The hammies were certainly tight on Monday morning when riding the bushbike what is a very short, and flat, trip to work. So were the glutes. These days, this is what passes for a “footy injury” for our crew, now all beyond 60.
But the pain, such as it was, brought only a smile – a happy remembrance of our weekend footy trip to Melbourne, a trip now back on track after the covid years, and involving not only a kick on Docklands after the Blues-Saints game, but one earlier in the day on Victoria Park where we took in the first half of the Magpies and Bombers in the VFL.
This year’s trip was perhaps the best of all: a team of 8, all former Masters (over-35) team-mates from Canberra, who have been heading down in various combinations for one weekend each season for about a quarter of a century.
These are mates now of long standing, godparents to each other’s kids, best men at the weddings, but originally brought together by our wonderful game.
The cast
“Chopper”: in the day, our fearless captain-coach would plead “sunstroke” when asked by the ump how the opposing midfielder came to be prone and quite motionless. These days, it’s tennis and golf only, but the leader’s streak remains; he’s always first up to help out a mate with a bit of manpower, a loan of tools or trailer, or just a moment on the phone to check we’re OK.
“Shark”: this bloke was unbreakable on the Masters field, having a previous first-grade history that including taking the wind out of one Alex Jesaulenko when the champ came back to town to coach a local side and called on his supposedly “soft” boys to “do their worst” to him in a tackling/fending drill at training; Sharkie was just as unbreakable professionally, holding down very senior public-sector roles for decades before “retiring” to become, among much else, chief organiser of our footy trips.
“Minibar”: the nickname screams “rover” and so he was, through more than 400 senior games in NSW and then repeated All Australian selection in Masters. Natural footballer and the true nature of the champion. Now beset with some serious medical challenges, he plays on with a grin and a continuing capacity to handle whatever the opposition throws at him.
“Uncle Bods”: you understand you can only play Masters after turning 35, right? “Bodsy” played 29 seasons. Yep, about three times more than the closest of the rest of us. And successful? Multiple All Australian. Perennial leading goal-kicker. Phlegmatic? This bloke is the epitome of resilience. Rarely seen to lose his footing in those three decades of Masters, “Bods” still never takes a step wrong. Always prepared, nothing’s a fuss, and he’ll remember what the rest of us forget and keep us up to the mark.
“The Padre”: Big Detlev, Lutheran minister and all-round good guy, had all our faith as ruckman/forward pocket (a la John Nicholls, but without the terrifying laser eyes). Coaches now demand an ability to play multiple positions: Det’s been doing it for years: Sunday morning’s with his flock down at the kirk; Sunday afternoon on the paddock (or up the back of the bus) with a bunch of blokes who were no choir boys. Impossible to measure just what we’ve learned from the big feller in terms of patience, peace and persistence.
“Snapper” and “Dougie”: fancy themselves as the jokers in the pack. “Snap”, now based in Queensland, where he grew up, was a leaguey through and through but quickly learned, and learned to love, Aussie rules. He met “Dougie” and “Shark” in the late 1980s through their first wives’ club, and then they came back into each other’s orbits in the mid-90s through (what else?) footy. Three second marriages were to follow, all presided over by (who else?) “Det”.
“The Young Bloke”: Sharkie’s son, now resident in Melbourne, who comes and hangs with the old boys during trip weekends and actually seems to enjoy it.
“Snowy”: our most senior member (rumours persist that his age even starts with a “7”), “Snow” has led a full life, including a few most unreasonable knocks. Having shed his previous “Angry” moniker and having ceased knocking over (usually much bigger) opponents, “Snow” has an experience and wisdom that is passed on these days in the most gentle yet penetrating fashion. Why “Snow”? As mentioned, he used to be “Angry” but one day, in an intra-club game, he copped a silly spray from an opponent of considerable ability surpassed only by his supreme confidence. There was a coming-together and almost an expectation they’d come to blows. Some less wise in the club encouraged “Angry” to give it to his antagonist. But our man simply walked from the ground: “No” he told them, “I’m not ‘Angry’ any more. Call me anything you like. Call me *&^%$#@* Snow White”. So we did.
“Blouse”: our champion ruckman, absent now a decade after being taken suddenly during training. The shock of his untimely passing knocked us all, but his love of the game, and for us, is a constant companion.
Back row: Shark, Chopper, Dougie (me)
Front row: Minibar, Snowy, Uncle Bods
Camera: Snapper
The trip
So, this collection of odd bods hits the road again (minus “Det” this year, on other duties), making the journey down on Friday with a growing inventory of heart stents, pacemakers, replaced knees and hips, reconstructed shoulders and removed abdomens.
Six played golf at the “Royal” Westgate Bridge club on the Saturday morning, while “Snowy” and “Dougie” did the MCG tour. What a grand sight it was to see the boy who sold Heralds to John Coleman, among others, sitting serenely on the lounge in the Long Room, all the while charming the wonderful volunteer lady guide. “Dougie” got two tours in one: the guide in her MCC blazer talking about the turf, the press room, the memorabilia and the Members, and “Snow” telling of the many characters, famous and infamous, he’d seen on and around the various suburban grounds in those days when 12 sides played each other twice in a season.
Saturday night was Kardinia Park, a happy night for Cat-loving “Sharkie”, and a wonderful reminiscence for those of us who played there in 1997, when dear, old ACT upset Vic Country in the national Masters carnival. Wildly different looking ground now, but a flood of memories nonetheless, none stronger than cat-loving “Blouse” having a shot at what was then the Hickey Stand end late in the last quarter with the game in our keeping. To a man, we all ran up to him with one message: “Go the torp”. On Saturday, we raised a glass to the big guy and trusted there were no Magpies on his cloud.
Sunday was, as mentioned, Vic Park and then the Docklands. Getting out on both grounds and having a kick. Some could hardly make the 15m. Some couldn’t grab a mark. All had “issues” picking the thing up off the deck. But every attempt brought a cheer, whether it was “Bods” getting a torp to take off, “Sharkie” lowering the eyes and hitting the target (some things don’t change) or “Chop” and “Dougie” hitting the grass together in helpless laughter during a “contest” for a grab.
Hands helped us all back up on deck, as these indomitable blokes have been doing for each other in so many ways for so many years. So it will go on, the best of mates.
And plans are already afoot for the next footy trip.
Photo courtesy of Andrew Fraser.
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The stuff of both great memories and lifelong mates. Well played, Andrew.
There are echoes here of Matt O’Hanlon and his rugby league excursions to Sydney.
Whether it’s golf or footy or anything, these trips are gold. Love the profiles of the crew.