Almanac Footy: The Death of the Ruckman

 

 

The Death of the Ruckman

 

“And, like bubbles in a dunny bowl, our numbers dwindle, only for it to flush again, and a whole new batch emerge.” 

 

I’m over it, I’m over them. It’s such a common refrain I feel like shouting: “It’s my turn!” 

 

   I tried to hang on, to be new, but today I officially become an old man shouting at clouds. 

 

   I’m over the AFL. It’s gloss and bullshit. The way it smears itself all over everything, right down to grass roots, where it says to kids; “We’ll give you all the fun you want, as long as you worship the brand!”. “It’s not Aussie Rules, kids. It’s AFL Barwon, AFL Colac, AFL Modewarre. You’re kicking an AFL football. Learn young, kid; promote the brand.” 

 

   It’s a shit brand.   

 

   The one thing, the ONLY thing, Aussie Rules ever had over Rugby, was that Rugby was an inward game, on a small field. Old. Ours was young, full of abandon. It belonged to a new nation. Large ovals, grown men and women running to their guts’ and hearts’ content, up and down wings, no such thing as offside.  

 

    I see an AFL pack these days, I see caution, I hear the click and whir of robots ticking off can and can’t do lists. Every time the game evolves into something even more exciting, rules men try to pull it back down to the package their PR men depend on. These people are aiming, quick-fix, for something slick, for TV audience. No packs, no ‘ugly footy’. No danger or pain. They never realise that all they are, all they are meant to be, is custodians of the game. Aussie Rules. A sport they don’t understand. 

 

   They have names, these people: Demetriou, That Stringy Bloke, whatever, but are really faceless, nameless. The modern corporate world. They demand the Brownlow go to the person with the most stats, that boundary throw-ins not happen, that the Norm Smith Medal go to the prettiest boy. 

 

   Then, when they don’t get their way, they change the rules, rather than leave the game alone to evolve. 

   Remember when they said Paul Roos’ coaching would be the strangulation of football, and tried to float rule-change ways around it? Then along came Geelong, exciting, brave, reckless handballs charging through the middle of the ground. Three flags. Evolution. 

 

   Hawthorn and their rolling zone. Flag after flag. Evolution. “We have to do something. The game will die!” But it didn’t. It got too fast for zones. Again, it evolved.    

 

   And all the while, those in charge nipped and tucked and cut out the game’s spine. What they have done to the ruckmen is my last straw. Made all the more infuriating, just mind-numbingly, blood-boilingly frustrating, because you could see it coming from years away. These predictable imbeciles, without the slightest clue about any of the nuances of the game.

 

   YES, ruckwork has descended into a total farce. But it is the umpires, and those in charge of them, the faceless corporates on the other end of those fucking ear pieces, that are to blame. “Boys,” they dictate to the men in white, “Let the little frees go, we want a free-flowing game. Free-flowing looks better on telly. Call play on.”  

 

   And, more-and-more, the rucks niggle and grip and tug the other’s hand just as he leaps, and, eventually, out-and-out wrestle. 

 

   “Play on.”

 

   “It’s cheating!” I would shout at the telly. And it is. I’m a foty-year ruckman. Small for my vocation, I USE MY BODY, in a contact sport. I READ THE BALL, THE PLAY, but, mostly, I GET FRONT POSITION! Put my body on the line. 

 

   Unfortunately, what goes on in that bastard glass tower, more often than not, filters down to the real world. Aussie Rules, not the AFL. Over the past ten years, opponents have simply put their hands in my back, or put their arms around my waist, pulling me free of the ball, or grappled me down. “Play on!”

 

   It.

   Has.

   Driven.

   Me.

   Nuts!

  

But what happens on the telly becomes the norm. 

 

    The thing is, all it would have taken to correct is a nod and wink from the powers that be. ONE ROUND of a FEW frees, and the message would have been sent, clear and loud; Keep your hands off the other bloke. The wrestling would have stopped. The ruck would have been fine; leap, or body-on-body.

 

   But, no.  

 

   These decisions are made by people who aren’t ruckmen, have never been, and rarely relied on ruckmen. I get that. You see it at any level; the coaching job simply going to the best on-baller they can find, with the biggest ego, who thinks the game starts with the ball magically appearing in their hands. Or, worse, tough old back pockets who have no idea about big men. Indeed, either way, the few times they do take ruckwork, it is so rarely done by a ruck specialist. Just another on-baller who doesn’t have a clue about the craft, and feels no need to delegate. Who has zero respect for the craft. No imagination in their coaching; to maybe call in an ex ruckman from the club, or ex-AFL ruckman, to explain its finer points, to ALL of the on-ballers.  

 

   The AFL were ALWAYS, always, always, always, going to go; “Ruck look ugly. We fix.”

 

   $800,000 suited cavemen. 

 

   Now, there is no bounce. No luscious uncertainty an oval ball suggests our game was built around. No bodywork in the middle, no improvisation. Just basketball. Four umpires now, not one, getting to the ball-ups four times faster, yet blaming the fucking ruckmen, of which each team still has one, for not getting to the contest on time. Not giving them the curtesy of two or three seconds. Of letting players set up structures and let craftwork abound. As good as no boundary throw-ins. 

 

   For fuck’s sake!

 

   Why not just take the ruckmen out the back and shoot them? And every single player that does not have Chris Judd’s physique and size. The smalls, the talls, the lumbering brutes and skinny rakes, replaced by Bont and Nat and any other 6ft4” running machine. 6ft4”, 6ft4” running on tracks, machines.   

 

   “But that game will be quicker, stoppages don’t work for a generation of kids with five second attention spans.”

 

   Then neither does footy.

 

   Every rule has been put to the altar of play on. You’re first to the ball, or about to grab it, a player PUSHES you in the side. It’s cheating. Forwards, behind the flight of the ball, push their opponents in the arc of their back just as they are about to mark it. Play on! It INFURIATES me for the backmen, for the rules, for the GAME! It screams; tailored to the masses. They want goals. If the umps paid these frees, the players would adjust. Most matches would not slow down. 

 

   This is our game. The real one.

 

   Some flow. Some are an ugly slog. Both are beautiful. Or were. 

 

   Now, with all these changes to make the game faster, they will be calling for each quarter to be shorter. Neat, sellable, two-hour packages – adds factored into game time. 

 

   I’m glad Matt Rowell won Charlie. He’s a throwback, the decision was a throwback. It INFURIATED the stats crew, who think quoting numbers makes them an expert on our game. Who have ZERO concept of influence, timing, presence. Things they can’t cut and copy from a kicks column. It fair dinkum slapped them in the face, and said; “You know so little.” They were so offended they doubled down. “The Brownlow should be taken away from the umps.”

 

   Who are these internet warriors, overpowered by social media status, constantly calling to change the very foundations of OUR game, to suit their egos?

 

   But no, they turned a blind eye to Charlie Dixon, Tom Hawkins, Charlie Cameron, and all the generations now following, putting two hands in the back of their backman opponent, until everybody’s doing it. The defender in me, when I wasn’t rucking, gets so angry he just wants to cry. 

 

   I have no idea where to for me from here. But the AFL can ram it up their arse. I won’t be missed. Hell, I’ll even let the door hit me on the way out. Maybe my love will rekindle over summer, scarred but there. Or be replaced by simple interest. Maybe not.

 

   But a game without genuine ruckwork is a disgrace, a blight on everyone.

 

 

More from Matt Zurbo HERE.

 

 

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