By Natalie

That tap.

Thinking about this a lot today.

It took me so long to feel a part of this season; the magic just wasn’t there. I felt frustrated and reluctant. And while it hasn’t been what I’d call a magical year (yet) I feel there might still be time for something special to occur.

It’s good to be playing finals again.

It’s good to have hope again.

It’s good to feel the magic of footy again.

But to be honest, unless we win the grand final, this moment will always sum up this season for me. It’s absolutely incredible and I can’t imagine I’ll tire of it any time soon. Since I wrote the above, I’ve watched it maybe 200 times and the shine never wears off.

Robbie Gray, you star.

Resuming transmission.

There’s a line in the Macklemore song ‘Same Love’ that goes, “Have you read the YouTube comments lately? / “Man that’s gay” gets dropped on the daily / We become so numb to what we’re saying…” It gracefully outlines how casual discrimination can be in our every day conversations, our online interactions, our lives. We throw away comments without any regard for consequences.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that line today in relation to the coverage of the incident regarding Caroline Wilson. For those late to the party, a number of men including AFL club presidents Eddie McGuire and James Brayshaw, made comments on a radio station about holding her underwater and drowning her. Exceptionally poor taste, no matter which way you look at it.

For some reason, no one fires up the football community quite like Caroline. But regardless of whether you like her or not, or whether you agree with her journalism or not, surely there’s a line that’s crossed when violence is threatened, no matter what the context is. I’ve read a hundred comments today that say “oh we wouldn’t be outraged if they said that about a man” and try and brush it off like the problem lies with the victim, not the offenders. Our outrage that a woman should be upset about a comment that was apparently a joke.

Thing is, much like apologies that start with the immortal words “I’m sorry if…” it’s not so much about the intent but the impact.

Regardless of gender, the comments amount to bullying. If we’re going to tell people to live in the fantasy land of possible situations like we wouldn’t care if it was said to a man, then imagine this: imagine if it was your son or daughter, your family member or friend, in their workplace and you heard that their colleagues had been making statements like they should be drowned. The manager of your 15-year-old son who works at Maccas. Your 21-year-old daughter who’s just got her first job out of uni. Your best mate comes home from work and tells you someone said that about them. Would you be mad? Would you laugh it off as just a joke? I wouldn’t. I’d be pretty pissed off.

So why is it apparently OK in this context?

One of the biggest causes for concern in those comments and the group-think mentality that followed, was how quickly and casually violence is implied. We despair of courts filled with the stories of victims of one-punch assaults and wonder how, as a society, we reached this point. It’s the utter casualness with which we regard violence and this casualness just serves to reinforce that it’s OK to think or behave this way. It’s fine to threaten someone, to call them names, to bully them, to assault them. And when it happens, if some people object to it happening, then the fault lies with them not the offenders. We’ve become numb.

Classic Macklemore.

I stopped reading a lot of the comments on social media today because my heart hurt. It’s 2016 and the fact that people out there still believe this type of bullying behaviour is acceptable and want to make excuses for it just makes me incredibly sad. And that’s even without getting into some of the personal attacks and derogatory remarks thrown at Wilson and those who defended her by ignorant idiots out in the community. Her Age colleague Emma Quayle defended her against one such comment and was then sent hardcore porn. Quayle made a great observation that while she’s never felt anything but respect from people she’s worked with or around, she “shouldn’t have to feel ‘lucky’ that I don’t really cop all that much from readers at all”.

The drowning comment wasn’t received as a joke and it was barely intended as a joke. For those who want to write it off or claim double standards because Wilson sat in a studio at a radio station earlier and took criticism from a colleague, they need to appreciate the difference between saying something to someone who is part of the conversation and immediately able respond and a group of people attacking someone who isn’t there and cannot defend themself in that context.

Women aren’t precious; we can take a joke. (We even make them on occasion, too. Oh the horror.) We’re up for banter, for discussion, for criticism, for humour. But again, what is actually funny about this? What is acceptable? To either gender? It’s not just about women, so anyone who thinks it is is just kidding themselves and probably trying to deflect from the genuine issue at hand. Because it’s about how casually violence is referenced and how easily someone is bullied by their peers. It’s about how people who should be leaders and role models and more than old enough to know better, have utterly let us down.

Surely it’s not too much to expect we are all on the same page with this.

My one small beacon of hope is that even a week on, there are people who have been prepared to be outraged about it and refused to stay quiet. In the midst of abject ignorance, there are those willing to put their hand up and say this type of behaviour is not only wrong, but completely unacceptable. So while my heart breaks over every fool who claims Wilson and her supporters have overreacted, it’s mended a little by those willing to speak up in support and call out the idiots.

There just might be a chance for us yet.

“The standard you walk past is the standard you accept. If you become aware of any individual degrading another, then show moral courage and take a stand against it.” – Lietenant General David Morrison, AO.

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For many reasons, long and varied, this blog has had to take a back seat this year. However I’m finally in a position to devote some time to it again and I’m looking forward to it. I sat at Etihad Stadium yesterday and watched the young GWS team eventually overrun the second string Bombers outfit, thinking about how great this game can be at times. Sometimes you just need a moment of reflection. My beloved Port Adelaide won’t make finals this year, which is desperately upsetting, but I’m hoping that they (like me) can draw a line through things and come out fighting for the second half of the season.

What I think about footy.

Last year I was sitting watching the grand final and this tiny seed of an idea came to me – I’d start a footy blog. I mean, I like writing and I like sport and I know how to turn on a computer, so what could be so hard? As the idea continued to build, I realised that what I really wanted was a place to publish all the great stories my friends have earned over the years. We all have them – the anecdotes and special memories and moments that made us laugh or cry and question why we let this game run our lives. My genius idea (sarcasm) was to interview my friends and get those stories out of them, though had I remembered just how much work is involved in transcribing interviews this may never have gotten off the ground!

