Almanac Footy: Bring It On!

 

Bring It On!

 

I’m going around again. Let’s kill that puppy early. Season 43, no need for suspense.

 

43 doesn’t seem like so much, really. Nor does somewhere about 730 games. I stopped counting after the milestone. They’re just numbers. I love footy, the interaction, the comradery, feeling strong. These things you get at training just as much as game day. I love being a part of a community, a way of life. After full days of tree-ferning, hauling those heavy bastards up out of the gullies, footy is easy, really. There’s pain, but there’s always pain. I honestly don’t care. It’s hopelessly outweighed, made small, by the joy footy brings. I am still the master of my body. Fancy not doing something you love simply for the sake of comfort? The stories and life experiences you’d miss out on! The very idea seems absurd.

 

Football has changed so much since I started. The world has. But it’s still football. It still revolves around passion. Commitment to task. Give good, get good. All of that.

 

   *****

 

Yesterday, having completed a few solid weeks of cutting, I loaded and delivered about 3 tonne of tree ferns across the state and back, starting before dawn on a ridge landing in the mountains, being rained on for hours, the next nearest person at least 20kms away. A few things went wrong on the drive, peak hour snagged me, dominos fell. Tired, damp and filthy I missed training, I planned to have a run when passing back through Gellibrand at about 10pm, but saw the South Colac oval lights were still on. Suburban dogs barked while I did five laps, starting as a jog, building to a good stride, then did 120 acceleration sprints, using the goal and point posts as markers. Slowness is my enemy these days. No need to plod out yet more laps. Sprint, sprinty, sprinty, sprint. The lights went off 2/3rds through, but so what. Running in the dark felt like home. How often have I done that over the years, up and down paddock hills by moonlight, sometimes in gumboots, when injuries, work, or distance, restricted more conventional things? I did the sprints in clusters of 20, and in between, sucked in air and thought about things.

 

   *****

 

A week or so ago, we had an interclub match in Gellibrand. I adore them! Play better in them than home and away, because, for the length of the game, most of my teammates are senior players again. Yes, I’m painfully slow, no matter how hard I try, but the diesel motor kicks in, I never stop moving, and, if you’re in the right spots, senior players don’t slap it, they use you. It’s heaven, football as it should be. Then, when you have it, they run by, they spread for the chip into the corridor. Let you be footy smart. You can run until your tank’s empty, legs heavy, and run more. Football feels crisp. I feel of worth.

 

   *****

 

Otway Senior Coach, Shane Boyington, addressing the troops last year.

 

After the game, the coach and committee called us into the rooms, for what was the best pre-season address I have EVER heard! Ever. Max Rooke was great a few years before, bringing the professionalism of a premiership AFL player, and all the knowledge that comes with it, to a bush club. There were group sessions, guest speakers, he played a brilliant video of the first five minutes of an AFL Grand Final, breaking it down, chaos explained into perfect, simple sense, whittled into one word; Numbers. There have been other pre-season addresses, solid addresses, focused entirely on game plans. Good, good, good. But our current coach, Boyo, stood out front and talked about expectations. About what our club is and what it means to people. He laid out the social expectations, the club ethos, as if it is more important that strategy. Put in concrete what coaches and committee only piss and moan about once the year is up and running, when it’s too late, the dye is cast. You WILL hang around. You will contribute. Help the ladies in the kitchen. Run water for the kids. The ressies WILL stay and watch and interact with the seniors. They WILL train. Because this is who we are. We represent a bush community. We are a part of it. He talked calmly, firmly, not even realising he kept gently touching his chest, gripping at his heart. The gist was simple; Buy in.

 

“You have not signed on to play footy, you’re here to be a part of a great club.”

 

Then the leadership groups were announced. Burner and Big Al and Trots for the Ones, leading the way, explaining point forms on the board, breaking down what was expected. Men we admire, having a say, right from the start. Teamwork, right from the start.

 

Strategy was touched on, but we focus on that, and nothing else, every single training run. Familiarity through repetition. We’ve been down too long. Everybody, passionately, wants the league to know what we do; how great the Otway FNC is! How strong.

 

   *****

 

The committee were smart. All these able bodies? After the talk, the club had a working bee, to prep the place for the year ahead. Everybody chipped in. I do the same task every year; get the ladder out and wipe down the changerooms walls, doors, and scrub the ceiling of muddy footy marks. It felt great, up there, seeing teammates, mates, cracking blokes, drift about, doing this job and that, so the big boat that is the Otway Footy/Netball Club can launch. It felt like teamwork. Like footy as it should be. Sharing a beer and snag while we worked.

 

“You have not signed on to play footy, you’re here to be a part of a great club.”

 

Oath.

 

Bloody oath!!

 

A ripper year, cracking adventures with great blokes, is just ahead.

 

   *****

 

All up, the solo training run took about an hour, and didn’t feel like a chore. It felt like footy, even on my own, superb. Somewhere after 10, feeling good for the first time that day, I shoved some carbs and sugar-energy liquids into me, and hit the road again.

 

 

More from Matt Zurbo HERE.

 

 

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