What about the Father Son rule?

Felt proud that the AFL and my football club the Western Bulldogs (reigning premiers for 1 more week) came out in support of the YES campaign. 

And yet a lot of people aren't happy about it. Sam Newman of the Footy Show (which I haven't watched in many years cos he generally makes me want to vomit) was particularly vocal in his scorn for the decision. Referring to the AFL as a bunch of obsequious, fawning, sycophantic political whores that had no right to get involved in political messages. Essentially asking who are they that they should tell people what to think and how to vote?

Eddie McGuire countered with that there is an old saying that if you don't stand for something you stand for nothing. Was also particularly scathing of elected officials who won't do anything unless there is a vote in it, hence leaving a leadership vacuum that it is the responsibility of others - organisations included to fill.

I thought about it.

Sam had a point. And I've since read lots of comments from people who would agree with him and seen many a facebook post reading likewise or congratulating the few clubs that made statements distancing themselves from declaring for one side or the other. It would have been a stronger arguement if Sam had said that the AFL don't own the game, the people do, and that's a statement I'd have to agree with.

Eddie scored a point too, albeit a rushed one. Finding myself agreeing with Eddie was almost as a hard a leap for the ball as conceeding that Sam might be lining up a goal. Having put their feet in their mouths so many times over the years I generally just boo them from the cheap seats . Yet I'm angry that obsequious, fawning, sycophantic political whores that are as weak as shit have plunged a whole Nation into this divisive debate. Pitting friend against friend and families against each other on a $122 million survey as to whether their party should allow a conscience vote. I'm not a member of the Liberal party, why am I being asked? Have a conscience vote or don't. But if this is how it gets done then so be it.

The debate has most certainly been ugly at times and the NO team rightly has jumped on a headbutt to Tony Abbott, a sacking and name-calling as showing that the YES side has the capability to play dirty. But when I see someone railing against AFL political correctness on social issues being offensive to them, I wonder if what they want is to be politically incorrect and unsociable. I'm not always empathetic to those feeling persecuted and silenced for saying its ok to say no. I've tried really hard to keep quiet and not get in peoples faces but feel compelled to write this with my social media filling up with people who feel silenced. I hear you! Your voice is loud and clear. And while I might agree that some things that are said or done aren't warranted, have you ever stopped to think, just for a second, that maybe that's how the homosexual community have felt for eons?

I'm one that subscribes to that everything is political. I also think everything is spiritual. I believe in the seperation of church and state in that one should not have power over the other. You cannot however remove politics from spirituality or spirituality from politics. You can't expect someone who believes in a God to not carry some bias with them into parliament. We are all biased in all we say or do or choose not say and do. And you can't expect a believer to not hold political views. Do some really want a parliament of only atheists? That's problematic in itself in that it will not represent a large portion of the people. And to suggest atheists don't hold their own biases is ludicrous. There has to be a place for all. A place for all is what this is about to me.

When many Churches or Religious groups tell people what to think - and when they hire and fire on their values. Well the AFL and clubs have a right to at least declare what they think which is hardly telling someone how they should vote. Everything is political and spiritual and art and inextricably tied together. Including us. All our choices have consequences. I choose inclusivity, I'm glad the AFL does too.

P.S. To those few that actually fear for the father son rule (those making the joke are fine) or that we will end up in a position in the near future with no new players being born due to everyone suddenly turning gay. Please God, help me refrain from belittling their insane lack of logic, it's so hard.

Why Not Us?

Some choose their footy team; others have their footy team thrust upon them. There are those who change allegiance like a flip flopping politician chasing numbers. There are the poor souls who have their tribe cut out from under them, leaving them orphaned on the football landscape till adoption papers come through. Me, I had no choice.

My practising Christian parents never had me baptised out of respect for my own choice. But when it came to the true religion, I was fully indoctrinated into the red, white and blue like my father and his father before him. I don't remember a time before I was a Bulldog because that time doesn't exist. If they could've printed it on my birth certificate they would have.