While most of us who are footy fans are accustomed to the banter and discussion that goes on around the game, I realised that very rarely have I sat down with my mates and had an in depth discussion about why we love this thing so much and so hard, and what their opinions are on the way AFL is evolving. Those half hours grabbed in the office green room, parked cars, lounge rooms and rooftop bars were some of my favourite moments of the year. They also made me appreciate just how wonderful (and funny) my brilliant friends are. To Clair, Westy, Frosty, Beck, Carla, Ivo, Jane, Roger, Ben, Kate, Cheyno and Cath: a massive thanks for trusting I would do you justice and subjecting yourselves to my incredibly rusty interviewing skills. I have loved doing this and loved telling all of your stories.

And to finish 2015, this is my story.

“I’m a Port Adelaide supporter and have been from the time I started following AFL. I get asked about it all the time; I think for people in the eastern states it’s still a bit of a novelty to come across a Power fan. I was born and bred in NSW but we grew up with rugby league and rugby union – AFL was always ‘aerial ping pong’ to us and something that the Victorian interlopers watched. It wasn’t until the Swans made the 1996 grand final that my family took an interest. They all went with Sydney and I decided to be different and go for the new team that was entering the competition the next year, which was Port Adelaide. It’s funny, I think my decision to follow Port was also motivated a bit by my best friend at the time who chose to follow them as well but my love of PAFC has lasted about 10 years longer than that friendship. So it is definitely a commitment and one for life.

That said, I have an incredible soft spot for the Swans and for many years had memberships to both clubs. I love seeing my family happy and watching the Swans win the 2005 grand final was brilliant. I was here in Melbourne with a group of friends at the Waterside Hotel and it ended up being a pretty big day. At one point I was walking arm in arm down Flinders Street with former Sydney and Collingwood player Paul Licuria singing “Cheer cheer the red and the white” at the top our of lungs. Pretty random. 2012 was also pretty special and one of my favourite moments from that day is seeing my brother Paul, who had been to the game, in the foyer of his hotel and us running towards each other and jumping up and down and hugging. The shared joy of football is one of the things that make it so special I reckon. There are some very particular times each year though that I absolutely cannot stand the Swans and that would be whenever Port Adelaide plays them. We have a significant history of losing to Sydney and the ribbing from my family is almost unbearable, it’s pretty full on. My absolute worst nightmare is a Port Adelaide v Sydney grand final.

I honestly can’t remember the first AFL game I went to. I’m almost certain it was at Manuka Oval and involved Sydney but I couldn’t really remember any particulars other than that. Living in Canberra there’s such competition for your time when it comes to sport. I used to go to all the Brumbies Super 12 games with friends plus a few Raiders rugby league games, plus local rugby and then AFL when I could. The idea of travelling to Melbourne or interstate to watch AFL was almost unfathomable at that time and even going to Sydney to see a game was a big deal. So we just watched whoever happened to come to Manuka, which was generally the Swans or later the Kangaroos. When I got a bit older and earned a bit more money we started to travel to Sydney on occasion to see big games. Stadium Australia as it was then is a bit of a hollow ground but it’s a far easier facility to get to and negotiate than having to get right into the city to go to the SCG. I know Sydney people don’t quite feel the same but coming from the country then Homebush is just so much simpler.

The 2004 grand final easily stands out as my favourite football memory, ever. I was only saying to a friend the other day that I’ve really come to appreciate as I get older how lucky I’ve been to watch my team win a premiership in my life time. Regardless of whatever else happens I can hold on to that because there are so many people who aren’t as lucky. I’d watched the Port v St Kilda prelim at home with mates the week before and was an absolute mess, all nervous energy and bunched up in the corner of the lounge not speaking to anyone. I remember that moment when Guerra stuffed up the kick for St Kilda so clearly and then just that feeling of relief knowing we were actually going to play in a grand final after three years of choking. The night before the grand final I went to my brother’s footy presentation night and I wore a teal coloured top and barely drank all night in preparation. I was driving back to Goulburn the next day to watch it with my family and I wanted to be mentally and physically prepared. I’m pretty superstitious when it comes to football and when I woke up the next day, my Port Adelaide clock had stopped at exactly 2.30pm – game time. Uh oh. Then I had a bottle of expensive champagne I’d been given by my boss which I’d been saving and I forgot to bring it with me, so that was another bad sign. I was driving back along the Hume, feeling pretty ordinary and all of a sudden a Scott’s truck went past and I knew we were going to be OK. I’m aware of how unreasonable that all sounds! I was pretty nervous until about midway through the third quarter when the Lions’ Tim Notting stuffed up a kick and we got a goal from the turnover. That’s probably the moment I knew we were going to be OK. I remember my dad shaking me on the shoulders saying “You’ve won this” about five minutes from the end and then just joy at the end when the siren went. I loved it all. I loved Choco pulling on his tie and crying as he ran down the race. I loved when he yelled out “Allan Scott, you were wrong!” I know a lot of people didn’t really like the emotion our club showed after the win and were pretty hard on how we behaved afterwards but I think unless you had followed Port through those tough years prior, you just wouldn’t understand it. It was incredible and an incredible relief.

