Almanac Footy (Observation): Footy imitates art

 

 

Just over a decade ago, I was enrolled in a writing and editing course. The student body was thoughtful, worldly, sophisticated, and painfully hip. One day, a fellow student raised his nose and dismissively proclaimed that he didn’t own a pair of tracksuit pants. As a proud owner of many pairs of tracksuit pants, all I could do was silently lament that the only reason I had jeans on that day was through a feeling of unspoken obligation. Needless to say, I felt like a bit of an outsider in the whole place.

In addition to sartorial elegance, my peers were predictably well-versed in the legends of literature. When they spoke of classics, they spoke of Salinger, Dickens, Austen and Hemingway. I felt completely out of my depth. When I thought of the classics, I thought of Lockett, Dunstall, Ablett and Modra. In one class, we were asked to bring in a piece of literature that inspired our love for writing. Well-worn copies of Wuthering Heights, The Hobbit, To Kill a Mockingbird and Lord of the Flies were brought to class and discussed with depth and gravity. When it was my turn to present, I self-consciously walked to the front of the class and spoke about my first literary love: Steve Waugh’s 1995 West Indies Tour Diary.

While feelings of inadequacy haunted me in those years, I should’ve been more aware of sport’s natural ability to convey as much raw drama, emotion and wonder as the greatest works of fiction. Last Sunday’s game between Essendon and Fremantle was the perfect example.

Act 1
Following a lamentable month or so on the field, the Bombers started well in the first quarter. Sun bathed parts of the MCG, and Essendon looked sharp. As I settled into the game on the bottom level of the Ponsford Stand with my son Jesse, key characters in the narrative began to emerge. Langford hit the scoreboard in his 150th game. Stringer was lively, kicking two early goals. The midfield brigade settled into the contest, with Merrett and Durham clear crowd favourites. Parish had returned to the fold. And when Draper converted a neat set shot late in the opening stanza, we took a nine-point lead to the first break.

Act 2
Traditional quest narratives centre around the hero of the story overcoming various challenges and obstacles. The second quarter presented the game’s first major obstacle for the Bombers. The Dockers kicked five goals to our one, including Jackson’s shot after the siren. The air of anticipation sucked out of the MCG as the players left the field. You could almost hear the Essendon supporters revisiting the September holiday plans they’d previously put on ice thanks to our promising start to the season.

Intermission
Jesse wanted to go for a kick. I welcomed this detour as a necessary palate cleanse. The on-field frustrations of the last month have taken their toll. Spiced up by the inevitable media pile-on. Thankfully, the ritual of kick-to-kick has a meditative purity that is hard to match. Spoken words are scarce, but meaning is conveyed with each kick. By the time we re-enter the coliseum, purchase some hot chips, and return to our seats, all is well with the world again.

Act 3
That feeling of peace and calm is tested in the third quarter. The game reaches a holding pattern, like the middle overs of a One Day International. Both teams fire their shots, but the margin barely changes. We’re down by 19 points as we head to the final break. The early promise of the 2024 season is solidifying as a false dawn. Jesse asks if we can leave. I calmly decline, explaining that it’s not over until it’s over.

Act 4
The Dockers open the final act with an early goal. It’s looking grim. Jesse shifts in his seat. He still wants to leave. “Not yet”, I reply. Martin kicks a goal. There’s a glimmer of hope, but it’s followed by two behinds. Then it happens: a frantic five minutes where we kick four goals and hit the lead for the first time since early in the second quarter. Could it be? Inevitably, there’s a final twist thanks to a free kick paid in Freo’s forward line. Amiss accepts the gift. Scores are level. Both benches hold colourful signs saying there’s 30 seconds left. It’s all riding on this centre bounce. Draper rises and taps to a surging Merrett. We’re on here. Merrett handballs to Durham who strides forward, takes a bounce and blazes away towards goal. Any score will do. It’s a point. Jesse and I rise from our seats. We’re in front. Freo’s last roll of the dice ends up in Draper’s hands. The game is ours.

Encore
Kicking the footy on the MCG with thousands of other fans is slightly less meditative than the half-time kick, but the pure joy it brings is arguably stronger. It was the perfect way to celebrate a stirring comeback win, and provided a neat full stop on yet another example of sport possessing all the dramatic twists and turns of a classic literary tale.

 

 

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