It was during the pre-season I first saw you from afar
I was running laps at training when you pulled up in your car
You had more front than Myers, though you were just the physio
First day at work you parked your Merc in the spot marked CEO
Was it your beauty or the liniment that made me come unwound?
Tried to ask you out since Family Day but there were always blokes around
One night I faked a twinge, you stayed behind, at last my chance to ask
I hadn’t been so nervous since I put in for the draft
When you said yes I could hardly breathe, like an on-ground interview
I was on a ride and higher up than Jezza ever flew
But where to go for our first date, I agonised for ages
You wanted classy, hip and chic, and get us in the social pages
The next 3 months were just a blur, a glorious autumn song
Each game I played I played for you, so skilled, so quick, so strong
I was Best On Ground week after week, attracting questions about drugs
But the only stimulants I used were performance enhancing hugs
Career-best form, a winning team and in a dream relationship
But I soon found out there’s no such thing as an April Premiership
I overlooked the early signs your love for me was waning
And I agreed to your request we act as only friends at training
In June I put you on report for kicking my heart in danger
When I caught you and the captain in the hyperbaric chamber
I knew from then it was play on, we would always be apart
And there’s no column on the Injury List to note a broken heart
Though crushed inside my form stayed strong, we finished on the top
Said “Dencorub’s got in my eyes, that’s why I cry nonstop”
But a rookie mistake, I took you back when you asked for one more chance
My defence was weak, you flooded in, you had me in a trance
I was favourite for the Brownlow, the bookies had me all locked in
I didn’t see were using me, seeking tickets for your friends
But I was as dizzy as a full back after Plugger’s run him through
I bought a suit and hired a car, and paid for your dress too
You leapt out from the limo when we reached the Crown Casino
And worked the cameras and the crowd like celebrities that we know
I held your hand for a few snaps but I was clearly in your space
When the cameras stopped you pushed me off and the smile left your face
The count began you were by my side whenever cameras hovered
I played it cool but by last round I’d got all hot and bothered
One game to go, in front by five, but you had left your chair
My proudest footy night was now my night of great despair
I can’t recall the walk onstage or the medal being awarded
I was in a fog though off the grog, if anything over-watered
I thanked my mum and team and coach and praised the runner ups
But I felt as blue as the Brownlow carpet, ludicrous as Teasdale’s tux
You were not there to hug and kiss or escort to the bar
You’d exercised free agency with this year’s Rising Star
There’d be a long recovery to repair my heart’s big hole
But a wade each day in Port Philip Bay won’t mend my injured soul
They toasted me, the cameras clicked, the tiny medal glistened
And the little coach inside me stirred, though I tried hard not to listen
“You may feel as used as an umpire’s whistle, but try to rise above
Don’t think, don’t hope, do something, do! AFL means All For Love”
So like a Carlton-Richmond merger I know we’ll never be
My love just a quirk in the record books, like University
There’s greater chance of a Bulldogs flag, you’ll never be my wife
I did my best but you were not fair; the Brownlowest night of my life
Some good rhymes in their Paul. “Kicking my heart in danger” and “hyperbaric chamber” is a beauty.
Where did the idea for the poem come from? I reckon there are lots of broken hearts in the local clubs, but heartbroken over winning the Brownlow and losing the girl? There’s only one bloke gets the Brownlow each year, but ………………….
Hope we hear more from you.
Thanks Peter, I genuinely appreciate your generous comments. I have to confess that, regrettably, the poem is not based on actual events. Or at least not actual event in my life – although my Brownlow dream remains alive. It was actually just a title that popped into my head and I worked back from there. A little footy fantasy + a little life experience + a little Pam Ayres = The Brownlowest Night of My Life .
Pam Ayres?? Noone has Brownlow ‘dreams’ and recalls Pam Ayres. Brownlow ‘memories’ perhaps.
Anyway more Rupert McCall I would have thought. Good imaginings.
Paul- great read: vivid and evocative, rewards both the casual footy fan and the enthusiast. Lots of funny lines, and some nice satire of the shallowness of footy celebrity. Favourite image- ludicrous as Teasdale’s tux. Good work!
Nice work Paul. Are you a footballer and a poet? If you are great, to see the Harmsian philosophy kick in where it’s good to be half-arts and half Sherrin-kicker.
You’re probably right about ‘there’s a greater chance of the Bulldogs winning a flag’. I just don’t want to hear it said out loud. How about ‘ a greater chance of Julia Gillard playing fullforward for the Doggies?