I’ve got a few other favourite memories. Going to the SCG in 1998 with my best friend Cath to watch Paul Roos play his last ever game in a final against the Crows and it absolutely bucketed down. A woman sitting behind us had on white jeans and a red suede anorak and ended up with pink jeans. We caught the train back to Goulburn the next day, fell asleep and only woke up when they made the final announcement for the station. We jumped up in a panic and left all our bloody lollies behind. I went to a Swans v Eagles final at Homebush in about 2003 or 04 where it poured down as well and lightning hit the stadium. We had no idea but apparently they weren’t far off calling off the game. I remember my dad and I were picking seats and we sat in the open; he said “it hasn’t rained in six years, it’s not going to rain tonight.” Of course we got drenched though at least Sydney won. Going to Adelaide is always special and I’ve seen a few Showdown wins and the 2007 prelim where we smacked North Melbourne was a great one. ANZAC day this year watching Port beat Hawthorn in my first Adelaide Oval experience would have to be my favourite game of the last couple of years. I have a lot of great memories, even the 2007 grand final where we got flogged by Geelong is one of my favourite football memories, which I’m sure sounds weird. At the time I was living with Cath, who is a Cats supporter, so we had a special GF day breakfast at home together with her now husband Matt, then we went to the MCG together before heading to our separate areas. It was over by about quarter time for us but I stayed for the whole game, all the way through to number 17 Shannon Byrnes in the medal count. I cut my losses then and went to meet up with other friends at the European Bier café on Exhibition Street and proceeded to get hugely drunk. Cath showed up a few hours later and we were camped at the top of the stairs drinking Jaeger Bombs together, me in my Port jumper and scarf and her in all her Cats gear. About 8 or 9pm the venue cracked the sads and said no more club colours so people would get to the top of the stairs and see us there in all our gear getting along and just go “WTF?!” It was such a big night. I threw up under a table and lost my 2004 premiership scarf. At one point I had my head down on the table and Cath said this guy was rubbing my back and telling me it was going to be OK, we’d be back next year. She came up and said to him I wasn’t crying, I was just passed out. Very funny. I called the next day but they didn’t have my scarf sadly.

Worst football memory would have to be 2003 prelims. My brother Cheyne and I went up to Sydney with a group of friends to watch the Swans play the Lions and left early so we could have lunch and catch the Port v Collingwood game first. It was traumatic. Port lost yet another final and all I can remember from that game is seeing Rocca elbow Brendan Lade in the head and thinking, “well you’re not playing in a grand final next week”. When the game finished I went to the toilet and cried. It’s funny, I’m not a super emotional person, even with work, but I absolutely bawled that day. I think everyone I was there with was a bit shocked. Then we went inside and watched Sydney get done by Brisbane fairly comprehensively so none of our teams got up. It was an absolute shocker.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve only really come back to footy after a few years in the wilderness. When I first moved to Melbourne it was such a big deal for me, I’d watch the Ashburton thirds kick a can around the MCG if it was on. I had both Port Adelaide and Sydney memberships and I’d go every other week, whenever they were playing in town. I also did a fair bit of interstate travel and up until GWS and Gold Coast entered the competition I’d been to every AFL ground except Darwin. Then around 2010-11 I started to wane a bit and I just had other priorities in my life, found other things I was interested in. I was always very full on into sport – AFL, rugby union, rugby league, cricket, tennis, netball – ever since I was a kid and this was probably really the first break I’d had. I still had a passing interest in all this stuff but the genuine obsession wasn’t there. So yeah, you can throw the tarp jokes or bandwagon jokes at me then. In 2013 when Port started coming good again I went to the two finals against Collingwood and then Geelong and that’s what probably re-whetted my appetite for it. Then last year I followed it a lot more closely and my passion for football really grew again as the season progressed, culminating in me sitting at home around grand final day and coming up with the idea for this website. I think I’ve learned to balance football with all the other things in my life a lot better now that I’m older and while I’m still passionate about it I can keep some perspective. One thing I had forgotten until this year is how much it hurts when you have high expectations and lose – not so fun remembering that part.

I renewed my Port Adelaide membership this year and picked a Victorian package that includes an extra six games at the MCG, so I’ve been able to use that to see the Swans play. I also really wanted to catch at least one GWS game but it didn’t work out due to other commitments across the rest of the season. The next thing I did was go through the roster request book at work and throw in a very early request to have off all the days Port play in Melbourne. Because I work shift work I can’t really leave that to chance or I’ll miss out. I went to all the games here and the only one I missed out on was the Hawthorn game as I went home to see my dad retire. I don’t know any other Port Adelaide fans so generally I’ll go to games by myself, though I’m happy to go with supporters of whatever team we’re playing if I can rustle someone up. I don’t have to sit within the Port cheer squad or supporter bays but I do like to sit near at least some of my people. It’s nice not to be totally outnumbered. I would describe myself as a fairly exuberant person in my normal life but at the footy all that changes – I get very quiet and very nervous and I don’t really like to talk as much through the game. If we kick a goal I’ll clap or do a little punch in the air but I’m definitely not loud. I jerk around a bit watching the flight of the ball and often I’ll dig my nails from my right hand into the back of my left hand, so you can tell how close a game has been by how battered my left hand is at full time. If someone’s lining up for a shot on goal I’ll usually just rock in my seat and quietly mutter their name, like“kick me a goal Chad, come on kick me a goal” over and over. I’m sure people would expect me to be obnoxious at the footy given how much of a smart arse I am the rest of the time but hopefully I’m not!

I definitely am superstitious. I just look for little signs all the time. I also have so many pairs of teal underpants that I’ll wear but if I have them on and we lose, I can’t wear them to the game again. If I wear something or do something particular at a game and we lose I can’t do it again. For example last year I wore teal glitter nail polish to the prelim against Hawthorn and given we lost, I can’t wear that nail polish to the footy again. When I went to Adelaide this year for the ANZAC game I was waiting to catch the tram to Adelaide Oval and the Port marked tram showed up so I knew we were going to be OK. I’m aware of how completely ridiculous all this sounds.

