Stevie J: The Wangaratta Magician

Like Mary, there’s just something about Stevie J. He’s a pleasure to watch.

No offence to the man, but on the surface he’s not what you’d imagine for a magician. A pigeon-toed, slightly waddling bloke of average height from Wangaratta – a place that holds an annual textile festival. Watching him play is as close as you can get to pure delight in the increasingly sanitised world of the AFL. Where Stevie J is from they don’t play an Eminem song from the speakers as the players take their places for the start of the final quarter.

My wife’s Nanna lives in Wangaratta so I’ve become a semi-regular visitor to the town. Each time I arrive I think of Stevie J. It’s an odd connection I often have with country towns. Maryborough immediately makes me think of Stewart Crameri. I’ve never been to Drouin, but I know it as Ablett country. The kind of Ablett that spent a year playing bush footy at Myrtleford in between stints in the big smoke with the Hawks and the Cats. Misguided or not, I get a sense of purity from country footballers.

When I think of Stevie in Wangaratta I picture a young kid growing up with a footy always within reach. Practising freakish goals and handballs, inventing new ways to play the game. Kicking the footy under street light on cold winter nights when fog billows out of puffing mouths. I think of the practising Stevie J because of something Adam Goodes said a few years ago. He lamented the fact that Aboriginal players all get labelled as “silky” and “magical”. He lamented this because he said it made people assume that Indigenous players hadn’t worked hard to master those skills. He said that “according to those in the know at Hawthorn, Cyril [Rioli] is the hardest trainer at the Hawks, but he gets little recognition for that. It’s as if he just has to turn up, cast a spell and pick up 20 possessions.” I agree with him.

People looking at Stevie J would say he’s a “freakish talent” as if he was born with these skills and never spent the time trying to hone them. I don’t know Stevie J, but I reckon he would’ve clocked up hours of “play” in his youth, mucking around with mates, kicking torps, flying for hangers and dribbling snaps. I call it “play” because it’s away from the spotlight of junior squads where coaches want to teach kids how to “play the game properly”. All drills and structure with little place for creativity. Bradman maintained that he was self-coached, spending hours honing his technique with a golf ball, a cricket stump and a water tank. He was an unorthodox batsman, but few will question his ability to make runs.

Stevie J is an unorthodox footballer. He does things that other players don’t. Or even higher praise, he does things that other players now try to emulate. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. A raft of players now try for the over-the-head handball and the snap at goal from a set shot. They do this with mixed results. Stevie J is the master.

When the ball gets in his hands it’s immediately exciting. You can almost see his mind going into overdrive, evaluating his options and then choosing which action to take. The crowd holds their collective breath. He’s always looking to create and do something away from the norm.

It doesn’t always work, but as a neutral supporter it’s my privilege to just watch and admire. If he turns it over it’s no great loss to me, I still take joy from the fact that he tried to create something special. I know Geelong fans who find this frustrating. They get upset when he ignores the safe option and goes for the risky option, the path less tread. They throw their heads back in exasperation as one of his kicks scrubs along the ground and into the hands of an opponent.

They might even say he’s unaccountable at times. But again, that’s one of the things I love about him. The way he seems to just run around like a blow fly at a summer BBQ, buzzing in and out of contests, not appearing to be playing a specific position. He’s like a kid in the juniors, constantly on the move and always calling for the ball even when sometimes he shouldn’t be. He looks exuberant, inquisitive, mischievous. You get the feeling he just genuinely loves playing the game, loves getting the ball, loves the contest. In a modern game where it’s all about process and where a player fits within that process it’s refreshing to see Stevie J break that mould.

Stevie J took my Bombers apart last Friday night and while that was painful to watch, I held no grudge. It was a pleasure to see the Wangaratta magician at play.