generosity of other football fans who had tickets but gave them up so that the maximum number of Bulldog fans could experience the day.

Anyway, the 1993 season, though it began with high hopes, did not have the happy ending of 2016. Nonetheless, it's a wonderful read, even though I was unfamiliar with many of the characters and the world of AFL has changed enormously in the last twenty five years. One of the players in the 1993 side was a young Luke Beveridge, who coached last year's team to the ultimate victory.

It struck me that Beveridge's coaching style might have been influenced by his coach at the Bulldogs at this time, Terry Wheeler. Wheeler was a coach ahead of his time. In an era when most coaches were stern, shouty disciplinarians, Wheeler aimed to create an environment where each player could produce his best. He would quote Jonathan Livingston Seagull, took his team sky-diving, played bag-pipes before a match. The club president has said that if he'd had his time over, he wouldn't have sacked Terry Wheeler. But Wheeler is still a close friend of the club, and rejoiced in last year's victory with the rest of us.

Martin Flanagan writes about football like no one else. He understands the romance, the anguish, the bonds that knit a club together. And he has a poetic eye. He describes one player on the field as looking like "a bread van surrounded by sports cars." Another player's shoulder muscles "bulged like plates in a suit of armour." In my opinion, he is as fine a writer as his brother Richard, whose novel Wanting I read at the same time as Southern Sky, Western Oval. But because he writes about sport, he is under-rated by literary critics.

Martin Flanagan has been asked to write a book about the 2016 Western Bulldogs premiership. I can't wait.

The Doggies Almanac

Since the Western Bulldogs' unexpected Premiership victory, there has been a veritable tide of memorabilia pouring out of the Whitten Oval and AFL shops: DVD box sets, signed posters, blockmounted jumpers, replica cups, stubby holders, you name it. We've been relatively restrained at our house -- two books and one box set, and a framed photo collage which was a Christmas present and therefore not our fault!

I wasn't aware of this book until I unwrapped it on Christmas morning. Put together by John Harms and Mandy Johnson, it's a product of the on-line site, the Footy Almanac, which collates and publishes fan accounts of each game of the season. This book is a collection of pieces about the Bulldogs' year, round by round, culminating in lots of accounts of the extraordinary journey through the finals. There are lots of stories here, some funny, some poignant, from fans aged 80 and fans aged 11. It was so much fun to live through the year all over again, though there were some very dark moments -- Mitch Wallis's screams of agony, Bob Murphy's knee -- but the happy ending makes it all worth while.

The Bulldogs' story this year reminded everyone what can be so good about football -- the romance, the heartbreak, the history, and the possibility of overwhelming joy, and I'm so grateful to have experienced it all.

Catching Up

Image: AFL

So... we went on a little holiday to new Zealand. I know, I know, what self-respecting football fan books an overseas holiday in September? But the decision to take the family on a brief break across the Tasman was a form of tempting fate -- come on, surely the Bulldogs wouldn't still be playing in the last couple of weeks of the finals? At best we might scrape into the semis...

Well, unless you've been living under a rock, you know how this story ends. Our Bulldogs DID win a preliminary final, gaining entry to the Grand Final for the first time since 1961. We watched the astounding victory (underdogs for the third game in a row...) on cable TV in our hotel room in Wellington. A couple of days earlier, a random stranger had bounced up to Michael in the Auckland Museum and wished us luck (Michael happened to be wearing a jacket with a very discreet Bulldog logo attached).

We made it home in time to secure tickets. We were there, high up in the Southern Stand, to witness the game. We chewed out nails, plaited the tassels on our scarves, cheered and howled and roared. And before the siren sounded, I was already in tears.

Anyway, while we were away, I read a couple of books: The Spire, by William Golding, about a medieval priest who is driven to add a spire to his church, against the warnings of his master builder, and the effects of his misguided vision on the community around him; and also Landmarks, by Robert Macfarlane, an absolutely beautiful book which examines some of Macfarlane's favourite nature writers, and also gathers a glossary of local terms for landscape and weather, words that describe with precision and poetry the interplay of water and air, earth and sky. Macfarlane laments that with the loss of this language, we lose our ability to really see what lies around us. This immediately led me to think of the tragic loss of Aboriginal languages and place-names, which perform the same function of knitting together people, spirit and place. And it felt as if New Zealand, with its proliferation of Maori place-names, and its bi-lingual signage, is miles ahead of Australia in recognition and preservation of local language.