Port had such an amazing team around that time in the early 00s. Stuart Dew was always my absolute favourite, from the second I started following Port. He would just kick these amazing, magical goals, long bombs from 70m out and they’d be straight through the posts every time. A brilliant kick and could always make something happen out of nothing. Plus he was fairly easy on the eyes. Josh Carr was my second favourite and he absolutely broke my heart when he left to go to Fremantle in 2005. He was such a tough, gutsy little mid-fielder who really personified how hard the club was at the ball in those days. He was the kind of player supporters from other clubs would hate because he was a niggly prick but I loved him. And he was involved in that infamous Ramsgate Hotel post-Showdown incident, which probably sums him up. I was rapt when he came back to us. Michael Wilson was another favourite, just beautifully skilled and came back from two knee constructions and shoulder issues to play in the 2004 grand final. I loved both the Cornes but Chad especially – I loved watching him give it to the Crows supporters after a Showdown win. These days I just can’t go past Travis Boak – an incredible human and a wonderful player and leader. He really personifies that Port Adelaide attitude of “we never ever give up”. I think about what he did for Port but committing to us when there was absolutely nothing good and no real hope on the horizon. Any other club would have been rapt to have him but he chose us and I think the love he gets from supporters really reflects that. I’m so proud he’s ours and again, definitely easy on the eye. Robbie Gray is a Rolls Royce. Just slick. And I’m so excited to watch Ollie Wines develop as a player and a person. For a 20-year-old he’s incredible, you forget how young he is.

I’m not sure you can talk about Port Adelaide at the moment without mentioning Ken Hinkley. What he’s brought to our club is amazing and he’s been a huge part of the transformation over the past couple of years. There’s that line, you know, about him being the last man standing for our job and turns out he was the right man standing. You can talk about Travis being loved by our supporters but the same would easily be said for Kenny. One of the great things I admire about him is that he’s a coach that has has actually coached – he’s taken teams in local competitions and crafted them into premiership sides. I think that’s something that’s enormously underrated and often missing from AFL coaching these days. You cannot simply give an ex AFL player a head coaching job and expect them to deliver a flag on a silver platter. It just doesn’t work like that. They need to invest time in giving themselves experience and learning the trade and clubs who try and rush that have historically been the poorer for it. I love Ken’s background and more than that, I love the down to earth, pragmatic person that he is.

A lot of people I spoke to nominated Luke Hodge, Nat Fyfe or Joel Selwood as players they want at their clubs but I’d have to say Luke Parker is someone I’d like to have at Port. I just love the way he goes about it, he’s got so much talent for a young kid. Schultz is getting on so I’d be happy to see him replaced by Jeremy Cameron – that GWS side is going to be a monster in a few years if they can hold it together. Michael Barlow is probably my favourite player outside of Port Adelaide because I absolutely love his story and how it illustrates the power of self belief and not giving up on a dream. He was a late draftee at 22 and had so many near misses getting into the AFL before Fremantle took a punt on him. He’s paid them back a hundred times over and turned into a really important part of the Freo team that’s been on top of the ladder all year. Plus I love his sense of humour – I can’t go past a good smart arse.

I hate North Melbourne and St Kilda. The Kangaroos are just a team of grubs and always have been, I cannot stand them. And the “Shinboner Spirit” bullshit they carry on with must be the biggest wank in AFL footy. St Kilda I don’t like because they beat Port in the last game of the home and away season in our first year in 1997 and kept us out of the finals. Not that I hold a grudge or anything. They’ve also been a bit grubby off the field as well. I don’t have that inbuilt hatred of the Crows because I’m not an Adelaide person, though I certainly enjoy beating them. Being a NSW person I’ll also always back an interstate team in over any Victorian team. It’s just the done thing. There’s a bit of a hierarchy but I’d never cheer for say Richmond over West Coast. Re players I used to have a really odd dislike of Scott Lucas from the Bombers and I’ve never liked Paul Chapman, Sam Mitchell or Boomer Harvey but other than that I don’t really hate any players.

This year I’ve really struggled with the negativity from supporters towards the game. It feels like people have lost their appreciation of the sport in a broad context and can’t appreciate when other teams do well or how good other players are. I think social media plays into that enormously. I’m not on any of the sites like Big Footy or other message boards but Facebook and Twitter are bad enough. There’s just this constant spewing of vitriol towards clubs, especially when they’re doing well, and absolutely no thought or reasoning put into opinions. Just faceless keyboard warriors and they really really irk me. I remember earlier this year Freo only beat Gold Coast by nine points and all the commentary was around how Freo had finished and they were useless and were totally overrated. Well, at that point they were two games clear on the ladder and had actually beaten GC but to read the comments you wouldn’t know. People are just idiots. The Adam Goodes thing kind of summed that up for me too. I’m very pro Goodesy and while I’ll concede that perhaps some element of the booing isn’t racist, my gut feeling is that a lot of it is, even sub-consciously. I still cannot fathom how, in 2015, an indigenous player does a 10 or 20 second indigenous war dance during indigenous round and we have to get so up in arms about it. I just cannot understand what the big deal is. I remember making a comment about it at the time because I wanted to indicate my support and to be honest, the reactions of a lot of people disappointed me. Again, it’s 2015 FFS. How is this still a battle we’re having? And the same thing happens in every round like indigenous round, women’s round, the anti-homophobia games – you can telegraph the comments in where idiots start asking when it’s white man’s round. Oh mate, it’s white man’s round pretty much very week and has been for over 100 years. I’m from the school of people that believes sport should be an agent for cultural change in the community so I’m very supportive of those kinds of programs.

