What’s your first footy memory? Who was your first hero? And who was your first villain?
At The Mongrel Punt, we like to dive into the history of the game, but everyone’s history is a little different.
In this series, we’ll be asking a series of questions of those passionate about footy – players, coaches, personalities, and those with profiles outside the game. What drew them to footy? What made them love the game?
Only three articles in, and already I’m plumbing the depths of availability, huh? Yep, doing one of my own – here are my footy first times.
What is your first footy memory? How did the game become part of your life?
I grew up in a footy family – all North Melbourne supporters. All very passionate. I remember the 1977 Grand Final being on television and everyone was gathered around to watch it. There had to be 15-20 people all glued to this little black and white TV at my great grandmother’s house. In Belmont Street, Kensington.
I was four – I was kicking the footy around outside by myself. I could hear the screams and yells coming from the lounge, and I was drawn to the game. To be honest, I can’t tell you whether it was the draw or the replay, but I do remember the feeling of being part of something, and that’s how footy became part of my life.
I sat down and watched. I remember the people around me more, I think. More than the game, itself.
The passion, the excitement, the anguish… I was all-in!
Who was the first person to influence your love of footy?
My dad, easily.
He was big on handballing with both hands and kicking with both feet, and every evening (okay… it wasn’t EVERY evening, but often enough to make me remember doing it a lot) we’d go outside, or at least onto the verandah and practice. Real father and son time.
It got to the point where I was as good on my right hand as I was on my left, which paid dividends later. I was able to kick both feet whilst still in primary school, which won me a skills contest against the Grade Six kids at one point.
I was in Grade Four at the time. As such, one of them beat me up the next day, because he wanted the footy they gave me as a prize. I’d wisely left it at home – fun times.
Now, when I watch players kick with the outside of their foot, or handball in that weird backhand motion… I shake my head a bit. I wonder if they ever had the same type of practice I was lucky enough to get.
Do you remember the first game you played? Maybe the first season?
Not the first game, but I remember the first game I played after transferring teams.
I was at Aberfeldie, and we moved back to Kensington. My dad struggled with the idea of staying in the house where my mum got sick and eventually passed away. So, we headed back to where he grew up and I played for the Kensington Under 13s… despite being ten and allowed to play for the Under 11s.
The coach of the Under 13s made the executive decision to keep me in his team when I kicked two goals in a scratch match where I filled in on his team. So, I made friends in the Under 13s, and every year, I was either the youngest, or one of the youngest on the team. The one year I tried to drop back to my actual age group, my mates all got on my back, and I went back up an age group. Peer pressure, I suppose.
Thanks Coach Ken… I could have been something in the Under 11s!
How did that first season play out?
Oh, we got slaughtered all the time. We had good players, but we were just idiots. Everyone wanted to be the hero and none of us were truly capable. We didn’t know what was going on. Losses by ten goals were common.
The rolling maul of junior footy was in full effect, and once we fell behind, everyone went into business for themselves. It was a mess.
Fast forward a couple of years and we went through the season undefeated, with largely the same playing group, so it all came together, even if it took time.
When was the first time you realised you were better off being a fan than a footy player?
I had my first knee operation at 17. I saw it as an anomaly. I mean, how often was I going to be tackled from behind with my leg stretched out in front of me, only to see it bend in the way it is not supposed to bend?
Had to be one in a million, right?
After the second operation, I found that it was at least two in a million, and I had the two of them. This time, I was 19, and I was off work for three weeks because I had to be off my feet before and after the operation. I was a casual at the time, so I made no money, and I missed uni classes left, right, and centre, because I couldn’t get around.
The year in between, a couple of us decided to head down to North Melbourne Under 19s to see how we’d go. In those days, locals could join in the training and see how you went. That was an eye-opener. There were guys there bigger, faster, and stronger. There always are, but when they’re also better footballers, you quickly come to the realisation that maybe… just maybe, you are not as good as you thought you were.
Right about then, knowing I was never going to play at the highest level, I decided not to pursue footy. In short, I wasn’t good enough.
Who was the first player to truly capture your imagination?
As a kid I loved Schimma. I don’t know why – I just did. I would go to Arden Street with the family and get lost in the crowd every week. The number 20 was on my duffel coat, and if you went down to the track during the week, you could chat to the players over the fence between drills.
