AFL Round 23 – Geelong v Sydney: In the balance

It is Saturday afternoon. I am driving down the Geelong Road. Peter J. Flynn is in the passenger’s seat. As we look to the south and the west P. Flynn claims he hasn’t seen skies like this since being in Western Australia.

Big sky and a warm afternoon. Good for footy.

We are running late, thanks to me. I have tried to walk the tight-rope of keeping all and sundry happy, especially The Handicapper (who continues to show surprise when I say, some time late in the week, that I hope to see Geelong play on Saturday). I haven’t walked it overly well. Actually I have fallen, and I lie in that marital abyss where one is left grappling with the very concept  of the right thing to do.

Blessed with a strong, independent mind (and a license to use it) The Handicapper has a clear sense of the right thing. The right thing is introducing our children to snow.

“Really,” I said, when this was first mooted deep into the winter. “Aren’t they a little young for snow?”

I can inform you now that our children are not too young for the snow.

The Handicapper has been keeping an eye out for the perfect combination of snowfall followed by sunny day, and she’s spotted the sequence.  Friday snow, into Saturday sunshine. She has heard that there will be 18cm of snow at Mt Donna Buang (“It’s the closest snow to Melbourne”) on this very day. And she is concerned that, in that sunshine, all the snow will be gone by mid-afternoon.

Snow.

Snow has not featured heavily in my planning for the week. That planning has revolved around things like the return of Joel Selwood and the normal rituals at the Sawyers Arms, and the prospect of beating a visiting premiership contender.

Snow.

I’ve been thwarted by many things, but snow is a new one. Does The Handicapper not understand? This has turned into a classic season where a whole raft of pretty good sides have been jockeying for position, and fans have been trying to make sense of it all. The Geelong-Sydney game could go either way. And I need to be at it.

So I do what any sensible footy fan and snow-sceptic would do: I ring the servo attendant at Warburton and ask him whether the snow will last until Sunday.

He says it will last for days.

I am relieved.

I get off the phone and negotiate a snow deal, and soon after I am in the car.

P. Flynn and I make our way into Kardinia Park (unparma-ed) with just minutes to spare. Even with a huge construction site at one end, the ground is a picture. The sun is quite strong. The grass is very green. The faithful on the terrace are quiet.

I suspect that quiet has an element of confidence about it. I reckon this will be tight for a while until the Cats get away. I nominate 13 goals to 8, convinced the Swans will try to bottle it up.

Although I am not feeling as bullish about the flag as last year, I know we have a ripping good side; a team of players who, individually, remain under-rated; saggy-arsed nobodies like Boris Enright and Harry Taylor who continue to puzzle the footy community; quiet achievers like Jimmy Bartel, as disarming a sportsman as I have ever seen; and angry little men refusing to concede a thing to mortality, like Chappy.  And Joel Selwood and Hawk. Stop.

Yet the Swans also have a lot of talent, tremendous system, and the will and discipline to make the most of it. They have the boy from Bunyip, Shane Mumford, who knows the ground and the opponent only too well. They have Adam Goodes and a stack of rough and tumble maulers. (Are Bird, Hannebery and Jack really three different people?)

We are in a good place, in the perfect sunshine at the back of the terrace; one of those spots where, from the outset, you feel you are a big part of a micro-universe, and a tiny part of something which is being played out at a distance just observable, by players just recognisable, in a macro-universe that also has hold of you. A bit like the Beatitudes scene in The Life of Brian.

As the ball is bounced I am loving the world and its people.

And just when I think my heart can swell no further , it does. In the busy-ness of my anti-snow campaign and its guilt-ridden legacy I have completely forgotten that Geelong have made more than one change. So, when Nathan Vardy climbs over Mumford at the opening bounce, it comes as a genuine surprise. It also comes as a revelation.

If ever you have doubted the fans’ knowledge of the game, this was a moment to set you straight. Because people knew exactly what they had witnessed. Nathan Vardy. Wow! “We can really win this.”

At the next two bounces, Vardy jumps with perfect timing. High into the day. PJF (I think) says, “He’s channelling Polly Farmer.”

The he does it again.

“That’s six in a row,” I say of the contest way off at the river end.

“That was Trent West,” says PJF, deadpan.

Although this is a straightening of the record, I am encouraged by it. Because if Trent West is also dominating, we really, really can win this.

The Swans don’t bottle it up. They keep players away from the stoppages, initially, and this serves them well. They put together three goals, and late in the quarter the signs are not good for Geelong. A number of times there are loose Swans everywhere.

Chappy has kicked a couple, and Hawk has given one to Johnno. It’s a good game, although you don’t have to wander far to hear the hypothesis that the umpies are keeping the Swans in it. Harry Taylor is keeping the Cats in it with some timely marks.

