Port Adelaide

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.



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.

websters swans

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.”

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.


Sun down.

boak GC

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.

monfries ah chee hawthorn

“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.

It will be alright with me.

hinkley and ah chee

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.

20 Questions.

port v dogs

It seems every week has to end with a dust up at the moment, no matter how good or bad the lead up is. This one was a cracker; raised voices outside a hotel in Brunswick after 12 hours spent in the company of each other and a never ending stream of beers and ciders. To be honest I’m not even sure where it came from. A comment that escalated after I couldn’t provide an answer and suddenly he’s storming off into a taxi leaving me standing on the side of the road wondering what the hell just happened.

“I hate people,” I told him, several times, “they are the absolute worst”. He questioned why and asked me what had specifically happened to me. At least I think that’s how it started, everything is fuzzy at that point. I told him I’ve watched from the sidelines a parade of the worst of human nature for the past nine years but the answer wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t give an example specific to me and if I’m being honest, there really isn’t one. There’s never been something so traumatic in my life that someone has done to me that I’ve been absolutely shattered. Not to say there hasn’t been awful things happen but I couldn’t pinpoint a specific tragedy that lead to my sweeping statement about human nature.

I think I stuck my tongue out at him at one point in a poorly chosen attempt at levity but it didn’t work.

Earlier he had suggested I was “hard to get to know” and I was horrified. He later described it as “distressed”. I told him, in an early afternoon phone call designed to smooth things over and ensure the friendship was repaired, that I thought there was an element of truth in his statement and that’s probably why I reacted the way I did. He also said I asked a lot of questions and he’s never really had someone do that. I wish I had of asked if that was a bad thing.

It’s disconcerting to have someone you’ve known for such a relatively short period of time nail some aspect of your personality that you hadn’t really considered. It’s equally disconcerting to repeatedly hear them give opinions on things and think, “fuck, that’s exactly what I think”.

I don’t think he hates people though.

I wouldn’t suggest I hated them but there wasn’t a lot to love about Port Adelaide yesterday. We’d beaten the Bulldogs earlier in the year but were nowhere near favourites to repeat it in the second half of the draw. It was a small crowd at Etihad and I barely saw any of my people there as we walked into the stadium. Possibly not the best of omens, especially given were a team that could ‘technically’ still make the finals.

All up we were woeful. Coach Ken Hinkley later described it as their worst ever loss in his time at the club, not because of the score line but due to the fact we didn’t bother to show up to play. For a proud club whose motto is “we never ever give up” it cut pretty deep.

We gave up. No two ways about it.

I watched the game from high on the third level with my friend, berating him for clapping the Bulldogs goals. Traitor. As it wore on I realised that as much as I might want to leave I would need to stay and suffer through all of this or I would never hear the end of it. I think I’ll file it away for the next time we’re successful – I will be able to sit there and say I was there the day we gave up against the Western Bulldogs at Etihad. I can talk about how much it hurt and how good it feels now those days are behind us.

Later on in the night we had a discussion about whether it’s worse to have a fantastic season and just miss out at finals or whether losing all year is harder. Having lived through both Port Adelaide eras now I’d say the latter is harder, by far. So I’m going to fold this season up and put it in my back pocket and pull it out occasionally during those good times for some perspective. Because I know those good times are coming, they have to be.

There’s been a lot to think about today. Do I really hate people? In an exceptionally broad sense I find them frustrating and disappointing and awful at times but perhaps I can concede I’m overstating things when I say “hate”. Am I hard to get to know? I’m very good at banter and humour but I struggle with talking about personal things. I feel like if I tell someone something then I give away a little piece of myself that I can’t get back. It’s easier not to be exposed.

