Almanac Footy: Benny Hill and the Bombers

 

BENNY HILL AND THE BOMBERS

 

As a kid growing up in the late 60s and 70s I loved the mad cap, zany, politically incorrect antics of Benny Hill. If ever there was a football club destined to become a lost episode of The Benny Hill Show, it is surely the Essendon Football Club.

 

All that is missing from the current coaching saga is the famous ‘Yakety Sax’ theme music, a collection of scantily clad nurses, a policeman running backwards, and Adrian Dodoro chasing a first-round draft pick around Windy Hill with a butterfly net.

 

As the rest of the AFL world watches in equal parts horror and fascination, Essendon’s coaching search has descended into a glorious blend of soap opera, Shakespearean tragedy and amateur community theatre.

 

Front and centre, naturally, is James Hird.

 

Like a retired rock star announcing a comeback tour nobody officially requested, Hird appeared on Agenda Setters and effectively stood outside Tullamarine holding a cardboard sign reading: ‘Will Coach For Validation’.

 

It was a remarkable television appearance. There sat Hird, calmly explaining why he should return to coach the club despite previously presiding over the single greatest self-inflicted disaster in modern AFL history.

 

This was, lest we forget, the supplements saga.

 

The scandal that saw players injected with mysterious substances, lawyers earning enough money to purchase small island nations, club officials developing selective amnesia, and poor Jobe Watson eventually surrendering a Brownlow Medal he had won fairly on the football field. It plunged the club into darkness for years.

 

Yet somehow, according to sections of the Essendon faithful, this now qualifies as relevant coaching experience. “Surely he’s learned from it,” they cry. Indeed. By that logic, perhaps the captain of the Titanic should have been given a second crack at iceberg navigation.

 

Meanwhile, somewhere in Australia, John Longmire, Ken Hinkley and Adam Simpson must be sitting together watching the unfolding spectacle with expressions usually reserved for people witnessing a possum drive a forklift.

 

Longmire took Sydney to multiple Grand Finals. Hinkley transformed Port Adelaide into perennial contenders. Simpson won a premiership.

 

Yet Essendon supporters appear convinced the answer lies with a man whose previous tenure ended with federal investigations, court hearings and enough negative headlines to wallpaper the MCG.

 

One can almost imagine the coaching interviews. “John, you’ve coached 300 games and reached several Grand Finals.” “Excellent.” “Ken, you’ve built one of the strongest cultures in football.” “Outstanding.” “Adam, you’ve won a premiership.” “Fantastic.”

 

“And James?” “Well, there was that whole peptide thing.” “YOU’RE HIRED!”

 

Of course, no Essendon farce would be complete without the ghostly presence of Kevin Sheedy. Like the Nutty Professor emerging from a secret laboratory beneath Windy Hill, Sheedy continues to dispense wisdom that sounds profound until examined for longer than three seconds.

 

“You must love Essendon to coach Essendon.” Really? What other qualifications are required? Can you identify a football? Do you possess a heartbeat? Are you emotionally prepared for annual disappointment? Apparently not. Love alone is enough. By this standard, half the cheer squad should be on the selection panel.

 

Then there is Michael Long.

 

A champion footballer, a giant of indigenous Australia, and one of the most respected figures in the game’s history. His passionate endorsement of former teammate Hird comes from loyalty and friendship. Understandable. But if football clubs simply appointed coaches based on who had the most loyal former teammates, every club in Australia would currently be coached by someone’s best mate from Under-14s.

 

And hovering over everything is the baffling legacy of list management decisions that have haunted the club for two decades. For years Adrian Dodoro was treated by sections of the Essendon faithful as some sort of recruiting wizard. A draft day Merlin.

 

Yet somehow, despite wielding this magical reputation, the club spent two decades wandering through the AFL wilderness like a confused tourist whose GPS had malfunctioned. The greatest recent masterpiece may have been the Zach Merrett situation. When Hawthorn reportedly came calling, Essendon refused to contemplate the possibility.

 

Merrett stayed. The Bombers remained mediocre. Hawthorn surged forward. The football equivalent of refusing to sell your house at the top of the market before discovering the foundation was built on weet-bix.

 

Then comes the most bewildering chapter of all. Injuries and Brad Scott. Appointed with a long-term strategy. Given authority. Given time. Given support. Until, apparently, he wasn’t. Because nothing says ‘strategic stability’ quite like abandoning the strategy halfway through the strategy. It’s the football administration equivalent of planting a tree and then digging it up three weeks later because it hasn’t produced apples.

 

And through it all, the media are absolutely loving every second. Television panels debate daily. Radio hosts speculate hourly. Gerard W is in his element! Columnists sharpen their keyboards with glee. Every rumour becomes breaking news. Every coffee meeting becomes a crisis summit. Every former player becomes a leadership consultant.

 

The entire saga has become less AFL club and more daytime television drama. Forget Home and Away. Forget Neighbours, Forget Days of Our Lives. This is ‘Days of Our Bombers’.

 

And somewhere, in a heavenly television studio Benny Hill himself is surely smiling. As Sheedy chases Hird. As Hird chases the coaching job. As Essendon supporters chase relevance. As journalists chase clicks. And still the poor, bewildered Bombers fans continue chasing that elusive dream of a finals victory.

 

 

Read more from Richard Griffiths HERE

 

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Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.

 

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