But since I finished Landmarks, nearly all my reading has been about football, and that glorious, thrilling victory: match reports, interviews, newspaper articles, blog posts... and I still haven't even unwrapped the Footy Record!!

This post has already gone on long enough, so I will conclude with a simple, joyous shout of GO DOGS!

From The Outer: Footy Like You've Never Heard It

I got distracted again... My friend Margaret from the Convent book group was the first to alert me to this book, then I saw a review in the weekend paper, and next thing I knew it had arrived on my Kindle, seemingly by its own volition...

From the Outer is a collection of short pieces about AFL football, edited by Alicia Sometimes and Nicole Hayes, it includes chapters by Christos Tsiolkas, Angela Pippos, Alice Pung, and even football hater Cath Deveny, among many other voices -- some famous, some unknown. There are pieces by the first female umpire, a star player in the women's game, the founder of a LGBTI supporters group, disabled fans, many migrants who found that footy was a pathway to a sense of community in a strange land; fans who were born into a team, and fans who made a conscious choice; people who for many reasons speak 'from the outer', in the sense of being on the margins of society, and who (in most cases) experience the game from the outer, as spectators and supporters, rather than on the field. There are passionate fans, ambivalent spectators, those who have fallen in love with Aussie Rules and out again, some who can't stand the game (well, one). As Miriam Sved puts it: '...part of the appeal of footy, maybe of any sport, is stories,' and there are a multitude of stories here.

When I bought this book, it was just before Round 3. My beloved Western Bulldogs had started the year in a blur, blitzing their first two games to sit high atop the ladder. We were looking forward to meeting the all-conquering Hawthorn in our third game, to measure our team against the very best. I took the Kindle to the ground with me, to read it at half time.

By the time I finished reading it, round three was over. The Bulldogs lost -- by the slimmest of margins, and they dominated the Hawks for a good chunk of the game. We are the real deal. But the loss of the match was rendered almost irrelevant by a much worse blow -- an horrific injury to captain Bob Murphy, our club's beating heart, a footy romantic, a seemingly ageless veteran leading a team of young pups toward success... But Bob has done his knee. He won't play for the rest of the season. Given his age, he may decide never to play again.

There could hardly be a clearer demonstration of all the ways that footy can break your heart, or the sweet hopeful promise that lures you back in, despite the pain. Come back, Bob! It wouldn't be the same without you.

Murphy's Lore

I'm not supposed to be buying any new books this year, until the pile-beside-the-bed has gone. (Needless to say the pile-beside-the-bed has not diminished at all, being steadily topped up with loans from the library and friends, and second hand purchases from here and there; also there have been a couple of Kindle purchases which…don't count…)

But I had to make an exception for Bob Murphy's new book, Murphy's Lore. It's a collection of the columns that the Western Bulldog's veteran (and now captain -- about time) has written for The Age over the past seven years -- sentimental, funny, passionate, an insider's view of the football field by someone who doesn't just play the game at the highest level, but thinks and feels deeply about football's place in our society. He writes about community, family, the bond between team-mates, the theatre of sport, the  history of struggle and loyalty that has formed that weird entity that is a football club, and the place of the players inside that entity. He writes about belonging, and fun, and pain; and trees and shoelaces and music and sausage dogs. I suspect without Bob's columns, I might not have become a football fan.

When I joined a fan forum for the Western Bulldogs a few years back, I chose the username Murphy's Lore as a tribute to Bob's whimsical wisdom. Last Friday I trekked out to the Whitten Oval to get my copy signed, but I was too shy to tell him that. I don't have many heroes, but Bob Murphy is one of them.

The Drama of Football

Photo from Maribyrnong Leader

I think it's fair to say that some of my nearest and dearest (hello Mum...) have been bemused by my growing absorption in the world of AFL, and the Western Bulldogs in particular. And even though it's now technically the off-season, and there aren't even any games going on, the events of the past week or two have illustrated the roller-coaster experience of belonging to a football club.

It's all about the story.

It's been said (by Martin Flanagan I think) that sport is the purest form of drama - the enactment of a contest where character is displayed, or found wanting; where the outcome is thrillingly unknown; where the audience is emotionally invested in the twists and turns of the 'narrative' as the game plays out.

But lately, for my Bulldogs, all the drama has been off the field, and it was just as absorbing, just as emotionally wrenching, as any game could be.

The high point of the roller-coaster was set before the end of the AFL season proper, with the victory of the new Footscray team in the VFL Grand Final. It was the first grand final victory for a team called Footscray since our single premiership win in 1954, and the Bulldog faithful spilled onto the ground in jubilation to celebrate with our boys.

