Almanac Footy: First Game

 

North Melbourne lost the first game I ever went to. Back in 1978, my father Bill took me to Arden Street to watch North play Footscray. After 11 rounds, North was second on percentage. Footscray was tenth, with just three wins.

 

A typical Melbourne winter’s day. A cold sun, clouds and drizzle. Barassi played Mick Nolan on Kelvin Templeton – a mismatch. North trailed all day. Templeton kicked seven goals and the final margin was five goals.

 

While Bill watched the game, he was conflicted. He supported Footscray, and regularly went to the football with a mate. I remember begging him to go, but was always left at home.

 

Over the years I’ve often joked that I was thankful he never took me to a Footscray game, because I might’ve followed them instead.

 

During the drive home, I recall being gutted, and complaining to Bill about the loss. Seeing how much I was hurting, and how much North Melbourne meant to me, he decided to support his son rather than his team. That day, Bill changed his allegiance, and became a North Melbourne supporter.

 

I’ve often wondered if that defeat to Footscray helped set me up for future disappointment. Back then, I thought the players were God-like, but I discovered they weren’t invincible. They would lose, no matter how desperate I was for a win.

 

There were other lessons in that defeat. I must keep the faith. There is nothing I can do to help when North is losing, aside from support. More than forty years my support has never waivered. I’ve been a member for decades – it’s automatically renewed – and I proudly wear North Melbourne t-shirts, jumpers and hoodies around Brisbane.

 

My boys

 

Angus was born in 2012, Jim in 2015. They had no choice but to follow North Melbourne. Dozens of posters and photos adorn the walls in my house and their bedrooms. As they grew, I sung the theme song to them every night in their beds, and still do. They became club members at birth.

 

My infectious enthusiasm for victory rubbed off on them. Essentially, they were brainwashed to follow North Melbourne. I’ve often joked that it’s good brainwashing.

 

My boys proudly wear their North Melbourne clothes. Since Angus was born, North have made the finals four times, but he is too young to remember any of those wins and losses. The last few years, Angus has ramped up his support. He checks the AFL app daily, watches as much football as he can, and talks to me with football intelligence beyond his years.

 

Jim, almost three years younger, is really becoming aware of football, and stares at the television with the same rapt attention as his brother whenever a game is on.

 

Last year North finished last. I promised the boys we’d pick the best player in the draft, recruit well and improve.

 

As always, those nagging doubts tugged as my resolve. I’ve seen a lot in footy, and understand the limitations of our rebuild.

 

Saturday April 2, 2022

 

Around 10am, I told the boys to put their North Melbourne jumpers on and get ready for a surprise. Naturally, they wanted to know what it was. ‘A special surprise,’ I told them. ‘We have to go into the city.’

 

Parking outside the Sofitel Hotel, I gathered the boys. ‘Are you ready for a big surprise?’

 

They were.

 

The foyer is huge. I sent a text. My boys sat on the lush couches, but were too excited to sit. We wandered through the foyer to the big windows and looked out on the city. ‘Dad,’ Angus said. ‘There’s two men over there with a North Melbourne hat on the table.’

 

My phone beeped. As we walked past the table, I saw the hat but didn’t recognise the men, who were long beyond playing years.

 

Across the foyer, I saw him. ‘Hey boys, do you recognise that man?’ I asked.

 

 

 

 

The foyer was slightly busy, and Angus spotted him first. ‘That’s Luke McDonald,’ he gushed. Then Jim saw Luke, and he beamed in delight.

 

Luke shook our hands and I introduced him to my boys. Jim was so excited he circled us a few times before I put my arm around him. He then stared at Luke. We made small talk, and I told Luke it was Angus’s tenth birthday.

 

‘Wow,’ Luke said. ‘What did you get for your birthday?’

 

Angus gave Luke a rundown of the gifts. His face was red, his eyes glowing and I knew he was feeling the same elevated level of excitement I felt when I first met Xavier Tanner and Peter Keenan at a football clinic in the seventies.

 

Luke signed their jumpers then posed for photos with them. In one of them, Jim is looking up at Luke, as though in disbelief that he actually met a North Melbourne player.

 

‘Tonight will be the first game they go to,’ I told Luke.

 

‘Really?’ he asked.

 

‘I don’t get to Melbourne much, and with Covid I couldn’t get them to any games over the last two years.’

 

‘Brisbane is in good form,’ Luke said. ‘But we usually match up well on them. We’re usually competitive.’

 

‘That’s what we want,’ I said. ‘A competitive performance. But I’ve told the boys North lost the first game I ever went to.’

 

Special thanks to Donald and Luke McDonald

 

As we drove home, my boys stared at Luke’s signature on their jumpers as though it wasn’t real. Our meet and greet barely lasted ten minutes, but they’ve got memories to last a lifetime. As we live in Brisbane, and due to Covid, the long-promised trip to Melbourne didn’t eventuate. A game at the Gabba on Angus’s birthday was perfect.

 

‘Luke had a big beard last year,’ Jim said.