I also hate how over officiated the game has become. This year the umpiring has been as disgraceful as I can remember in a long time – totally and utterly inconsistent and incompetent. They’re changing the rules every other week so it’s no wonder the umpires can’t keep up. And the match review panel is an absolute joke, if you want to talk about inconsistent then they really set the standard. Someone made a comment not long ago that it was like spinning the MRP Wheel of Fortune and I reckon that sums it up nicely.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I haven’t been around football of some code. I grew up crawling around country rugby league grounds, then went to rugby union games as I got older and finally found my way to AFL. And I have loved it all. Sport has brought so many good things to my life and to my family, brought us great friends and some wonderful cherished memories. It’s something we’ve always done together. Because I have spent time at footy clubs at grass roots level I have a real appreciation for that sector of our game and I sometimes think people who have only ever been AFL fans don’t quite get that. I know what it’s like to get up early on Saturday morning and how it’s a hassle to get someone to bring ice or to run water or to man the canteen. While the AFL is the sport’s showcase, the grass roots level is where is has to really be nurtured so it continues to grow. These days I don’t think it’s enough to just assume people will always love footy or that there will always be a massive market for it. If you don’t look after the game then it won’t prosper. Without doubt NSW, ACT and Queensland are where we are going to have really work hardest at growing and I just don’t think the Victorians in particular get that – because those other states do have genuine competition for kids’ attention, it’s not just a given that they’ll be AFL supporters. Plus they absolutely need homegrown heroes to look up to and want to emulate.

I hate when people say football is just a game because it isn’t. For so many people it’s the only time they feel like a winner, the only time they feel part of something, the only bright spot in their ordinary existence. It gives so much to so many because the game is bigger than that four quarters. It’s a business but it’s also a passion and it undeniably has the power to unite people. I love it. I love watching it, I love reading about it, and clearly I love talking about it and writing about it. I hope you’ve enjoyed being along for the ride this year too.”

Flashback Friday.

Clearly I have a long history of shoving a recorder in people’s face and talking about footy.

Was clearing out some stuff back home in New South Wales a few weeks ago and came across these gems from about 1998 – me harassing Rodney Eade and Kevin Sheedy at a pre season game at the old Football Park in Canberra for a uni assignment. I would have been all of 19-years-old and how’s the casual hand-on-hip stance when chatting to Sheeds?!

For the record however, I would like to say that I now have much better hair and I no longer wear polo shirts with the collar up.

I’ve come a long, long way but one thing hasn’t changed – I still love footy.

The finale.

It was late on the Friday night and a friend asked if I wanted to catch up for a drink and watch the footy the next day. “Sure,” I said, “but it will have to be after the Port game.” It would be our very last for the year, a year that held such high expectations and then delivered on next to none of them. I had been so worked up about this season, almost fizzing with excitement, and devastated that it would be unlikely I’d see the year out thanks to a pending overseas trip.

I didn’t end up watching the game on Saturday afternoon, instead I enjoyed it old school style by listening to the call on the radio. Fremantle were ‘resting’ players ahead of their finals campaign and Port had little to play for aside from pride. My friend reckoned we’d get up by more than 40 points, I wasn’t so sure. This is Port Adelaide version 2015 I reminded him.

But we did get up and got up well – 69 points in the end. Not that it matters. There’s no finals for us this year. What a bitter pill to swallow.

That said, despite all the heartbreak and disappointment, there have been more than a few highlights. Two wins over Hawthorn. My first trip to Adelaide Oval, especially given it was ANZAC Day and the incredible spectacle that brought. The emergence of brilliant young talent like Brendon Ah Chee and Sam Gray. The continued leadership of Travis Boak. Port reaching 60,000 members and surpassing the Crows for the first time. Chad. The friendships that I’ve continued to build around football. This blog.

Not everything about 2015 has been a total write-off.

I’ll watch this weekend’s games from the comfort of my lounge room and next week’s at my parents’ house in NSW. I’ll be barracking my hardest for the interstate teams as usual and if the Swans can’t get up then I’d love to see Fremantle win it. Finals aren’t quite as fun when you’re not in them but this year has been such an enigma, I’m excited that almost anything could happen.

And then next year, next year, it’s ours.

Futility.

I’ve been thinking about this post for a couple of weeks.

It started with the death of Cooper Ratten, the 16-year-old son of Hawthorn assistant coach and former Carlton player and coach Brett Ratten, in a collision where it’s been reported the driver is believed to have been alcohol affected. Young men in such a hurry. Rarely does it end well.

Then I thought about it again today when I heard that Hawthorn captain Luke Hodge had been caught drink driving. While the level of alcohol in his blood was considered low range, I thought it was pretty disappointing behaviour from one of the league’s most prominent players. It’s just sheer stupidity, no matter which way you look at it.

I like Hodge; despite the fact he just about broke one of Port Adelaide’s star player’s neck by ramming it into a goal post the other week, I’ve always admired him. My initial thoughts – aside from the sheer stupidity of the act that I previously mentioned – was that it probably wasn’t the best look for a player currently serving a suspension to be out drinking, especially when his team is heading into finals. When I heard the club wasn’t going to impose any penalty on him I was again disappointed. I’m not one of those people who thinks that footy clubs should just focus on footy, I think they absolutely should be agents of cultural and social change. Here was a chance for Hawthorn to stand up and say this behaviour was unacceptable from one of their players and more broadly, unacceptable in society, and they missed it.

It wasn’t until a friend raised it that I considered the juxtaposition of Hodge and Ratten. “How can Luke Hodge walk into that club and look Brett Ratten in the eye after his son has just been killed by a drink driver?” my mate asked me. I honestly hadn’t thought about it but a quick scan of social media showed plenty of other people were considering it.