Within days, three members of that victorious team had been de-listed from the club. Not long after, the voluntary exodus of senior players began -- Higgins, Jones (a hero of the VFL victory), Brownlow-medallist Cooney, all looking for new clubs. We knew that there were rumours of trouble at the Kennel, that the end of season reviews between coach and players had been pretty brutal. But we were confident that our coach, Macca, with his reputation as a patient teacher, was on the right track. If some older players were disgruntled, well, maybe it was better if they moved on, and cleared the stage for the next generation.

But then came the bombshell. Thursday afternoon: Ryan Griffen announced that he wanted to leave, too. Griff, our captain, our best player, our leader, was jumping ship. And not even to a team at the top of the ladder -- he wanted to go to GWS, the no-hoper plastic love child of the AFL. It smacked of desperation -- he wanted to be anywhere but with us. Things must be very, very wrong.

We were still reeling from that news when the second bombshell dropped. Friday morning: Macca was gone. He'd 'resigned,' apparently convinced (or having been persuaded) that he no longer had the confidence of the majority of the players. Turmoil at the Kennel! Suddenly we had gone from a calm, steady, confident club -- not achieving well at the moment, but with a course for improvement mapped out ahead -- to a total basket case! No coach, no captain, players lining up to get out… What the hell was going on down there?

It was a sombre weekend. I listened to Brendan Macartney's dignified, philosophical interview on ABC radio and cried. I read and posted on the club forum obsessively, taking comfort from the shared anger and sorrow (and even pained laughter) of fellow fans. (Someone had named their dog Griffy -- what was he going to do now??) I couldn't see where we'd go from here.

Then on Monday morning, the roller-coaster took a dramatic swing upwards. The Bulldogs slapped down the gauntlet to GWS. You want our captain? You can have him -- but only if you give us Tom Boyd, your number one pick from last year. Boyd is a young gorilla, nineteen years old, the young power forward our side has been desperately seeking for years. (Our last top-class forward recruit was Chris Grant, in 1988.) Straight swap. How about that?

The boldness of it took our breath away. Then it got even better -- Boyd declared that he wanted to come to us! Suddenly we dared to dream again. Could it actually happen? Could we land this big fish, the missing piece of the puzzle? All week we seesawed between hope and incredulity. It couldn't happen -- GWS said they'd never let him go, under any circumstances. He was a number one pick, just last year, for heaven's sake!

But by the end of the week, the deal was miraculously done. We had lost Griff, lost Macca, and a handful of other players. But we had gained Tom Boyd for the red, white and blue: the Tominator, the Six Million Dollar Man, Major Tom, our own Tommy Boy.

So here we are, breathless and dazed, but starting, tentatively, to hope again. Up and down and up again, participants in a drama with its own wounded heroes, defiant rhetoric, valiant but untried knights,   silent and probably misunderstood traitors, bluster and bluff, enormous costs and potential for huge reward, an immense gamble, a future. And us -- the supporters, because we are part of the story too. Bruised from decades of disappointment, but daring to believe that success might be just around the next corner, that this might be the gamble that pays off.

How could anyone resist a story like that?

Footscray Wins the Flag!

The VFL flag, but still!

By First Dog On The Moon

The Footscray faithful turned out in force yesterday for the 2014 VFL Grand Final at Etihad between Footscray and the Box Hill Hawks. The crowd of 23, 816 (I think) was the largest for a VFL game in 25 years; it was 9,000 greater than last year's Grand Final between the Box Hill Hawks and Geelong, and I would estimate that 90% of the crowd were there for the Bulldogs.

Points to note:
1. This was Footscray's first year in the VFL competition with a stand-alone side. That's right, it was a first year team. All year, they had emphasised that the Footscray VFL side was there to promote the development of the AFL side, a place to play the youngsters and train them up; winning games was secondary. But we won 15 out of our last 16 games, finished the season second on the ladder, and now we are VFL Premiers! What an extraordinary achievement.

2. Western Bulldogs/Footscray haven't won a premiership of any kind since 1954. There's been one other reserves victory, and the pre-season comp a few years ago, but otherwise the cupboard is bare. Most of the supporters in the crowd yesterday have never seen their team in a Grand Final, let alone winning one. Is it any wonder that people were crying? (Not me. Well, maybe just a little bit.)

