Almanac Footy Finals: A word to the Carlton FC and its players

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Andrew “Dougie” Fraser

 

With Carlton’s first finals appearance in a decade to be my beloved Blues next match, I lay my head on the pillow on Sunday night and was suddenly transported to the change rooms at Princes Park.

 

The team was sitting on the steps awaiting my address, which went something like …

 

Thank you, Michael, for this chance to talk to the team.

 

Gents, I’m just one of hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, around this country, who love our great club.

 

I know you guys love the club, too. You’ve shown that in the way you’ve played this season, especially the way you handled that run of outs, kept your heads high and came back, playing a full four quarters and, most of all, playing for each other.

 

No doubt Michael and your other coaches have told you that it all starts again now. Finals footy. It will be different. It will be tougher. And it will be more fun.

 

I’ve got nothing of use to say to you about your structures, your rotations and the like. Because I’ve got no idea about any of that.

 

I just want to give you a thought or two that you might find worthwhile in those moments when you back your judgement but the ball bounces foul; when you’ve run as hard as you can but have to go again; when the umpire gets it wrong and then wrong again, and he’s inconsistent and officious with it.

 

Think about some of those Dads, like mine, who was born in the last year of the club’s first trifecta of flags, 1908, and who lived through the First World War, fought for work in the Depression and served in the Second World War. He loved footy, especially what he believed it gave young blokes: discipline, self-awareness, appreciation of teamwork. When it seemed every other kid in Canberra was in a navy blue No 25 jumper for the town’s favourite son, I was in a No 31. Dad knew he wasn’t going to have a lot of time with me (he died when I was nine), so he set me up to follow Ronald Dale Barassi, and how well have I been served by that? My favourite image of Barass is not the one of him kicking the goal in full flight that they used for the statue at the cricket ground. It’s the photo of Big Nick virtually carrying his captain-coach off the ground because Barass, the fittest player in the League, was on the verge of physical collapse after running, busting packs, running, refusing to yield possession or ground, running and kicking three goals in a few last-quarter minutes that turned a crucial game the Blues’ way. Ancient stuff, you might say, except that I saw you, Ed Curnow, do something very similar one day at the SCG, dry-retching on the O’Reilly Stand wing but taking off again and running down a bigger – and supposedly faster – Swan.

 

I wore a 31 when I got to play my one and only match here at Princes Park. It wasn’t an AFL game. Not a comp game of any description. I was fullback in the Masters (over-35) “Allies” side defeated by combined Victoria in a curtain-raiser to the 2002 EJ Whitten Legends match. If I get a thrill every time I recount that night, imagine how you blokes will feel as you build win after win in September in the big matches at the temple down the road?

 

My young bloke, then eleven, was at that match, proud as punch that his old man was out there, and even getting a few kicks. He was always a far better footballer than me, quickly rising to play second grade at one of Canberra’s stronger clubs, and be knocking on the door of the ones until an off-field collision forced the insertion of twelve big screws in his resurrected collarbone. He’s always been as fit as, but that was the end of footy for him. I reckon he wonders how far he might have gone but for that accident at age twenty. He would have loved to be where you blokes are.

 

Live every second of the chance you have.

 

I’ve got three daughters, one who played when girls had to front up to mixed teams and another who often did the boundary for her little sister. They’re no footyheads, but they’ll be willing you on.

 

That littlest sister will be riding every bump with you. A seven-season veteran at age sixteen, she loves our wonderful game, and she loves the way you blokes play. We think she’s one in a million, but, in terms of urging you on, she is but one of a million.

 

Some might try to tell you this has been some middle-aged joker heaping pressure on you.

 

Horseshit.

 

It’s just a little thought here and there that might be fuel for the fire already clearly burning within you all. A little comfort in those fractured moments when things aren’t going right. A reminder that you’re loved. That we know and you know you’re going to get up and go again. And again.

 

I’m going to close by quoting someone I bet you’re weren’t expecting.

 

Eddie McGuire.

 

Yeah, I know. But I’m thankful to Eddie. No, really. St Francis had a saying, “Would that mine enemy would write a book.”

 

Well, the long-time Collingwood president has published and broadcast more than extensively, but one really thing he once said really stood out for me.

 

At the 2011 Grand Final breakfast, he addressed his players, saying something along these lines:

 

“I don’t know about every one of your structures and I don’t know all the intricacies of the game plan, but I do know that at some points today the ball will be between you and the other bloke and it’s just going to be who wants it more.”

 

Too right.

 

How much are you going to enjoy telling the grandchildren that it was the words of a Collingwood trump who gave you a little spur as you won your first flag, perhaps even in a grand final against those very Pies?

 

You are making history, gents. Keep your heads up, play for your own personal pride, and play for your mates and play for this great club.

 

And I’m sure you’ll make a little more history over these next four games.

 

 

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