It hasn't been an easy birthright to bear. From the schoolyard mockery to the looks of pity or condescension as an adult that leave me in social situations feeling a need to go sit at the kiddie table. There were times we were asked to go quietly into the night but doggedly saw ourselves to a new day. Sometimes I wondered if life would've been different had I been a Hawk or a Cat or a Roo. How much do the colours you wear shape who you are? How much is nature or nurture or narrative responsible? Would it be better to be a football heathen?

I've questioned much of my beliefs but have never wavered from the 'Scray.' There is something to be said for tradition and knowing your roots. To have your pilgrimage to a wet and windy Western Oval with its broad church of supporters, decked out in their finery of beanies and scarves from bygone eras. To have your prophets, saints and sinners present in body or in myth. To get swept up in the fervour of the fans.

So there I was at Spotless Stadium last Saturday with the sun in my eyes amongst a throng of true believers, but did I believe? In true Aussie style, most of our glory had come hand in hand with failure. Losing many times in the dying stages of preliminary finals by small margins or questionable umpiring. But that was ok with me. We didn't belong in the big dance anyway and just playing finals was already rising above our station. But it felt different this time. We were still David going up against the Giants but we'd already overcome the Eagles and Hawks and there was something about this group and their 'why not us?' mantra.

The sun fell behind the western stand and its rust coloured light towers that illuminated a pristine playing surface. The Giants looked like running away with the win in the last quarter on their home turf. The Dogs played with daring, dash, heart and will and entered the last minute in front by 5 points. I looked at those around me, the diehards that had travelled up to outnumber the home fans. Heads were in hands, hands clasped over mouths, eyes wide at the scoreboard clock with trepidation that it would be taken from us again. Not today. 

The siren sounded and we rose as one in cheers and many tears, all jubilantly hugging friends, family and strangers. We knew what it meant to each other. We were in joy and shock having not seen this before. The experience sweeter for being denied so long. My mother now won't leave her house without her Doggies scarf on. And I've felt ill all week with my insides being dragged willingly but unprepared into a rewritten culture of 'why not us?' I wish my Dad was here to see this, he was always a 'why not us?' type person.

  

A Geek Tragedy or just a simple Footy Tragic?

During the winter months when it is dark and cold as you slink out of bed towards the workday and closing in on the same by the time you finally get home, weekdays can wear you down like a rain sodden sweater. Two days and a Friday night take on more import in the rejuvenation of the soul over this period, and there is nothing more spiritually healing mid year than footy in its approach to the finals.

Nicknamed 'the Rat' due to my Johnny
Platten shoulder length curls

I played club footy when I had more hair and carry some special memories from then. Through my twenties however, living in Brissy I found myself in a social circle of freaks and geeks and none of them understood why I was so passionate about 'footy'. As if a love for football in their eyes was reserved only for those who were a yobbo at heart – so what was I playing at? 

Scorned, I tried desperately to defend my passion in terms that I thought they may understand. I compared my love of footy to great tv shows and movie twists of plot that you could never see coming. Footy is no soap where you can spout identical dialogue minutes before the bad actor does. Teams begin each game 0 – 0 and then the mystery unfolds with all its courage and cleverness and heroes and villains.

I compared my love of footy with my love of music. In that in our imperfect works as humans, now and then we reach beautiful heights. That chord progression that sends a tingle down your spine, the chorus which lifts your heart, the harmony that resonates in your gut. These moments are akin to the player that spins out of a tackle, sidesteps and makes the ball talk along the ground from the boundary line, through for a goal. The team of telepaths that piece together a chain of quick look-away handballs in a drive forward against the wind. The young kid on the big stage that goes back and boots the goal after the siren for a last gasp victory. The player that rides the pack for a speckie and is lifted heavenwards on the shoulders of others. Every game is replete with its moments of movement and strategy and skill that bring me joy to have witnessed. Some don't see it, that's ok.