I don’t know what the answer is but there is such unhappiness entangled in both situations and the way they will intersect.

I wrote the below piece about seven years ago and while it has absolutely nothing to do with football, it just feels right to put it here, right now.

We were in the kitchen, discussing incidents that had happened in our neighbourhood; all the things that went on in the dark hours of the night which I had previously been unaware of. Psych patients that cut into the soles of their feet, a boarding house only several doors down from us that was home to residents of questionable gender, a bloke who had gotten behind the wheel after a few too many drinks and driven himself into serious injury.

I mentioned a fatal crash that had happened almost right in front of our house, one rainy night months ago when I had been driving home late to watch a rugby test. I’d been unable to turn on to my street, stopped by a young officer in a long neon yellow coat standing amongst a litter of traffic cones, lit up by the blue and red flashing lights. I’d parked the car and run down to the scene, the water soaking through my thin shoes. I was peering up through my hooded anorak at what lay before me – debris scattered all across the road. Simple, everyday things like a shoe and a kids bicycle, lying there amongst the glass and torn metal. I remembered being struck by how incredibly unflinchingly ordinary those things looked in that situation.

The car itself was sitting in the middle of the road. It looked like someone of enormous strength had picked it up and tried to compress it into a smaller version of itself, with the top and sides pushed in as though it was made of nothing but putty. There was a blue tarp lying over it, flapping gently on account of the weather as people moved about the area.

On the other side of the road was a high concrete fence, the substantial kind that looks as though it is made of solid brick that someone iced with creamy concrete. There are no gaps in it and it’s one single entity that stretches for the length of the yard of the house it belongs to. Down the middle of it there was now a crack going from top to bottom, with the right side of the structure pushed back so it was no longer even. Black marks screeched from the fissure across the pale concrete, like the kind of marks you get when you’re moving furniture and you scrape the wall.

That whole fence will have to go, I thought.

I stopped to talk with several of the officers, introducing myself. Lucky it happened on a Saturday night I said, it means you can go about your work without interference. They nodded, grumbling quietly about the weather and lack of support from other units. When I asked what they thought had happened, one of them said they’d simply been going too fast along the road, hit the dip at the intersection then lost control on the wet road. How old were they, I enquired. Only young, the officer said, both males but impossible to tell the age of the one killed. Too badly hit. The other – the passenger – had gone to hospital.

I thanked them, said good luck and walked the 200 metres back to my house. My flatmates were inside watching the rugby. Did you hear anything, I asked? Someone has just killed themselves outside our house. One of them raced out and came back inside after several minutes. We kept watching the rugby.

The next day there was nothing in the paper except for a few brief lines hidden away on a late page to signify what had happened. I drove past the spot on the road where the crash had occurred and there was nothing there. The glass and metal swept away, the bike and shoe disposed of, the vehicle towed to a yard somewhere. No one would know what had happened there less than 12 hours previously, with only the cracked fence left as an epitaph to a young man’s stupidity.

I checked on Monday and read the names of the two young men from the northern suburbs who had been in such a hurry to get somewhere. The days passed and there was still nothing at the site – no floral tributes left below the fence or wrapped to a light pole with yards of sticky tape. No photos and no crosses. Nothing.

The fence is still not fixed.

So we were talking about this ‘accident’ and he remembered it, hadn’t been there but remembered it. I remarked that it was strange no one had stepped forward to recognise the dead and he said, “yeah, they were crooks.” I remembered the names I read, initially I had thought they might be internationals with no local family but the names had been traditional mid-eighties Australian like Jason or Darren or Damien. “Ah,” I replied, “crooks,” and nodded my head. We left it at that.

****************************

Every single day, people are killing themselves and others on our roads and we cannot seem to shake ourselves from the lethargic acceptance of this situation, or change our behaviour in order to stop it.

“Was it for this the clay grew tall?
– O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?”

– Wilfred Owen, ‘Futility’, 1917

Sun down.

It’s been a long year. To be fair, it’s ending better than it started but I don’t think there’s a Port Adelaide fan who would come close to suggesting 2015 has lived up to our expectations.

If you had of asked me in April to look into my crystal ball then I would have seen us sitting high on top of the ladder at this time of the year and likely even minor premiers. Getting ready for a big finals campaign. Hoping fervently that this would be the year we notch up our second premiership.

The reality isn’t even close.

The last couple of solid wins, including last night’s effort against the Gold Coast Suns, has given me a small amount of hope that this season hasn’t been a total write off. Port Adelaide will likely finish ninth or tenth and we need to ensure we remember the regret of this year and build on it in 2016. We’re a club with a strong work ethic, we just need to find it again. As coach Ken Hinkley said during last night’s post game press conference, “Our supporters would recognise the way we played in the last month and say, ‘that’s our team'”.

Instead of lodging myself in front of the game at the Palace Hotel with a beer and a parma like I have for many of Port’s pay TV only televised games this year, I headed to Ballarat to a friend’s party. Good mates, good food, good times. A good break. I checked my phone intermittently for the score and was comfortable with how it was progressing as we headed to a 37-point win up in Queensland, but I didn’t feel that desperation to watch it. Next week’s game against Fremantle will round out the year for me and then after just one week of watching other teams take part in finals, I’ll be heading overseas.

Of course, I thought I’d be going and missing out on Port Adelaide rampaging through September and into October. What a difference a year makes.

Bring on 2016.

The $410.

“Do you want to put a bet on?”

My brother, lying on the couch, turned to me and uttered that sentence while I was lying on the floor in front of the heater at our family home in NSW. It had been a big couple of days with illness and the emotion of my dad’s retirement taking it out of me. I’m not much of a punter by any stretch but I said yeah, OK.