Our micro-universe narrows. We are surrounded by true lovers of the game – in that way you are every time you stand in the outer at the footy. In front of us are two Swans supporters on tour (they have on-tour polo-shirts). They provide balance. Behind us are a number of fine Geelong analysts. When Scarlo marks one yells, “Have another year Scarlo.”

But the highlight of our micro-universe is a tall 27 year-old who answers to the name of Simone and the call of Smirnoff. She has done time in Earls Court. Tall and raven-haired, she is happy for us all to know that she’s a player. When Vardy kicks one she says (to her credit, to no-one in particular): “The things I could do to that boy.”

This is how we find out she is 27.

“You’re too old for him,” says her mate.

“Jee-zus,” she says, “I’m only 27.”

She has an eye for the game (footy).  And a good turn of phrase. Her favourite is a response to a Cats goal. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” she calls.

P. Flynn laughs. “Winner. Winner. Chicken Dinner,” he says, slowly.

The crowd is quiet for a lot of the first half. It’s a balmy afternoon, a little like conditions in an episode (all episodes?) of The Flowerpot Men. The most animated the crowd becomes is when Boris hobbles off holding the back of his leg.

The atmosphere changes after the break. The Swans are fierce and there is a stirring of olde-worlde Geelong concern when Kieren Jack slices one through from the tough past-players pocket.

But Joel Selwood has had enough. He wins the tough footy. He streams forward, and kicks long to Mitch Duncan who goals. He wins a centre clearance. He throws himself into packs and emerges somehow.

The Cats are carried along in the frenzy Selwood has created. Taylor Hunt gets going. Kelly keeps winning the hard ball. Corey Enright, whose injury must be minor, controls things from the back. Stokes and Christensen are lively. The goals come, to Christensen and then Chappy bags his third. Hawkins launches one from 50. And suddenly the Cats have bolted.

Vardy keeps catching the eye. He has the stride of Michael Holding, and ball skills which will carry him a long way.

Before long the Cats have kicked about ten unanswered goals and The Terrace turns off. This suits Simone who sparks up and puts herself in the running for the votes.

The game is over, but not before P. Flynn asks if he can second the “Winner, winner, chicken dinner” call. He gets permission.

The Cats win comfortably despite a few consolation goals to the visitors. The Swans will be disappointed with their effort. I, for one, thought they were better than that.

The name Vardy is on Geelong lips.

Simone explains to Flynny the origins of the chicken dinner phrase, which comes from casinos, when a chicken dinner cost $1.79 and the minimum blackjack hand cost $2.

We analyse the game in the car going home. Flynny buys some travellers to help.

We pass Kentucky Fried.

Votes:   3.   Harry Taylor     2.    Joel Selwood       1.   Corey Enright

 

Postscript 1: The Cats turned it on for about 20 minutes which turned out to be enough.  Nathan Vardy was all the talk. Word spread that it may be a big Monday for the Match Review Panel – which it subsequently was.

 

Postscript 2: Family Harms packed the car and, on a magnificent second day of Spring headed to Warburton and up to Mt Donna Buang. It was Fathers’ Day. While initially fascinated with the white blanket they didn’t handle the snow which made its way into their gum boots well at all. I pointed this out to The Handicapper. “I suspect they’re a bit young,” I said. Eventually, at a time we could have been home eating raisin toast in front of the footy replay, they were freezing cold and wet and not interested in putting eyes and a mouth on the snowman. Theo and Evie lost it completely and we made our way back to the car, herding crying kids. (Remarkably Mum and Dad kept their sense of humour about it, and even more remarkably their relationship remains intact). On arriving back at the car they were all put into their change of clothes, and offered a drink. Theo, aged four, asked for a cup of tea. It was prepared for him. He sat in his car seat, took the cup and enjoyed a long sip. “Ahh,” he said. “That’s much better.” We returned to Melbourne and I wondered what was next for me on Fathers’ Day.

 

Postscript 3: Chappy got off. But Johnno got a week. The decision to challenge the decision provides a curly conundrum which Pies and Hawks fans are laughing about.

 

Follow JTH on Twitter:    John Harms@ratherbeatlunch

More articles from John Harms

About John Harms

JTH is a writer, publisher, speaker, historian. He is publisher and contributing editor of The Footy Almanac and footyalmanac.com.au He has written many columns and features for numerous publications. His books include Confessions of a Thirteenth Man, Memoirs of a Mug Punter, Loose Men Everywhere, Play On, The Pearl: Steve Renouf's Story and Life As I Know It (with Michelle Payne). He appears on ABCTV's Offsiders. He can be contacted j.t.h@footyalmanac.com.au He is married to The Handicapper and has three kids - Theo10, Anna8, Evie7. He might not be the worst putter in the world but he's in the worst three. His ambition is to lunch for Australia.

Comments

  1. JTH – I thought everyone knew that the snow is only good for those who have reached 18 so they can indulge in jugs of Harvey Wallbangers post dinner, after feeding on two bowls of steaming hot pea soup for lunch.

