Hangies and Rugby. A few days of farm work and, somehow, cutting back from the coast and its relentless winds, I‘ve found myself in the back of a city, over a river and all the lights that frame it, drinking at a hangi with a group of Islanders. Most of them are from PNG [Read more]
Quietly, a line in the sand.
December 4, 2011 by 4 Comments
Quietly, A Line in the Sand. I went to Southport in Tasmania the southern-most town in the land, looking for the southern-most footy oval in the country, or, I dunno, unless they play Aussie Rules that far south in New Zealand, maybe the world. But when I left I saw the dirt road [Read more]
Off-season odyssey. Part I
December 1, 2011 by 17 Comments
From the Bottom, Up. Doug was a postie, one year off retiring. Bert, I reckon, propped up the bar most nights. “I drive an excavator, do as little work as possible,” he said. It was a small town, the smallest. I got the impression Bert’s way was the general way. The sun was an [Read more]
Regrets and Odysseys
November 23, 2011 by 11 Comments
Gianpi and Sergio were two of my best mates. When they were about 20 they hopped in a car and headed north because it was facing north. Just drove and drove. By the time they reached the Northern Territory they had $20 dollars between them. The caravan park operator saw their Victorian license-plates. “Can [Read more]
Zurbo on Roebuck
November 13, 2011 by 7 Comments
I just got back from wood cutting all morning and heard the news. Terrible news. Peter Roebuck has passed away. I don’t know the whys and whens and wheres and don’t care. It is cricket’s loss and our loss as a people, that Peter is gone. Roebuck was the best commentator and journalist I knew [Read more]
Grand Finals Pt.5. Netball.
November 10, 2011 by 10 Comments
The piece first appeared in the fantastic www.scoreboardpressure.com If you haven’t seen the sight do so! It is a ripper! All photos (my old teammate!) Brad Trotter. It was a big day. Grand Finals always are. I was standing under the grandstand with Trots and few rusty old Otway salts when Rocket saddled up. “I [Read more]
Laps
November 2, 2011 by 14 Comments
I drove down one of the goat’s tracks behind town yesterday, towards home, stopping off at the footy oval, where it all smoothes out into thin, second-hand bitumen roads. The grass was long, everything grey drizzle, rolling hills and mountains that disappeared into low, shifting clouds. My feet weren’t itching at all. It all [Read more]
The Draft: pick me
October 24, 2011 by 9 Comments
Pick me! Pick me, damn it! Pickme, pickme, pickme! The draft. I’m ready this time.
A Lovely Bullet Part II
October 18, 2011 by 2 Comments
Tribes and Family. The function was a ripper. My fiancé and I were drunk and in love. Despite it all. I remember dancing with her. How good it felt. She was all happy and shy about it. A tiny woman, or, maybe, in hindsight, girl, surrounded by all us apes. Big donks [Read more]
Rodge and Tobe
October 11, 2011 by 5 Comments
Yesterday, on dusk, I found Rodge and Tobe sitting on Rodge’s ute, which was backed up to a pile of road gravel beside a gully hair pin. I pull in, sore and grotty from work. “Old Dog!” Rodge smiled, throwing his hands in the air. “What’s up, blokes?” ‘We were nicking some Shire gravel [Read more]
Love and Football I
October 9, 2011 by 10 Comments
The most goddamn fantastic thing I have seen in football happened in the Bay, where not enough good things happened. I was at war with most everybody at the time. But, this one nothing day, not hot or cold, a sky going nowhere, I had come into town for supplies. I was talking [Read more]
Grand Finals Pt.3: So This Is Christmas…
October 3, 2011 by 12 Comments
It’s 11 am, Saturday morning, the Coodabeens are on the radio. I’ve just got back from cutting a load of wood, and am bouncing off home, getting ready, up here, on the mountain, for the AFL Grand Final, as millions do. Last night I went around to Roland’s pile of corrugated tin he calls a [Read more]
Football and Music Part II (Finals Music)
September 24, 2011 by 7 Comments
Music is a funny thing when laced with footy. When we won the flag two years ago and they finally shut the club rooms, most of us broke into the old weatherboard hall we use as changing rooms. An oil drum fire out front, five utes backed into a circle, the same [Read more]
Coaching Solutions
September 19, 2011 by 14 Comments
Okay, already! Alright, alright, I’ll do it. Somebody has to. I’ll coach an AFL team, damn it. Anyone see Mark Harvey being interviewed on Friday night? Died black hair, sunnies, faded grey t-shirt. He looked like another mug who hangs out at the TAB a bit too much. I mean, take away the [Read more]
Swans, Hawks and Corrugated Tin
September 17, 2011 by 2 Comments
Swans, Hawks and Corrugated Tin. Roland’s home is, basically, a pile of corrugated tin and mice, in a paddock, in nowhere. But the wood-fire’s a corker, the telly works, and he’s a great mate. We had the idiot box and music on, his girlfriend, free from her kids for the night, rotten, laughing, falling [Read more]
Mark of the Year: Part I.
September 15, 2011 by 8 Comments
Never take a mark for granted. They are the sweetest thing. Never take The Mark of the Year for granted, either. People say it like it’s a fact. “That was the mark of the year!” Full stop. Odds are, Walker will win the telly one, but footy means many different things to many [Read more]
Grand Finals Part I
September 11, 2011 by 1 Comment
When my season finished in a deficit of four bitter goals and biffo, a big map of the country, with about 20,000 pinheads marking football ovals opened up. So, thanks to Sammy Harriott, I went home to the Otways. The tough, leathery bush champion had pulled his battered body together and come out of [Read more]
Football and music. Part I.
September 6, 2011 by 23 Comments
Tonight in Tassie, outside, the city streets were still with cold. Empty. Inside, sitting in the warm seaweed sway of a noisy Friday night pub, I was watching the footy on a small monitor above the wine fridge, while the band, behind me, did their thing. The football looked strange. A pocket of [Read more]
Pendlebury
September 4, 2011 by 4 Comments
Pendlebury. The pub was small and full. There was a great no-name band crammed into the corner, a few loose units dancing, people in booths talking, everybody pushing like mud rivers to get to get drinks, to the smoker’s section, to and from the fire. I wore them all, and the music, like a [Read more]
Recent Comments