This afternoon I got a message from a mate asking if I as thirsty because they were heading to a pub in Fitzroy. I replied, saying I was hungover as fuck but I could do with a Coke and the company. So I went and it turned out to be the best decision I could have made. We had a brilliant time, telling stories and laughing until I could barely breathe. They had a girl there with them that he grew up with and we hit it off superbly immediately – it was like we should have been friends for years and years. I thought again about the concept of being “hard to get to know” and how you can feel an immediate kinship with someone you have only just met. Imagine missing out on all these good people for no good reason. I’ve always considered myself to be an optimist but perhaps it was time to get back to walking the talk.

I asked him last night how we had known each other for so long but had only recently become friends. Then I told him that our friendship made me think it was nice to know there are still good people out in the world, even if you haven’t met them yet.

Maybe people aren’t all bad. And maybe some things are worth the risk and the effort. “We never ever give up” as they say.

Something for Port Adelaide to think about too.

Everything shines just like a postcard.

matt white

Some weeks are just the worst. Nothing goes right, from the second they start until the moment you shove them out the door on a Sunday night. This week has been one of those for me.

It actually started on a Saturday, with the news my brother had been involved in a serious collision. The horror and shock of it all took a few days to settle in; it just didn’t feel quite real on that cold Saturday night. Sunday went past in a blur given I had a series of existing commitments to keep me occupied and by the time Monday afternoon arrived, I was feeling it. I begged off work and used some flex time on Tuesday to have a day off, a day where I drove to the beach in Torquay and did nothing but think, walk and eat caramel slice. It was the best kind of day to have when you’re worried and I thought it would see me through.


The end of the week bought an incredibly emotionally trying job at work and involved me making some decisions I still haven’t reconciled myself to. It’s funny, the rational side of my brain knows I had no other option and placed in the same position again I would make exactly the same choice. But it doesn’t mean I feel comfortable about it, no matter how much I turn it over and over and over in my mind. I wish it would have been different.

It was a full moon this week and what they say is absolutely true – it always brings out the worst in human nature.

Friday brought an awkward series of moments with a friend. Things could barely get any worse and honestly, the only thing that was holding me together was running it off every night. Music playing through my headphones as I cut laps on dark deserted streets, past mansions lit up to illustrate lives I would never have.

“Feel it coming in the air / Hear the screams from everywhere / I’m addicted to the thrill / It’s a dangerous love affair / Can’t be scared when it goes down / Got a problem tell me now / Only thing that’s on my mind / Is who’s gonna run this town tonight…”

Football was something to both look forward to and dread this week. It would be something of a distraction of course, but the way Port Adelaide’s season was going meant this could end very, very badly. The Tigers got up over Hawthorn on Friday night in something of an upset. Melbourne beat Collingwood. The Gold Coast drew with West Coast. Jesus. This could go either way.

On Saturday my brother was discharged from hospital and suddenly everyone knew what had happened after he posted details on Facebook. I’d been very quiet, telling only three people, because despite everyone’s best intentions I knew I wouldn’t want to talk about it over and over. I’ll deal with it in my own way, thanks.

And yet it was a couple of small moments of kindness from a few people that got me through mostly. A message or a call or a hug when I least expected it and most needed it.

I worked all weekend and made plans to watch the Port Adelaide v St Kilda game from the comfort of my desk. What a treat that would be for my colleagues. I turned it on at 1.10pm and prepared for the worst. I cannot say that I expected a 63-point win but it was grubby and sloppy. At times we showed flashes of the real Power but then we’d stuff it up by overcooking handballs or some incredibly poor kicking. The skills level across both sides was mediocre for much of the game and despite that hefty scoreline, it felt painful to watch at times.

Ollie Wines dislocated a shoulder. Chad kicked a couple. Robbie Gray turned on an absolute belter. Boaky had another brilliant captain’s game. I loved seeing Matty White back in the side.

It’s nice to still be on the winner’s list, though this season has been hopeless and hope less at times.

Of course, my perfect week had to end with a stand up row on Sunday afternoon. Voices were raised. It was an argument where I knew I was right but I wouldn’t win, and yet I had it anyway knowing how futile it would be. Excellent. It was really all I needed to finish up.

