Almanac Life: Meeting Ron Barassi

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Shane Reid pointed out in his piece on the Almanac site last week, everyone seems to have their own Ron Barassi story. Ron has been such a part of Australian life, for so long. Well, at least life south of the border Professor Ian Turner named after him, The Barassi Line, which marks the change of preference for Australian footy or the rugby codes.

From Garry Lyon, who was genuinely chuffed to get a lift from Melbourne High School to Dees training footy with his then coach, to Prof Tim ‘Plug’ Harcourt who wrote on Twitter: ‘When I was 10 I asked for Barassi’s autograph when he was drinking beer with Bob Hawke at the cricket. Hawke said: “Typical little bastard asks for a footballer’s autograph ahead of a politician’s.” Vale Ron #Barassi’. And, of course, Tinsel Tony Wilson, and team, have offered many insights from their time working with Ron on their documentary about the Australian side that toured Ireland in the late 1960s, The Galahs.

Ron was everywhere. Doing things. Chatting with people. Remembering them.

Those of us who’ve frequented the North Fitzroy Arms over the last twenty years enjoyed meeting the many Carlton players who would come through to have a beer with Percy Jones. That included Barass, as Perc called him sometimes.

Perc spoke so affectionately of Barass, nodding knowingly when recalling how Barass tried to tame a few of them, with limited success, but enough success to pull off a couple of premierships. The flame of that playful battle was still flickering. At times they were still coach and player.

Perc loved when Ron was in the pub. Ron was at Perc’s 70^th birthday celebration. I had the good fortune of sitting with Ron at lunch that afternoon.

I had met him a few times, in unlikely circumstances.

Ron told me once that he collected footy books (and, I suspect, other books) and, on hearing of the existence of a rare one, would make enquiries to purchase it. He’d read so many of the game’s stories, including the ones in which he was a principal character. He knew the game’s mythology. He felt its significance.

He had a deep love of the game and he loved its characters. He believed in the game and in those who played it. He knew what it took to be a player, and he had very high expectations.

He once said that footy is such a good game even administrators can’t muck it up. Yet, he had a parallel belief that the game had to be looked after and nourished, and he played his part in the face of that responsibility.

The first time I met Ron was at Cazaly Stadium in Cairns, at a pre-season match between Geelong and North Melbourne. For some reason I was Up North for the game. For some reason Ron was Up North for the game. I was standing with Gary ‘Cowboy’ Cowton, whom I’d just met. He was telling me about his involvement in Indigenous affairs in Far North Queensland, when Ron wandered over. He greeted Gary in the way you’d expect a coach to meet one of his premiership players. Ron then turned to the circle. He was all smiles, all clipped mo and sparkly eyes, like a restaurateur welcoming you to his trattoria. We were introduced. “I’ve read your book,” he said. “Loose Men Everywhere. Loved it. Didn’t understand a word of it, loved it.” Then he chuckled.

He was so warm-hearted, so interested, so engaged.

I was thinking, “I’m standing here with Ron Barassi. In Cairns. In Queensland. At a footy game.”

I was thinking about what he meant to me, as a kid growing up in footy exile in the Queensland bush. I wanted to tell him that, in 1977, we stopped the family car on the way home from the Warwick junior pro-am golf tournament (my brother won his age group) to listen to the final moments of that drawn Grand Final. We were somewhere around Nobby – Steele Rudd country.

I wanted to tell him I’d read much of his story. How I’d come to learn about him over the years.

When I arrived in Melbourne in 2003, I was an enthusiast, but I had an outsider’s understanding of things; an understanding cobbled together from books and articles, TV and radio interviews, newspaper reports and whatever had made its way Up North. That included John Powers’ story of the 1977 North Melbourne premiership, The Coach, which I’d read in the University of Queensland’s Duhig Library (when I should have been reading something else). I had the chance to meet John Powers when he appeared on 774’s Conversation Hour at the time Geoff Slattery brought out a new edition of his fine work. Our chat continued after the show. John told me that Barassi lit up the year and that, as a dramatist, he had to write a book which honoured the enormity of his character and influence. Ron was the protagonist in the true (Greek) sense of the word – he was first in importance.

After the first Footy Almanac anthology came out in 2007, Daff and I asked Ron, through his PA Rosemary, if he’d give us a cover quote for the 2008 edition. He got back to us. “No worries. I’ll have to think of something appropriate.”

What he sent was abbreviated it to: “Passion with knowledge, insight with humour, courage with flair…the Almanac team has it all.”

The following year, Paul Sheahan (that’s the Tassie’s Lord’s Taverners Paul Sheahan) invited me to take part in the Barassi Debate. Tim Cox, terrific broadcaster (who somehow used to find the time to read the book of the author he was interviewing) and I were to take on Richard Colless and Jack Elliot with Ron as the adjudicator. Ron got to Hobart early and checked out a couple of second-hand bookshops. When we caught up with him at the hotel that night, he had a paper bag with a number of titles including one of Hugh Buggy’s and also an early Carlton history.

Jack Elliot was very charming that evening but he headed off to his room. Ron and Richard did not share Jack’s circumspect approach. They were up for a few drinks and a chat and I was more than happy to be part of their school. Ron and I shared an appreciation of Bundy and Coke, and as the night showed no sign of slowing down, Kahlua and milk.

Those familiar with Richard Ford’s exceptional novel, The Sportswriter will recall the main character, Frank Bascombe, observing that, when in the company of superstar sportsmen, they might be thinking of their million-dollar condos or their girlfriends or their Lear jet, or fishing on a beautiful lake, but one thing was certain: they were never thinking about him.

That has not been the case for Ron Barassi.

 

 

I didn’t see Ron for a couple of years until he bobbed up at lunch when Anson Cameron was the special guest. “We couldn’t miss this one,” he announced. “We love Anson’s columns in The Age.”

After Anson entertained us, we sat around chatting, hearing stories from Ron and Brian Dixon and others, people with immense experience across many fields. It was an afternoon which came out of nowhere – and everywhere.

Ron was as happy as can be. That’s how I will remember him.

Vale Ron Barassi.

 

 

 

Read more from John Harms HERE.

 

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