Ted Whitten Jnr and Snr

So where did this love of footy come from? Some traditions hold with me and some do not. My father was an avid Bulldogs supporter as was his father before him and so on and so forth. My father would tell the tale of being a kid and sitting on Teddy (Mr Football) Whitten's knee. Teddy doing his lap of honour at the G still chokes me up because it is forever entangled with memories of my own father. Especially years of kick to kick with a skinless Sherrin in the backyard. My brother and I spent a lot of afternoons trying to outmark that man with his bigger body and his know how in how to position it. He didn't let us get soft marks. It took years but when we finally were able to get contested marks over him, we knew we'd earned it and that it meant something that shaped how we saw ourselves.

I also recall another watershed moment in our family footy life. It happened standing in mud and rain at the Western Oval on the opposite side to the Doug Hawkins wing. We beat the Hawks that day in a very low scoring affair. That was the day my mother switched from being a Hawks supporter and finally made our family of four whole. We were no longer tainted with the poos and wees. Being red, white and blue is a tradition that holds fast with me. Now if I can just convert my wife from those blue and white hoops!

Perhaps I'm drawn to footy not just by my soul but by my body and mind as well. They say (whoever they are) that muscle memory plays a part in your enjoyment of watching sport or movement. You see someone do something and there are corresponding parts of your brain that light up pathways and release endorphins. You don't even have to have performed a similar feat to create the pathways. It is in the power of imagination and why sportspeople often try to visualise what they intend to do before they do it. I intend to do nothing bar watch the visuals however.

So I had my go at playing and I also had my go at being an assistant coach of the Deloraine High Footy team while I was a Chaplain. They were a fantastic blend of misfits and talent and courage but we lost a lot more than we won. Perhaps I was inspired by another. Barry was the Pastor of our church in Brisbane and applied to be Chaplain to the hapless Brisbane Bears back in my youth. I remember standing on the hill with him as he hurled abuse and encouragement in equal measure and with equal delight. One overly exuberant day left him on the walk back to the car with hardly the shirt on his back – his favourite blue check flannel torn to shreds like he'd had an Incredible Hulk moment. I like to think that he thought he had. But a coach I am not – or am I?

is Stevie fit to carry my captaincy?

As a geek that invests inordinate amounts of time and energy on Sci-Fi, indie cartoons, maps and indie music, nowhere is my geekiness more prevalent than in my following of footy nowadays due to Fantasy football. As coach of 'The Krisening' and manager of the 'Every Dog Has Its Day' league I now have a hobby that takes up more than my weekends. It rejuvinates and tortures my soul nearly 7 days a week. Online I have traded my way to a team of premium stars led by Gaz, Rocky, Libba, Stevie J, Swan, Dangerfield, Buddy etc. So when Gaz does his shoulder and Rocky gets suspended for a week I am on the computer, trading and shuffling my team around in preperation for their next conquest.

Fantasy football has its moments where you finally catch up with a mate who has been avoiding you all Monday to bask in the glory of rubbing it in that you knocked them off top spot. Alternatively there are moments of despair where it is you that turns the phone off and stays away from email. Fantasy footy with all its lingo around Pigs, piglets, donuts and ghost kicks has meant more to me than killing time. It is a genuine social network of geeks and characters that helps to sustain me as I reside now in the foreign footy landscape that is Sydney. We discuss trades and encourage each other during the week and then trash talk each other over the weekend. I'm looking forward to besting my best mate 'Rainbow Buttmonkeys' in the finals. Yet as a Doggies supporter I'm more used to losing. So if and when I get bumped out in a preliminary final by a mere handful of points it will feel familiar to languish over the missed opportunities and the injustice of it all. Strangely I can find that just as rewarding as going on to beat one of my mates in the final.

Whether I'm just a footy tragic or exhibit A of a Geek Tragedy, and be it real life or fantasy footy, it's still a bunch of passionate people dressing up in their favourite colours and creating culture as they go. Following the theatre of it all as it is played out yearly and builds on the rich history that is forever present. I love it.