They were a good bunch, although a few told me to piss off. Imagine that now? It’d be in the papers if a player was rude to kids. We’d laugh at it, and the player would find it funny, as well.
Anyway, I also loved Malcolm Blight, who also lived close by. We’d mill around in the street where he lived and he’d occasionally have a kick with the local kids when he went out for a smoke.
One time, one of the kids said he couldn’t kick the footy into the next street. Blighty liked a challenge, I reckon, so he grabbed the footy and just went bang – kicked this massive torp that flew over two houses and landed somewhere between where we were playing and the next block.
Everyone was laughing and “oohing and ahhing”.
Except me. It was my bloody footy!
We went to find it, but couldn’t, and being a little tacker, I had a big sook about it. In the meantime, Blighty had buzzed off in his car.
A few days later, we were back, kicking someone else’s footy around on the road, and Blighty pulls up. I’m still a bit pissed at him, but hey, he’s Malcolm Blight, so I kind of look at him with a combination of anger and awe. He goes to his boot, grabs this signed footy and asks whose ball he kicked the other day.
I get pointed out by the others, and he gives me this great footy! I am so proud of it, that I take it to school the next day to show it off, play on the gravel, and completely ruin the ball.
But for that 24 hours, I was walking on air. Thanks Blighty!
Who was the first player you tried to emulate when you played?
Schoolyard stuff, Peter Bosustow.
He’d come to Carlton from WA and had a massive impact. Those big hangers, and amazing goals… we had so many Carlton supporters at school that all of a sudden, it seemed to evolve from people yelling out “Jesaulenko” to “Bosustow!”
I was really saddened to hear of his passing earlier this year. I feel a piece of my childhood died that day, as well.
Oh, and at that age, I could barely jump over a piece of paper – none of us could, so screaming “Bosustow” as we all just crashed into one another and the ball spilled out, was about as close as we came to emulating him.
Who was the first team or player you really hated?
Oh, I hated Essendon because my dad hated Essendon, but over time, that mellowed… and it also transitioned over to Carlton.
Essendon, I didn’t really know what I was supposed to hate them, but Carlton… they were arrogant, and they were arrogant because they were good! They had a massive decade in the 80s, and the hatred was borne from that. I suppose they could wear it as a sign of respect?
As for players? Wayne Johnston? He always looked like he was ready to punch someone out. Tony Buhagiar, because Essendon supporters would scream “go budgie…” whenever he was near the footy, and that gave me the shits.
And then there was Rene Kink, because he was like the schoolyard bully of the VFL.
Later in life, I had the unfortunate experience of playing on Rene for about five minutes in the Western District Football League. I tried to body him up, and he raised an arm… and I few about three metres sideways as he took the mark.
Then he laughed at me.
I wasn’t supposed to be playing on him, but the key defender twisted an ankle and I just found myself stuck there, frantically waving to the bench to help the poor bloke on the deck. In the meantime, the ball came down, and that’s when I had my expected three-metre journey. It was like being pushed over by a building.
When was the first time you met your footy hero?
I met Dermott Brereton at about the age of 17, as I was at Glenferrie Oval for some reason I can’t remember, turned a corner, and walked straight into his path.
Godsmacked, I was.
The story is for another time, but I had switched teams soon after turning 11, and was now a Hawks supporter. Walking into, or almost into, the bloke whose poster I had on the wall (oh yeah… the ladies loved that)… I didn’t know what to do or say.
He just nodded and walked by, blonde mullet bouncing along.
It was so much better than my brown mullet, which was quite majestic in its own right
Years later, I have had a couple of chats with him online. Lovely bloke, and will happily reply if you message him. No BS about Derm. He’s a good one.
What is your favourite memory of going to a game?
Well, not my favourite, but the most vivid came when I was running across the Arden Street oval after a game with my cousin, who passed away a little while ago.
She was a couple of years older than me, and I was struggling to keep up with her. It was muddy, I was getting stuck a bit, and she was dragging me… it was a perfect storm for a little fella to face plant if I wasn’t careful.
Turns out, I wasn’t careful, at all, and ended up face first in the middle of Arden Street.
Little did I know, apparently the broadcast crew were still chatting, and Lou Richards actually saw it happen and said “oh, look at that poor little bugger!”