“Explain to me what all my options are,” I replied.

My brother went through them but in typical fashion I zoned out halfway through and had to make him repeat them to me. And I still didn’t get it. He suggested we look at a win by a margin and brought up the various odds (that part I could understand). I’d told a couple of mates on their Hawthorn podcast that I thought the Hawks would win by about 24 points but the bookies and everyone else had this lined up to be a flogging. Good for me. I went with $10 on Hawthorn to win by between 13-24 points which was paying $8 and then $10 on Port Adelaide to win by between 13-24 points which was paying $41.

One bet with the head, one bet with the heart.

We went out for a family dinner and missed the start of the game, which was for some insane reason being played at Etihad, the home ground of neither team. I had in my mind it was starting later but no, we missed the opening. My brother brought it up on his phone and told me Port were up. Honestly, I never take that as a good sign this year.

Except by the time we got home and turned it on, they were still up. At the end of the first quarter they were still up. At half time they were still up. And at three quarter time they were still up, though the Hawks had pared the lead back to just a single point.

Once again I find myself asking, where the hell has this Port Adelaide team been all year?

We attacked with confidence, direct and up through the middle. We defended as a team and didn’t panic at any stage. Whatever kind of magic that seems to be in the air when we play Hawthorn, I want it to be there all year long. This was the Port Adelaide team I know and love, the team that plays gutsy, tough, exciting football that makes you remember just why the hell you love this game so much.

I kept waiting for the inevitable reversal in the final term when I thought last year’s premiers would push back and overwhelm us but it just never happened. Both Robbie and Sam Gray played out of their skin, Boak was solid (is there a better captain in the AFL to lead by example? I think not but I’m supremely biased), and Chad was just, well, Chad. Brendon Ah Chee had a brain fade that I thought might cost us the game when he handballed over the top from a close mark to a waiting Monfries, who then scored a behind, however he made up for it with a late deserved goal. Love that kid. Jasper turned defence into attack in the backline and Broadbent and Hombsch were their usual calm, reliable selves. It’s such a cliché but the Power was absolutely on.

I love that next to no one predicted this. The fans just quietly believed, though I’ll admit my head kept telling me something different to my heart.

As the game wound to a close, the scoreline was set just right for me to win the bet. The seconds ticked down and Port sat 22 points in the lead. Tick… Tick… Tick… I’d told my brother that I didn’t care about the bet, I just really wanted the win. But at a minute and a half to go he looked up at me, surprise and delight on his face, and said “I think you’re going to get this.”

Let me tell you, no one has cheered harder for either a Hawthorn goal or Port not to get a goal than I did for that 90 seconds. Every stoppage, every out of bounds, saved us.

They probably heard us screaming from Etihad when that final siren went.

At the end, I was $410 richer. But beating Hawthorn twice in a year that will be better known for the disappointment and heartache it has brought? Well that’s just priceless.

A farewell to arms.

I am 36 years old and not one of those years has been spent without policing in my life.

Today, in some ways, that will change.

Because today is the day that my father is marched off for the very last time on the parade ground at the New South Wales Police Academy in Goulburn, 39 years after he joined ‘the job’.

It’s the very last day I’ll get to watch mum iron one of those iconic blue shirts. The last time I’ll get to see him leave the house ready to go to work in the career he has loved so much and given so much to. The last time I’ll see him in the leather jacket and peaked cap. The last time he’ll be Sergeant Webster.

Things that I have for so long just taken for granted.

My dad has spent all of those years in the force operationally qualified – from Lane Cove and Chatswood in the city through to country policing in Merimbula and Adelong. The last 21 years have been spent as an instructor at the Police Academy, instilling thousands of now serving members with his own particular brand of wit (debatable) and wisdom (never in doubt).

“Does anyone know what an affray is?” “Is it like a fight, sergeant?” “No, it’s when an Asian person is scared.”

But some of his most important work has been in the meticulous research he has undertaken over the past couple decades to chronicle every single NSW police officer killed in the line of duty. Names and histories that had laid dormant for years, unrecognised and unremembered. I remember trips to libraries and country cemeteries to find the stories of these people so they could be shared and honoured after they gave their life serving the community. No one has been more passionate about and committed to making sure the broader NSWPF community remember their fallen.

It’s equally as impressive that dad finishes a 39 year career without even the slightest hint of ‘TJF’. If you asked him he would still tell you that ‘the job’ is the best job in the world.

Police are people doing an often thankless job under what are usually trying and unpredictable circumstances. They are people who deal with the worst society has to offer every day so we can sleep safely at night. When there’s a murder, they’re there. When there’s a fatal vehicle collision, they’re there. When someone has been assaulted, they’re there. When someone has been raped, they’re there. When a home has been robbed or a shop has been held up by an armed offender or a family violence incident has occurred, they’re always there. To help, to console, to investigate, to assist, to placate, to stop, to bring to justice. Every single day they do the things that the rest of the community can’t ask themselves to do.

Whenever I hear people criticise police I think about the inherently selfless people like my dad who have given years of unfailing service to local communities. Growing up next door to police stations and having people knock on your door at all times of the day or night. Having to go to some of the most horrific incidents you can imagine and knowing the victims and their families. Christmases and birthdays and holidays spent at work.

Earlier this year my dad and I stood at the Pambula river mouth, a spot where we used to go swimming as kids. It’s peaceful and quiet and lovely. I pointed at one of the sheds nestled in the sand and said something to him, I can’t remember what. He replied, “We arrested someone for a really bad rape just up there”. There are ghosts around every corner that only fade in time, they never go away. Something for the critics to consider.

