AFL Round 2: The 2014 ‘Mopsy’ Fraser Cup

Greetings Tipsters

Some weekends carry more weight than others.  Phil and Robyn are good folks, 60 or so and love it to death rock and roll fans, an older version of me and Perky Girl, with the black T-shirts and leather jackets and all.  We’d been arranging a dinner here at Casa Rock’n’Soul but, sadly, that aint gonna happen now.  Phil suddenly checked out on Friday, taken out by a bus.

So when Wayne Carey wrote about how tough it is to be an ex-football star, I took it with more cycnicism than usual.  Which aint to say he don’t have a point.  Being a demi-god, playing in front of 50000 people every week, holding the Premiership Cup, what a blast that must be.  An intoxicating, addictive blast that nothing in the rest of a footballer’s life will ever come close to replicating.

The ever-more irritating Sam Lane wrote a pointless back-up piece that ignored some of Wayne’s points.  But how sorry are we supposed to feel?  It’s the life they chose; take a risk for fame, glory, money and all the attendant benefits.  Should we feel sorry for the likes of Keith Relf and Peter Noone, who disappeared from the pop charts without a cent to their name?  Should we feel sorry for footballers from the semi-professional era, who didn’t make a huge pile of money but at least had day jobs that may’ve helped keep them grounded?

Satarvo, we went to a birthday party, a first birthday party for the twins of one of my very best friends.  She’s a single mum with a thriving business and several employees.  I don’t feel sorry for her, I admire her strength and resilience.  So, yeah, sure, it’s a hard comedown for Wayne Carey and many others, but compared to my friend, it don’t seem all that tough.

I wonder what Troy Luff, Swans ‘cult hero’ of late 90s made of Wayne’s comments.  I interviewed him once, pre-season ’97, he seemed a level-headed bloke.  He was fortunate, in a way, to play at the end of the semi-pro era.  These days, it’s a meat-grinder, throw the talented kid in at one end, see how far he makes it through, spit him out sooner or later.  We’re all complicit.

Neale Daniher puts it in perspective.  The Reverend has copped the degenerative motor neurone disease, made famous by legendary baseballer Lou Gehrig.  He may only have a few years to live but, in Caro Wilson’s piece, said ”You can put it out there that I’m doing all right,” though his golf swing is starting to suffer.

Which is more than can be said for 22 year old Rugby League player Alex McKinnon, who may never walk again.

All the notes I made about the week in football, the games, players, coaches, all the off-field palaver, seem trivial tonight.  The GWS match review doesn’t seem all that essential.  Phil wasn’t an AFL fan.  He preferred soccer, Rugby League, baseball and darts, loved rock and roll and he looked kinda like Lou Reed.

Then one fine mornin’ she puts on a New York station
You know, she don’t believe what she heard at all
She started shakin’ to that fine fine music
You know her life was saved by rock ‘n’ roll

Cheers, Tipsters.


P&C, a Stop Privatisation Of Footy Production

Brought to you with the assistance of the True Spirit of Rock And Roll


About Earl O'Neill

Freelance gardener, I've thousands of books, thousands of records, one fast motorcycle and one gorgeous smart funny sexy woman. Life's pretty darn neat.


  1. With you 100% Earl. I’ve been quietly musing on the randomness of McLintock’s crippling injury and also Phil Davis nearly losing a kidney.
    The joy of footy is that we get to invest so much meaning into something so essentially meaningless.
    Big passions with few consequences of importance.
    I must ask Harmsy where that quote in the front of all the Almanac books comes from:
    “A sealed bag of air,
    Passed and kicked and thrown away,
    On which rests the happiness of thousands.”

  2. Earl O'Neill says

    Two minutes of melody, harmony, rhythm
    Floating through the ether, heard by millions
    Shifting consciousness , changing lives

    Neat formatting, thanx.

  3. The Wrap says

    It’s like Australian of The Year Earl, they give it someone cruising, never to the single mum doing it tough, or a family man down on his luck. This country’s full of Australians of The Year. Crickey, they even knighted Hawkey “Father of The Year”. It’s enough to make your piles bleed, eh?

    As for Rooting Roo, he blew a bundle, his family , his reputation and his friends. Having him on a program is enough to make me switch off. To have him bleating about how tough it is after fame is a stretch too far for my sympathy. They have shrinks for that don’t they? Or family & friends. Oh, I forgot.

  4. A timely slice of perspective Earl.

    Or as David St Hubbins would say; “too much fu–ing perspective.”

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