    This mixture gives the post mid-night chunder a very 1970s lounge room carpet, orange-green coloured look.

  2. Peter Flynn says:

    Harmsy,

    The Selwood frenzy. A terrific and very accurate call.

    No mention of the potato cake.

    You’d swear it had been sitting in the bain-marie for 3 days at a Newell highway roadhouse.

    It was as hard as Selwood’s bonce.

  3. “Ahhh…that’s much better.”
    The things that kids say #1015.

    That comment reminds me, wistfully, of a comment my son #2 made when I took the kids to see the movie Stuart Little (the mouse voiced by Michael J Fox) many years ago. When the cat enters and begins talking to the mouse, in a full but silent cinema my son shouts “hey dad, that cat can actually talk!” The laughter which followed was more raucous than anything the film enjoyed.

  4. John Harms says:

    Brilliant Smokie.

  5. Pamela Sherpa says:

    The snow ! Could not stop laughing as I read this . I drove home in the snow on Friday. In years to come you may be thanking the Handicapper for hopefully managing to turn the kids off snow for life!
    I swear, following the footy is a much cheaper, less hazadous, weekend alternative.

  6. JTH
    Never treat children well in the snow. You need to imprint a legacy of misery on toddlers for them to mull over whenever the word “snow” is uttered. Build ugly snowmen. Trip them over. Stuff it down the arse of their pants. Cram it down their necks. Pelt them with head-snapping, softball-sized snowballs. Allow them to toboggan into garbage cans. In short, give them the worst day they ever had. So next week you can confidently ask, “Anyone want to go to the snow?” knowing they will race outside and hide in the compost heap weeping.
    This will save you more money than you would believe. Snow is the most expensive habit a kid can form. As well as this the little bastards clog up the lift queues.
    Wojo back for Stevie. Varcoe has missed, I think.
    ajc

  7. Lord Bogan says:

    Snow is for Eskimos, Santa and bad white Rappers. The idea is better than the reality when it comes to snow.
    Great to see Vardy back in. Special talent that lad.

  8. Mark Doyle says:

    The most impressive thing about the Cats in this game was the pressure applied to the Sydney players with strong tackling and winning the ground level contests; blokes such as Kelly, Bartel, Corey and Selwood were all outstanding.

  9. The eight beatitudes in Matthew 5:3–12 during the Sermon on the Mount are stated as Blessed/Happy/Fortunate are:
    •the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven – but not premierships
    (clearly Collingwood)
    •those who mourn: for they will be comforted
    (the Cats in the even years)
    •the meek: for they shall inherit the earth – not flags
    (obviously the Kangaroos)
    •they who hunger and thirst for righteousness: for they will be satisfied
    (my Eagles on the last Jewish Sabbath in September)
    •the merciful: for they will be shown (no) mercy – this weekend
    (a clear reference to the Dockers)
    •the pure in heart: for they shall see God
    (clearly the Hawks are hallucinating again this year)
    •the peacemakers: for they shall be called children of God
    (the Bloods have the air of the sons of righteousness)
    •those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven
    (the downtrodden Crows are rewarded in the next life not this one)

  10. Peter Schumacher says:

    Hey Harmsey, a great analysis but gees they were playing at Kardinia Park. These days it would be an earthquake if they didn’t win there.

  11. Isiah 5:20 “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!”

    That poor sainted woman deserves so much better.
    You clearly need to be smotted hip and thigh again……

    And I suppose you have the efronbtery to be out on the whallop with Moon!!

  12. If they were going to like the snow Harmsey, you should have brought them up as Melbourne fans and they could have spent all September n the snow FOREVER! Oh, and you made a typo–I think it is now known as the past past-players pocket!

    GO GCATS

  13. Barry Levinson says:

    Speaking as a Melbourne supporter who has NEVER BEEN TO THE SNOW, I am glad sanity prevailed!

  14. Barry Levinson says:

    … but if anyone can recommend a good Range Rover dealer, let me know.

  15. David Downer says:

    Entertaining thread here, all.

    Stories involving P Flynn evoke great visual imagery.

    The purchase of travellers must have necessitated “convenience stops” on that return journey #cannybladder

  16. Blessed are the cheese makers

  17. Viewing Kieran Jack’s past-players-pocket goal on TV made me think this is the turning point. However, to Geelong’s credit they responded. Had this lapse in tackling pressure occurred in the middle of the ground, in view of more Cats, it may have well been a collective head dropper and the turning point. A lesson for away teams at Kardinia Park, don’t rely on the past-players pocket for inspiration.

    Snow will still be on the ground this Sunday and the following Sunday – a freakish run of almost two months of Friday being the coldest, snowiest day, Saturday the easing day and Sunday the clearer, calmer day.

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