But there are so very many great memories too. Christmas parties where the helicopter dropped bags of lollies out of the sky. Road trips in the back on the div van, even the one where my brother threw up on the police radio. Hours spent playing ‘Prince of Persia’ or golf on station computers. Barbecues at the beach where we spent hours screaming with laughter riding around in rubber duckies. Some of the best and funniest people you will ever meet in your life.

My dad telling the story of the line search in the Belanglo State Forest and someone decided to start a wave that went for as far as the eye could see.

I also think of how incredibly hard it must have been for mum at times – all the moves to new towns and the stresses that come with being married to the job. And not once did she ever let us know she was as anxious or worried as we were when we left towns we loved or started at new schools. Mum always just got on with it and it’s only in hindsight you realise how exceptional that is.

I wouldn’t change growing up with police for the world and in so many ways it has defined our family – for the absolute best.

I am 36 years old and not one of those years has been spent without policing in my life.

Today, in some ways, that will change, dad. And in other ways, nothing will change at all.

Because though you have retired, you will always be part of the police family. That never goes away. Besides, you’ve raised two kids who were so impressed they joined police forces of their own.

And above all else, we are so incredibly proud of you, Sergeant Webster – more than you will ever know – and that won’t change once you take the blue shirt off for the very last time.

“Question not, but live and labour
Til yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another’s trouble,
Courage in your own.”

– Adam Lindsay Gordon

It will be alright with me.

For the first time in what seemed like months, I was back at my old local – the Palace Hotel in Camberwell. I’d debated whether or not to head down there but eventually guilt won out. If you’re gonna get your heart broken then you may as well watch it happen on the big screen. I missed the start of the first quarter but a quick score check showed Port were about five goals up early.

Ah, the sweet smell of false hope in the brisk August air.

I settled in with a pint of Coke and realised I was pretty much the only one there watching the game. A well dressed man walked in and asked if they were going to show the Bledisloe Cup, then stormed out when staff said no. I breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute there I thought they’d have no compunction in kicking off the game of who could basically care less between two interstate teams no Victorian gives a fuck about. But they didn’t, and I stayed.

There was a lot of heat in the first quarter and a new record for the most 50m penalties given in a quarter was set (six). Players pushed and shoved, drove in hard on tackles and generally just niggled the hell out of each other. There was a lot of words exchanged millimetres from opposition players’ faces. Port finished the first quarter ahead and the tussles continued as the players walked off at quarter time, with even the runners getting involved at one stage.

I’ll make the point now – in a year of atrocious umpiring, this was the worst performance from those grubs that I’ve seen all year. ALL YEAR. Horrendous.

The next two quarters see-sawed – I think Port was often the better team and we played a nice line in getting the ball into our 50m repeatedly, however we just could not get the job done. A lot of sloppy kicking cost us. Alternatively, the Giants just had to make the break out of defence and all of a sudden they seemed to have free men everywhere in their attacking 50. The wrestling and scrapping slowed down as the focus sharpened on actually winning the game, not just the fight. These were two teams that had a fair bit to play for on either side – Port for pride and to rise to coach Hinkley’s challenge to stand up and be counted, the young guns from GWS looking to make their first finals series. Despite Port putting on a couple of handy leads, it was the Giants who went into the three quarter time break two points up.

So many times during that last half I looked at the clock and wondered how long I would have to stay here to be considered a respectable supporter. How long I would have to watch this for before my heart broke apart again. I remember looking at the match clock as the siren went for the fourth and dreading the fact I still had 30 painstaking minutes to go. I’d forgotten how awful seasons like this felt. I imagined that all I was doing was waiting for the disappointment of false hopes to hit again.

Something happened to that Port Adelaide team that walked out on to Adelaide Oval for that final quarter – they actually came to play. And play they did. They were running through the centre in waves with the same ease as last year or even 2013 and actually kicking goals. They were hard at the ball and I swear, their tackling was as intense as ever I’d seen it. I could almost feel their desperation. Chad Wingard stood up with a couple of magic goals and even the much maligned John Butcher got one. But it was the youngster Brendon Ah Chee that seemed most determined to make his presence known. Four years on our list, debuted in the AFL earlier this season – this was his breakout game for sure. Someone commented that he seemed to be made of “both cement and helium” because he laid tackles that drove opponents into the ground like nobody’s business then floated up high for a screamer of a mark. Kicked a pretty bloody handy goal too. (Let’s not even start on how amazing his handballing is.) Hopefully the kid has nothing but big things ahead of him.

I resisted the urge to bite my fingernails off and as we continued to heap on goals with little answer from the Giants, I finally conceded we might grab this one. Even an old bar fly came to chat to me, correctly ascertaining I was a Port fan before telling me he was glad we were knocking GWS out because he supported the Cats and wanted them to make the finals. Thanks mate. I was probably louder than I usually am but this was important for us. Despite everything, despite how incredibly disappointing this season has been in a year where we expected so much, Port showed they can still come up with a gutsy effort when it counts.

We never, ever give up, as they say. Still an important part of what makes us tick.

It’s been the topsiest and turviest of years, both in AFL and life. It’s almost like whatever I least expected has come to pass and things I felt so sure of have been called into question. A mate told me that this week he was expecting a happy post after the game following the unrelenting glumness of the past couple. Let me tell you, on Friday afternoon I wasn’t so sure. It was not a weekend I was looking forward to. But if there’s something I’ve learned recently it’s this: I have a wonderful family, brilliant friends, a job I love and a life I’m happy with. All it took was two hours on a Saturday afternoon to remind me I’ve also got a football team I’m proud of.

What My Friends Think About Footy

Just a couple of mates, discussing the football.