I Don’t Love You Anymore

I loved Geoff Blethyn. It was a ridiculous look. Glasses like Roy Orbison and sideburns to match. Who would have thought he could kick a hundred.

I loved Graham Moss. Athletic and a leader. Performed outstandingly well in a poor side.

I loved Des Tuddenham. Toughness. Character. Ticker. Blood trickling from a cut on the eyebrow, but still boring in. If you lose, you crawl laps around the oval.

I loved Neville Fields. Even when he went to South.

I loved Ron Andrews. He kept us safe at night.

I loved Simon Madden. He could be bad, but he was more than often great.

I loved Tim Watson. 15 years old and as big as a man. He had it all.

I loved Terry Daniher. Son, just get the ball, kick more goals than they do and we’ll have a good drink tonight.

I loved Neale Daniher. 4 goals in a minute at Carlton, now that was funny.

I loved Billy Duckworth. A larrikin with a never-say-die attitude and cheekiness to match.

I loved Merv Neagle. Who else would stand up to Dipper in those days. Beat him in skill and toughness.

I loved Leon Baker. Potentially the greatest of all, and I met Spider twice.

I loved Paul Van der Haar. What young 18 year old wouldn’t have wanted to be Vander.

I loved Jason Johnson. Who would have thought he’d end up a chef. He could stand the heat in the kitchen.

I loved Dean Wallis. He just did the job that was asked

I loved Joe Misiti. He had a body shape that allowed hope for the rest of us.

Unfortunately I can’t love James Hird anymore. I’m sorry but I’ve tried. It just all goes against the grain. He lost the thing that all the Essendon greats have held dearest: he let down his mates.


A mediocre local sportsman now paying for the sins of the past. Golf and walking the only options. As JTH said, you are not a golfer if you cant shoot under 85. Im not a golfer

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