It made some TV show and everyone had a good laugh at my expense. For a few weeks, any time I did something at home, my dad or one of his mates would say “oh, look at the poor little bugger.”
When was the first time the game broke your heart?
I’ve been lucky, I guess. It didn’t happen until the 2011 Preliminary Final.
I was invested that season – all in on the Hawks. I was supposed to go and watch that game, Collingwood v Hawthorn, but I got caught up at work and in the end, decided to stay home and watch it alone on the TV.
Franklin kicked that goal to give the Hawks the lead. The dribbler from the boundary, running flat-chat with Chris Tarrant hot on his heels, and it made me feel as though we had the game sewn up. It was one of THOSE moments.
And then… a missed assignment at a stoppage, a Luke Ball snap… a goal.
The Pies won, and I just got up, left the house, turned the phone off, and walked for two hours.
You know how you do the “what if…” in your mind when something goes wrong in life? What if I left the house ten seconds later – would I have had that little car accident? That type of thing.
That’s what I did for two straight hours… what if things had gone differently? What if the tap had resulted in another dead ball? What if the structure was a bit better, and they closed down on Ball?
Luckily, there was some good stuff to come in just a couple of years, but that night, I had my footy heart broken.
When was the first time you felt the game let you down?
This is a tough one. I feel like it has been on the trajectory of letting me down for a while, now, and for me, it is all about the erasure of physicality from the game.
I suppose I grew up with the onus on a player to protect himself, and now it is the opposite – players expect the game and their opponents to look after them. I am not sure that is in the nature of players to do that, and maybe that is just a sign that the game has indeed gone past me.
I genuinely think there should be a balance between the two, but lawsuits don’t often blame the victim, so I guess that aspect of the game is gone.
Who would be the first player you can think of from your (favourite) era that would fit perfectly into the modern game?
This one is a strange one – Stephen McCann.
He was 192 centimetres, could run, mark overhead, play ruck, or hit the scoreboard all in one game.
Never really got the credit he deserved. Played in two Grand Finals in his first five games as a 19-year-old, but he was probably one of the best examples of a truly mobile big man about 20 years before his time.
Had two games in the ruck where he had 20+ disposals and 20+ hit outs, kicked five or more goals six times, and was one of those players who flew under the radar because there were so many dominant big fellas in the league back then. However, his mobility would serve him well in the modern game.
What would be the first thing you would change about the way the game is now played?
This is a wild one – I’d scale back what rucks could be awarded free kicks for. In a nutshell, only high contact would be awarded in ruck contests.
So, no free kicks for in the back, blocking, holding, and no third man up infringements, either. No ruck nominations – just throw the damn ball up and let the players work it out. As long as you don’t whack the bloke in the head, no free kicks.
It may sound crazy, but is such a lottery at the moment, and there are times when I don’t know who has done something wrong, and neither do either ruckmen.
I’d also get rid of the stand rule, the protected zone rule, and have a 25-metre penalty for minor infringements, and a 50-metre penalty for the big ones.
Finally, I’d eliminate three states. PS – I am not a crackpot.
Who would be the first five players picked in your all-time team? (If you could add a sentence about each, that’d be perfect)
1 – Gary Dempsey
I know a lot of people prefer Simon Madden for his ability to swing forward, but Dempsey was just THE ruckman, for me. Always in the right position, clunked marks, took punishment, and dominated games.
2 – Dermott Brereton
Loved his crash and bash. People talk to me about how he dished it out, and yeah, he did. But he took it, as well. Always put his head in the hole when it was his turn to go. And he never complained about it.
3 – Wayne Carey
The game changer. He’s been retired over 20 years and nobody since has attacked the contest the way he did. Not Riewoldt, not Brown – nobody. They’ve emulated, but never duplicated.
4 – Darren Jarman
The best ball user I’ve ever seen. Left foot, right foot… never mattered. Would also win his own footy, and could go forward and win the odd game off his own boot.
5 – Ross Glendinning
Could play forward or defence, and be the best player on the ground. Won a Brownlow as a defender, but kicked 6+ in ten games. I reckon he could have gone on for a little longer at West Coast. His last season saw him kick 73 goals in 1988, including an average of 4.5 over his last six games.
So, that’s me.
Keep and eye out for more ‘First Time’ articles over the coming weeks.
Cheers – HB.