3. It was a great game of football. The Hawks were three goals up at one stage; the lead kept changing hands. But the final quarter was a blinder. The Hawks were hamstrung by injuries to a couple of players (no subs at VFL!) and Cyril Rioli, their superstar, was pulled off at three quarter time in case Hawthorn want to play him next week in the Really Big Final. And the Footscray boys went beserk! We kicked three goals in three minutes to draw level, then three more to seal the victory. (Liam Jones, we never doubted you!) The crowd were on their feet, pushing Footscray home by sheer force of will and rowdy noise.

4. At the end of the game, the crowd spilled onto the ground. It's safe to say that they were a pretty happy bunch. It was wonderful to part of such a big, joyful mass of people.

5. I don't give a rats who wins next week. That's my year in football over. But wow, what a way to end it.

Going to the Footy, Old Style

There are many ways of experiencing a football match. In the few brief years that I've been a Western Bulldogs member, I've seen our team play many times in a half-empty, roofed stadium. Sometimes I've been in a big group of extended family; once or twice, I've sat alone. It's not always a soul-less, depressing experience; a few weeks ago, I was perched above an astonishing goal from wunderkind Marcus Bontempelli, and the whole crowd rose to their feet as one, cheering. Late last year I was present during a regrettable (ahem) melee when a spine-tingling chant slowly growled from the crowd: Bull...dogs...Bull...dogs... We don't do that a lot; it was spontaneous, thrilling, tribal.

I've also seen the Doggies play in the tropical warmth of the Gold Coast, the bitter chill of a Canberra winter, and at the icy Hawks fortress of the Launceston ground. I've seen footy at the MCG (not often, and a long time ago, when we still played finals occasionally), and even, in ancient days, once, at Waverley (my first footy game, St Kilda versus someone, and mist hid the play on the other side of the ground). I've watched matches on TV, in the comfort of my lounge room, where I can swear and pace up and down and even run to another room if the strain proves too much. I've listened to games on the radio, busily scrubbing down the kitchen cupboards to calm my nerves. I've hunched over games on the tiny screen of the iPad, sitting in bed, squinting at the poor resolution and hoping my fellow spectator won't lose his temper and hurl the device across the room.

But I have a new favourite way to watch football: the old-fashioned way. This year the Western Bulldogs have started their own VFL team, and they play some of their games at the Bulldogs home, the Whitten Oval in the heart of Footscray (the team is called Footscray, too). Last Sunday we went along. The sun was shining; we took a picnic rug and sat on the grass in the forward pocket (see above). We ate gourmet hot dogs and chips, bursting out of a paper bag -- twice the amount and half the price you'd pay at Etihad. At half time, kids and parents rushed onto the oval and footies flew in all directions. We took the dog, and walked her around the ground, and she made friends with other dogs. There were two or three thousand people there -- enough to hear a decent roar when a goal went through, not so many that you felt cramped or overwhelmed. An injured Bulldogs player hobbled up the hill on crutches and sat on the grass behind us (he signed our football). It was intimate and friendly, relaxed and fun.

And suddenly I understood: this is what football used to be like, before the corporates got hold of it. This is what everyone is nostalgic for! But you don't have to be nostalgic: because it's still there.

NOTE: I planned to write this post all week. But quite coincidentally, last night I started to read The Book of Emmett by Deborah Forster. And lo, it's set in Footscray. The very first scene takes place in the shadow of the Whitten Oval! Synchronicity strikes again.

Bluffer's Guide to the Western Bulldogs (2014 Edition)

It's been a long time since I posted anything about the Western Bulldogs; frankly, it was too depressing. We finished fifteenth out of eighteen teams last year. That's not very good, even I have to admit that.

BUT... there are some grounds for cautious optimism. I don't think we'll play finals this year, but I have reason to believe we'll be better than we have been for the last few seasons. Here's why:

1) The hoops are back
See the jumper in the picture above? Them's the hoops. Goodbye Robodog, welcome back to a sensible, proper, stylish football jumper. Anyone would play better in a great jumper like that. (The hoops actually came back last year, it's just taken a little while to start working...)

2) Footscray Football Club is back
This year, the Bulldogs have their very own VFL team. This means that our young players can play the positions we want them to play, not what might suit our affiliate club, who are only interested in winning the VFL finals, not the long-term development of OUR club. Also, FFC will play some games at the Whitten Oval. This is a victory for nostalgic fans who miss the old ground, our spiritual home. Can't wait.

3) We finished well last year
Yes, I know we ended up fifteenth, but it's also true that we won five games in the second half of the year, and had closer-than-expected finishes to a few more. Things seemed to be on the up; even in the games we lost, we were a lot more competitive.