 

‘How did you get us to meet Luke?’ Angus asked.

 

‘I interviewed Donald and Luke for my book Sons of Guns and kept in contact with Donald,’ I said. ‘I told him you’re obsessed with North Melbourne and you adore Luke and asked if you could meet him. Donald arranged it.’

 

When we got home, the boys were so excited they had to call their mum and tell her about meeting Luke. ‘Dad arranged it with Luke’s dad,’ Angus said. I sent her the photos, and she giggled at Jim looking up at Donald.

 

Saturday night

We parked about ten minutes from the Gabba. As Angus, Ms Gorgeous and I strolled through East Brisbane, Jim ran ahead in excitement, beckoning us and yelling come on. Nearing the ground, Angus proudly pointed out people wearing North Melbourne jumpers. We went to the German club to meet a woman I used to work with. Dobby is a Brisbane supporter, and she was worried about North Melbourne. ‘I’m not sure it’ll be close,’ she said.

 

‘I just want a competitive game,’ I said.

 

It wasn’t.

 

We had great seats ten rows back from the fence. A North fan who confessed to having too many beers provided loud, humorous commentary, punctuated with well-timed F-words. My boys looked worriedly at me. ‘Don’t worry about the swearing,’ I said. ‘Just watch the game.’

 

During the second quarter, I let slip the F-word at another turnover. I’m fond of using the F-word, but never around my boys. Thankfully, Ms Gorgeous told me they didn’t hear it.

 

Jim kept asking me where Luke was. Finding him on the field seemed to give Jim a reference point – the man he’d met and signed his jumper – and he cheered each mark and kick Luke had.

 

At half time, the disappointment on my boy’s faces matched mine. Ms Gorgeous took a few photos. She was conflicted, wanting Brisbane to win, but with each goal she felt our pain. During the third quarter, she found my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘The boys are having a great night despite the score.’

 

I glanced at my boys. They were loving it. Football for kids is like that, especially that first game. They followed the play, groaned in disappointment whenever Brisbane kicked a goal and rued the skill errors North kept making.

 

At three-quarter-time, Jim was leaning into me. I had my arm around his shoulders. Angus looked at me sadly. ‘Want to go home?’ I asked.

 

They did. We went. Jim ran ahead of us on the street. Angus complained about the umpires giving Brisbane free kicks. ‘It’s never the umpires fault,’ I explained. ‘Sometimes they miss free kicks or pay a free that isn’t there. But they didn’t make us drop marks or miss targets or turn the ball over at half-back.’

 

During the drive home, I kept the mood upbeat, talking about good pieces of play and our goals. Angus said he would never switch teams just because North lost. ‘If I started following Brisbane, in a few years they might be down the bottom and we’ll be up the top.’

 

He’s ten, and already understands the cyclical nature of football.

 

Highway to hell

As we approached the Gateway Bridge, Jim wanted AC/DC up loud and I turned the volume up. They sung along to Highway to Hell as we neared home, and it seemed a fitting, last song for the night.

 

After getting inside, I checked the final score, hoping for a competitive last quarter. I didn’t tell the boys about the 108-point margin. I didn’t have to. Angus opened the AFL app on his iPad and showed Jim. ‘Dad,’ Angus said sadly.

 

 

‘I know mate, 108-points.’

 

‘You know how that man was saying the F-word,’ Angus said with a guilty grin.

 

I nodded.

 

‘I wanted to say that too.’

 

I drew my boys into a cuddle. ‘Me too.’

 

When the boys were asleep, Ms Gorgeous and I retreated to the Arden Street Bar for a long-awaited drink. She recalled snippets of the night – Jim’s hand on my leg when Brisbane kept kicking goals – and the funny-drunk North fan who refused to give up. I told her about my first visit to Arden Street, that loss and my conflicted father.

 

‘You called your bar the Arden Street Bar,’ Ms Gorgeous said.

 

I sipped beer proudly. ‘It’s a great name for a bar.’

 

Ms Gorgeous wanted to know why I support North Melbourne. I told her about my first game of junior football. ‘Oak Park Football Club wore North Melbourne jumpers. When I pulled that jumper on, I instantly fell in love. I felt like I was playing for North Melbourne.’

 

Ms Gorgeous smiled. ‘Can it happen like that?’

 

‘I was six. That’s how it happened.’

 

That memory is part of my football journey. My boys will retain memories of their first game. They’ve already got that supporter mentality. There’s always next week, next year or the next great era.

 

When North Melbourne win their next premiership, we can talk about that first loss and the hard road to glory.

 

However long it takes. How it begins, how that love starts, is the beginning of a lifetime in football. Luke giving us about ten minutes has helped solidify that love of the club, the jumper and those that wear it.

 

On Saturday night, my boys wore the jumpers Luke signed for them. They’ll have them forever. As they age, that signature, the memories of that meeting will surpass the result of their first game of football.

 

North Melbourne lost the first game I went to, but they won plenty after that. North Melbourne will do the same for my boys as they’ve done to me.

 

More from Matt Watson can be read HERE

 

 

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