Tell him he’s Bobby Skilton. Painting by Nick Howson
Well, we certainly are enjoying a burst of beautiful autumn weather in our fair city. I have nothing to say in regard to recent events around the Bulldogs aside from wishing Taxpayer Stadium is burnt to the ground and Jezza Cameron’s cows all catch anthrax.
Moving right along, I cracked open a longneck of Abbots Lager the nectar of the Gods tonight, rolled a Capstan ready-rubbed and commenced to muse on current day coaches who roll out meaningless platitudes and provide positives on players who couldn’t get a kick in Bart Cummings stables. It gets worse if you try to decipher what Ross Lyon and his mates are actually saying when you know they are saying nothing. Fair dinkum, they could all be politicians in a ten-minute press conference they say nothing that enlightens anyone.
My mind wandered back to the days when coaches went for the jugular, didn’t mince their words and got straight to the point. Malcolm Blight referring to David Pittman as Pathetic Pittman immediately sprung to mind. No apologies sought or offered and life moved on and ‘Pathetic ‘ Pittman ended his career as a duel premiership player.
However, I went past that and commenced to muse on the wonderful orators of the past. Jeans, Kennedy, Barassi, Hafey and Whitten sprung to mind. Men with booming voices and fierce eyes that demanded attention and could make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck.
Yabby Jeans:
In every game there is a crossroad and when you get to that crossroad you either step up or step down. You make that decision, not me. If we are to win this game it has to be won moment by moment, contest by contest, minute by minute, quarter by quarter and if you do that you will be revered forever at Hawthorn.
Kennedy:
Don’t think, do! At least you can come off the ground and say I did something. He was cutting when he challenged his players and one that comes to mind if you go out there today and advertise to the world your father has raised a timid child, take up a softer sport, play another game, play tennis.
Ronald Dale:
Who can forget “Healy off, Ellingworth on! Bloody weak as piss!” Or, “If it is to be it is up to me!” And “get the ball”. And “long bombs to Snake in the 1977 Grand Final.”
Tom Hafey:
How about Tommy to Sheedy: “Kevin, stop finessin’ [Tommy never wasted a G on the end of a word] “you’re a bloody back pocket plumber, just get the ball and kick it long to Royce. The rest of you stay out of Royce’s way.”
Ted Whitten:
Or EJ, “You’ve gotta inspire me, you need to show me all the guts and determination you have in your body………..”
Not sure what current day coaches are saying to their players when in muted terms they refer to running patterns, D1s shoulder on shoulder, attacking and defensive structure. It’s all code to me. Give me more of “Long bombs to Snake” or “stop your finessin’”.
However, I do often muse on funny things coaches have said or done in an effort to get the best out of their charges, usually at a lower level.
Kevin [Grumpy] Kenna, a legendary multiple premiership coach at Shepparton United was told by an agitated trainer, “Macca’s copped one and he can’t remember his name or where he is.” Grumpy screamed back at the trainer: “Tell him he’s Bobby Skilton and he’s at the Lakeside Oval.”
A coach at Macedon, trying to channel Ted Whitten, exhorted his players to show him all the guts and discrimination they had in their bodies.
Bill Gleeson, a rover who played a few games for the Saints in the VFL was coaching Wycheproof. Bill worked at the local power station and could really give a player a spray. I recall one day words to the effect: “if you bastards don’t win this, I’m cutting the power off tonight and going fishing til Monday.” Not sure if that inspired a win but I can’t recall a 24-hour blackout in the town. In any case the older Wyche players were probably more focussed on the Green Ginger wine bottle being passed around as it was a proven fact a good swig of Green Ginger at three quarter time brought out the best of you.
Len Billson, aside from being a good footballer, was a runner of some note in the professional ranks. Len was coaching Watchem Corack and I recall him demonstrating at a break to a player how to put the slipper in properly if you really want to slow him up. Len in the terms of the day was known as an ‘ankle tapper’.
The Abbots is doing its job because a memory has come to me. I am playing at Keilor one day and we are a couple of goals down at three quarter time against a side we are expected to beat. John [Ecka] Edwards, our coach, who was an old school hot-gospeller gives us a spray and then roars at the group: “Is there anyone here who doesn’t think we can win? If so, you can go to the bench.” Paul Kenna, son of the aforementioned Grumpy was carrying us on his back that day, responded: “I don’t think we can because there are only about five of us having a go. I will go to the bench.” Ecka to his credit grasped it and roared: “You bludgers, you should be ashamed of yourselves. PK is carrying you and he is walking away. Prove him wrong or you will suffer at training on Tuesday night.” PK didn’t go off and we lifted and got over the line.
It must be a Kenna thing as PK went on to coach Keilor to a flag after he retired. Keilor are struggling a bit and one day he turns up in a pair of bright red pants which looked like they had cost $2 at an op shop. He stands up to address the players and opens with I am wearing these pants because it’s the only way I can be sure you will look at me and hopefully while the strides have your attention you might comprehend what I’ve been saying for the last three weeks .
I did myself receive a spray of the highest order one day. I am playing for West Footscray against Kingsville. Our coach is Joe McGhie, older brother of Bones, and a good player. Joe was level-headed for six days and 21 hours every week but for three hours on a Saturday afternoon he turned into Atilla the Hun and in fact on occasions when he was in full flight he made Bones look like a choir boy. It’s half-time and we are a goal down after the bloke I’m playing on kicks a goal on the siren. Joey to say the least isn’t happy with my effort which according to him was insipid. As he abuses me, he throws two half full drink cups at me which I skillfully avoid. This only incites him more and he hurls the full drink container at me which I dodge and it hits Ray Jenkins our rover in the chest. Joey sort of apologises with, “sorry Jenko I meant to hit the weak prick beside you.”
However, if nothing else, Joe was a man of instant action. We are playing Parkside at their ground which is at the bottom of the hill down from Flemington racecourse. In those days the changerooms were on one side of the road leading up to Flemington and the ground across the road. It’s half-time in a tight game and Rod O’Connor from Parkside is killing us in the ruck. Good player Rod, played a few games with Footscray and then went to the SANFL with Centrals I think. As we walk across the road for the half-time break I say to Joe we have to do something about O’Connor. Well Joey happens to be walking next to Rod and with a short right to the chin Joe felled him like a giant oak tree in the middle of the road and big Rod almost fell on the umpire Bob Madigan on the way down. Rod’s prone torso blocked the road until he was removed which probably annoyed some racegoers eager to catch the last four races at Flemington. Can’t recall if we won the game but Joey, God rest his soul, got eight weeks for his trouble.
Finally, as told by Crackers Keenan. Ian Tiger Ridley is coaching Melbourne and they are getting towelled up. At half time Tiger takes the opportunity to rip into every Melbourne player individually questioning everything from their courage to their parentage. Crackers is last in line and Tiger gets to him he lays on the floor in front of Crackers and utters words to the effect stand up and kick me in the guts Keenan you weak prick, you’ve been kicking me in the guts for weeks, you may as well finish the job now.
I guess the world has changed but not always sure it’s for the better.
Cheers All
The Muse
Read more musing from Drizzle HERE
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