4) How good do those kids look?
Libba is already elite, and should have been All Australian last year. Wallis is coming good. Jordan Roughead has quickly become a stalwart down back. But also keep an eye on Macrae (silky skills, and grew an extra 3cm over the summer!), Stringer (a beast!), Hunter (sooo smart), Hrovat (pronounced ROVE-at), Talia (maturing in the backline).
The most satisfying part of watching the kids is that quite a few of them are father-sons (Libba, Wallis, Hunter) which means we got them for a steal. Bonus: Talia is a grandfather-grandson! His grandpa played in the 1954 premiership!
Prediction: Tom and Tony Liberatore will be the first father-son Brownlow medallists. Yes, Libba jr is really that good.

It's still a development year, but hopefully, hopefully, we will start to see some signs that it's all coming together. Believe in Macca. He's got a plan.

Bluffers' Guide To The Bulldogs Part 4

Another week, another defeat to the Western Bulldogs.

It's becoming a painful pattern this season. Earlier in the year we had a couple of gallant losses, near misses, and even some wins. But things are looking pretty dark and dismal down at the Kennel at the moment.

As a relatively new supporter, I've been spoiled the last few years. We've made the finals most years, we made three preliminary finals! Coming third or fourth was excitement enough for me (though not for many of the long-suffering Bulldog fans who have been waiting sixty years for another flag). Even when we lost, we usually looked like we were in it, and there was always hope that we'd come good next week.

Well, not now. We look bloody horrible. We are "rebuilding". We are "getting games into the kids". We don't need to tank for draft picks - we're just losing without even trying. We're at the bottom of the football cycle. It's no fun watching the Bulldogs at the moment. We look slow, clueless, unskilled and disorganised. I'm sure there is a long term plan for the team's development, but it's ugly to watch.

This is where, as a supporter, you have to make a hard decision. Do I jump off the bandwagon while it's struggling through the mire? Have I got better things to do with my time and money than sit through yet another flogging? Do I really want to put myself through that pain? I hate seeing my boys lose, knowing that whatever misery I'm feeling is amplified a hundred-fold for them. Being a football fan when your team is doing badly is the opposite of enjoyable.

It's tempting to walk away. To say, see you in five years -- when we've acquired some talented youngsters, when the coach's plan has gelled, when the kids we're blooding now have matured into senior players and gained some strength and confidence and experience.

The trouble is, with a club like the Bulldogs, in five years time there might not be a team to come back to.

Our membership is low. We are poor. A few years at the bottom of the ladder could kill us. If enough members walk away, we might not make it. We will drown.

So I've made my decision. I'll try to anaesthetise myself against the pain, but I'll hang in there. Because being a true supporter means loving your team even when they're awful. And when victory finally comes, it will be all the sweeter, and I can feel as if I've earned it too.

Bluffers Guide To the Western Bulldogs Part 3

Yay! The boys had a win this weekend. Enjoy it while it lasts because we probably won't be hearing 'Sons of the West' very often this year.

Here are a few players that every Bulldog bluffer needs to know - arguably four of them are actually our best players, though they're not my own personal favourites. But we would be a lot worse off without them...

5 Bulldogs You Should Know

Matthew Boyd (5)

He's tough. He's our captain. He gets hold of the ball a LOT - which makes him a great Dream Team/Supercoach pick. Also he came third in the Brownlow last year, so he is obviously very good. But sometimes (very quietly) even though he gets the ball a LOT, he doesn't always do great things once he's got it... sometimes he tends to give it to the opposition... but he is still very good. Very good indeed. Ahem!


Brian Lake (36)

Ah, Bri-Bri. When he's good, he's very very good -- one of the best, if not THE best, defender in the game. Has an uncanny ability to read the play and position himself under the ball. Had a terrible year last year, trying to recover from three major operations, and his body just wasn't up to it. Seems to be improving this year though... but then he has to go and whack someone get in the mouth and get himself suspended. Must have been one of those famous Brian 'brain fades.'

Adam Cooney (17)

He was a dead set superstar, bursting out of the packs at explosive speed, breaking the game wide apart... But now his knees are buggered. He can still do it, but only in spurts. Which is a real shame. But even half of Adam Cooney (COOOOOON) is still better than a whole of most players... Has ginger hair and tatts all over one leg - a leg sleeve? A leg warmer?? Noice.

