Chapter 11: On the Don, and the wrong sash.

 

In another time, I had a crush on Essendon.

It was 1984, and since former Richmond player Kevin Sheedy had taken over the coaching job at Windy Hill he had made an irresistible force. By season’s end the Tigers languished in eighth spot on the ladder – it’d only get worse – and I did a morning paper round before school from a newsagency later owned by Francis Bourke, and on the Grand Final morning a customer walked into the shop with two spare tickets.

They were standing room. My father was a Bombers man. I woke him in bed with a phone call. We were off to the footy together.

When time comes to write his eulogy, I’ll recount this day. We stood on a concrete camber in the open before the old Southern Stand at the MCG – I was a boy among men, crushed in the crowd – and at each quarter break an Essendon fan bellowed his impersonation of a police siren. It was ridiculous, but made all in the crowd roar with delight.

And in that last quarter, when the Bombers kicked all those goals, when Kevin Walsh theatrically stumbled about, when Billy Duckworth was in everything – when the roll-call of Dons swarmed over Hawthorn: van de Haar, Watson, Madden, Harvey, Daniher – it was impossible not to be enthralled by the fervour of the crowd. I was young, I was impressionable. I had a soft spot for Garry Foulds in the back pocket, and Glenn Hawker running off the half-back flank.

This flirtation lasted a few years, probably ending on a bleak day at VFL Park in an Elimination Final, this time with my father and sisters, perched high in a stand under shelter and I knew I was in love with the romance of Fitzroy. In the sopping rain, in those vast open spaces, it was 1986 and they overcame all the odds. They won it with a goal at the death, by a point.

As a young man, and from the days of the ‘Baby Bombers’, I had admired James Hird, the footballer. He was graceful, lean, courageous, poised, skilful, and I’ve seen few like him who could map out the play and seemingly read it before it unfolded. He was always at the fall of the ball. He was a champion of the game.

But then last season, all about Essendon changed. All those years of silent respect – for the way it fostered and encouraged Indigenous players, for its enduring on-field competitiveness, for the way it created the most unlikely stars, even for its uniform, so similar to ours – came to a sudden end. Whatever it takes? I cannot believe its hierarchy was so cavalier with the welfare of its players, in administering unknown and untested drugs within a culture of secrecy and denial. I cannot believe James Hird is allowed to coach at AFL level again, ever. Period.

The million-dollar-man-a-season in exile in France made a mockery of our game, and of who we are. He has disgraced it, with his greed and vanity. And I cannot believe how so many Bomber fans blindly fall in line behind him in tacit approval.

Then again, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to have a Brownlow medal and premiership-winning champion of the game. For us Richmond fans, here is a foreign concept.

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Our Book of Feuds is open to all, and as such I’ve sought crowd sourcing on Twitter. The season is long and the mind grows tired. Who have we played, who do we play next? I do remember some long ago idle talk of a little altercation between our two teams. A how-do-you-do, a brawl, perhaps?
How can you go past the infamous brawl at Windy Hill? suggests Sue C (@SueEllCee).

The night they took Richo’s mark off him for hands in the back says Chris Greenway

Far too many to enumerate. From Dons cheer squad’s massed spitting over the balcony in GtSthStand to Richo’s mark… I’m still spewing. As good as sent Richo into early retirement says Andy (@Harri_Chas_17).

My gripe goes back 1924! begins John (@TheHolyBoot). VFL changed finals system – even though we comfortably beat Ess in last ‘finals’ match… they finished higher on ‘Finals table’, thus awarded the flag. The system lasted just that year! #GiveUsOurFlagBack

Was going to suggest that I was 5 months pregnant ’95 final, got overheated, had to sit in stairwell shade says The Skippygirl (@SatchSkippygirl).

The push in the back call on @mattricho a couple of years ago in the dreamtime game broke my heart says Elliott Claxton (@burg11).

The draw in 77, which may have been Tim Watson’s first game says Cam Manning (@cmrmmnning).

It was Watson’s first game. I was there @VFLPark. He lined up on St Francis of the Bourke says steve b (@ASpeedingCar)

Yep was there too, but all I remember is Emmett Dunne replies @cmrmmnning.

Geez, Emmett Dunne, the 70s/80s version of David Astbury. I mean that in a good way says (@ASpeedingCar.

Must mention #33 Knights keeping RFC in the 95 Semi Final 1st half, before the overrun in 2nd half & Scott Turner cameo goals says FootyMaths Institute (@Footy_Maths)

Dons playing possum in round 22 of 2001 and then SPIFLICATING us the following week in the Qual final. Lloyd kicked 100th… says @TheHolyBoot. …dirty night.

 

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I have no words of wisdom, no venom in my soul. I applaud the Essendon FC’s latest online campaign of respect (to players, umpires, fellow supporters, everyone), but I hope our boys on Saturday night show no respect for their foes (in the nicest possible way). I hope we play beautiful football, as if the ball were on a string and all our stars had aligned. I hope it is a night of yellow-and-black dreaming. I hope it is a night to remember.

I have a wedding on Saturday night (not mine), at a venue on Church Street, Richmond. I will not be at the game. I hope only for our speeches to be interrupted by the sound of distant song. Raise your voices, dear Tigers, stand on the seats and boom it into the night sky, let the words echo over rooftops, beneath the moon, have no fear of the unknown, open your hearts and your lungs and let me hear a distant and a sweet chorus: “Oooooooh, we’re from….”

This Book of Feuds is now closed.