Almanac Footy: I love Stewart Sutherland

July 24, 2026 by Matt Zurbo 1 Comment

Squashed and Stomped On

I love Stewart Sutherland. Everybody does. He’s that bloke. Friendly, funny, wry. Never thrown a punch in his life, yet the toughest player you could meet. Just hard at the ball, fearless. Not tall, often lost behind his beard, just a clubman who cares. A multiple B&F winner.

A husband to a ripper woman, and three ripper kids. A local dairy farmer, like his parents before him. He’s captained the club, coached it, left it to try his metal in Colac, and walked into a wall of heat playing in the NT – culturally, climate-wise, as far as humanly possible from the cold and mud of Gellibrand. Had his adventures, if only to reaffirm where his heart lies; at Otway, the oval not a short jog from the farm him and his brother grew up on.

He is the rusted on. The loyal. The cheeky bugger and hard nut all at once. The bloke at the back of the drill, who looks over and gives you the smallest wink or nod, as good as a chat. The things you don’t have to say, because you know he knows, and he knows you know.

The bloke who doesn’t say much, but when he does address the group, does so with calm passion. The bloke who gives a damn.

He is football.

For almost three decades I’ve been taking photos of him covered in mud; as a tiny kid, about 14 in the Unders flag I was lucky enough to coach. As a juniors captain who was always playing seniors. As a teammate, as a senior member of the senior team, and club leader, long after I’d slipped into the twos. As a mate. 3 decades of in-and-under.

He’s near 40, and still in our best players, still never, ever misses a training run, still a kid at heart. He’ll never play as many games as me because he’s tougher than me. Because he was, and is, fast enough to get to twice as many contests. A small man, body on the line, smashing in, relentless.

A man of mud. And fierce determination.

The bottom of every pack. The crunch in every collision. Squashed, stomped on, getting up, hitting the next pack, putting himself under the ball. Attacking the ball, attacking the ball.

And skills. Not overly silky, just honest. Like him. A good sidestep, snappy baulk, a beaut spinning drop punt that sucks into your hands. Always out front, not once on top of you.

I never met a Stewie Sutherland kick I couldn’t mark. In a pack, or on the lead. It goes to his hard but generous nature. It’s like you’ve got no say in it.

Every game for the last few years, he comes off hurting. After every training run he sits in the corner with the captain, Burner, and ices up. Never a complaint. The club needs, he serves. It’s that simple. He is Otway. This generation’s champion. In footy, as a person.

Of all the memories I have of his 24 years of senior footy, the most vivid is a recent one. Him and his two boys, (about 4 and 5), both wearing jumpers with his No 16 on them. We had just played top team, Lorne, at their home ground, with seven out. Stew didn’t bat an eyelid. He went hard at every pack, stood under every high ball. Everyone in the league loves him for it.

When the siren went, he was cooked. Everybody shook hands, then, on the way up to the rooms, the team’s backs turned, Stew grabbed a footy and lobbed four of five kicks for his boys to compete for marks. Stolen Dad time, before the post-match address, ice, and other formalities. No one else left on the ground. No one other than me watching. Just the three of them, backdropped by the setting sun and the ocean. Stewart Sutherland, even fully kitted in blue-and-red and hard game grime, the father.

On Saturday he plays his 300^th senior club game. I asked him about it, if he was excited. The team’s been cursed with injuries this year, often as much as 50% of the best 18 missing.

300?

“It’s only a number. I just want a win for the fellas.”

But that’s Stewart. The best bush footy has to offer.

All photos Matt Zurbo