Ryan Griffen (16)

GriffEN. Not GriffIN. Get it right! Another dead set superstar, but a largely undercover one. If he played for Collingwood or Carlton, people would never stop raving. As it is, he's like Batman in Bruce Wade disguise. Ssh! Don't tell anyone how good he is. Or they might try to steal him... No, wait, he's just signed a contract for the next few years. Loyal and modest as well as talented. What's not to love?


Liam Jones (19)

Look at him! He's a tall, skinny, Tasmanian baby. He has the hardest job in the AFL. Now that Big Bad Bazza has retired, Jones is the Bulldogs only tall lead-up forward (ie he's expected to mark the ball in the goal square, or somewhere nearby, and kick a goal). But now he has two or even three opposition defenders trying to stop him. Not easy. Also, he is a fantastic mark but a slightly wobbly kick. He is the future -- as long as he doesn't get burnt out first. Fingers crossed.

Bluffer's Guide To the Western Bulldogs, Part 2

Okay, it's three weeks into the season and we are 0 for 3. We are officially rubbish and it's officially going to be a long, long year.

But at least being crap gives you lots to moan about in football conversations, and supporters of other teams can afford to be kind and sympathetic when your team is going badly. They get to enjoy that warm glow of satisfaction that at least their team is higher than yours on the ladder.

So here are five lines you can throw into conversation to make it sound as if you vaguely know what you're talking about:

1. 'Of course, the player we're really missing is Dale Morris.' 
(Jettison this line once his broken leg has healed and he's playing again)

2. 'You can't tell how we're going to go this year until at least Round 6.' 
(Actually, I think you can: woefully. Obviously this line is only useful until Round 6, when our cellar-dwelling woefulness will be confirmed beyond all doubt.)

3. 'Funny how our rookie picks seem to work out better than the first rounders.' 
(To be delivered with a rueful shake of the head. If pressed, mention Dahlhaus and Boyd as great rookies, Grant and Wallis as dubious first rounders. Don't worry if you don't know what first-rounders or rookies are. The other person will.)

4. 'Tom Liberatore missing out on a Rising Star nomination last year was an absolute scandal.' 
(Can be followed up with the more recent scandal of Clay Smith missing out on a nomination for his first senior game, despite kicking four goals and playing so hard his body shut down and he had to be subbed off for sheer exhaustion.) 

5. 'It's not so much the forward line I'm worried about, it's the delivery from the midfield.'
(If you get this far, congratulations. From now on, it will probably suffice to nod and smile and occasionally murmur something about 'inside' and 'outside' mids, how Liam Jones has the toughest job in AFL, and the need to give the boys time to adjust to the new coach's game plan.)

If only playing the damn game was this easy...

The Bluffer's Guide to The Western Bulldogs Part 1

Well, AFL Round 1 has come and gone, and with it the Western Bulldogs' first defeat of the season. From here it might look as if it's going to be a long year - and it probably will.

So I'm going to make it easy for you to bluff your way through supporting the Bulldogs in what they call a 'development year' (which means we're going to be pretty terrible, but hopefully not forever).


5 Bulldogs To Love

Robert Murphy (2)

 He's smart, he's graceful, he's quick, he's creative. The thoughtful person's footballer. Played up forward until his knees got dodgy, now plays down back, which hopefully means he'll play for a few years longer. Writes a funny, sentimental, articulate column in The Age on Thursdays. The de facto guardian of Bulldog history. Puts little notes in the lockers of new players.


Daniel Giansiracusa (13)

Often underrated, perhaps because he's hot. Another clever footballer who does a lot of work to set things up for other players. Reliable goal-kicker. Never called anything but 'Gia.'

Tom Liberatore (21)

Son of club legend Tony Liberatore slotted almost instantly into the midfield. Plays with more toughness and poise than you'd expect from a second year player. Despite performing solidly in almost every game last year, he failed to attract a Rising Star nomination. Disgraceful.

Will Minson (27)

 Aka Big Will, Wilbur, Minno. Multi-talented and reputedly very intelligent, he speaks German, plays the saxophone and is fond of a purple suit. With the retirement of Ben Hudson, Will becomes the club's number one ruckman (the guy who hits the ball out from the centre bounce).

Luke Dahlhaus (40)

Cruelly overlooked in the main draft, he was picked as a rookie last year by the Dogs and has repayed their punt in spades. A pocket dynamo, the energy level of the team lifts as soon as he sets foot on the field. And just check out those dreds! Nicknamed 'Grommet' by Bob Murphy because he comes from Ocean Grove, he is apparently not, in fact, a surfer.