As I was getting ready to leave he said to me, “You’ve really worked on your tact.” My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”, I questioned. “No,” he replied and shook his head with a half smile.

I walked out, ready to run the week behind me and make a fresh start. Thank God I’ll never have to live this one again.

Get lucky.


I am the only Port Adelaide supporter I know. I’ve met other fans over the years but I’ve never had a Port friend that I could go to games with or sit with for hours over a beer discussing the fortunes of our team. I’ve always been a bit of a novelty (in more ways than one, I’m sure). As the bio says, I’m a New South Wales girl who lives in Victoria and barracks for a South Australian team. The “makes sense” I write at the end is clearly sarcasm of the highest order.

Usually I’m happy to go to games alone and will just sit restlessly somewhere near my people. This time though I managed to rope in a couple of friends to come along and I was seriously looking forward to the night, even though a Port Adelaide v Essendon game held all the promise of being as interesting and skill laden as the Benalla v Violet Town reserves. Both mates were Bombers fans, country boys, decent people with a good sense of humour who like a beer. The only difference was one I’ve been friends with for nearly 15 years while the other has been a mate for only really about six weeks. This should be fun.

Of course because this was the only time I’ve managed to drag friends along to a game this lovely lady called me up and offered me corporate box tickets. Which I had to decline because, well, it just wouldn’t be the done thing to ditch your mates.

We started off the night at a pub across the road from Etihad Stadium, my old mate and I catching up and keeping one eye on the Richmond v Fremantle game as we sipped our beers. Despite being friends for so long it was the first time we’d actually ventured to the football together. He’s naturally a bit of an introvert but I was cautious that a few beers in he might unleash. I also warned him about my new mate and said I had no idea which way he was going to go so if it got embarrassing then we’d just go to the toilet at quarter of half time and never come back. New mate is a bit of a smart arse, possibly more so than me. When I’d asked him what sort of person he was at the footy he replied, “Mature, modest, witty etc. I’ll let you fill in the blanks”. I tell you what, I could fill in the blanks and I was worried they weren’t going to be complimentary.

Eventually the three of us united and after exchanging the appropriate introductions and pleasantries headed off to buy our tickets. Etihad confuses me, I always end up somewhere I think I’m not supposed to be and Saturday night was no different. We were in a carpeted bar, drinking more beers and talking shit. I reckon I spilt about a third of mine but not to worry. Before we knew it the siren had sounded and the quarter had started so we made our escape to find seats.

For a game between two teams languishing at the bottom of the ladder it did its best to stay entertaining. Wingard almost took mark of the year and the goals were flowing fairly freely in both directions. Even the three of us managed to behave ourselves. I’m a nervous football fan and my natural exuberance tends to go out the door a bit when I’m at the game. The pair of them were pretty quiet too, though later I found out it was more likely because they’d been bordering on hypothermia for most of the night. (On the other hand I am from Goulburn where it is, to use a particular turn of phrase, “fucking cold and windy” all through winter. Also I’m tough.) It was the four middle aged Port Adelaide supporting women in the row in front of us that provided the most entertainment and probably the least insight on the game.

I have a bit of a thing about mobile phones when I’m doing things with people. Real people = real conversations and I always put the phone away. After going to get beers, coffee and food at half time – and running my trusty “do I have anything on my face?” joke with a giant smear of mustard across my cheek – I checked my mobile mid-way through the third quarter. Three missed calls and two messages asking me to call dad urgently. A message from my brother in Canada asking me to call my parents urgently. Shit. This is not likely to be good. You don’t leave messages like that for anyone who’s part of a police family. I bolted down the stairs and started calling, my dad answering with the news my brother had been involved in a serious collision. He was riding his scooter and the car opposite was indicating a right turn before the driver changed their mind and went straight. My brother had begun the turn and was collected, left sprawled on the road with the bike in disrepair. Mum and dad were at the hospital with him now. He’d been wearing his full face helmet so a CT scan was only a precaution, but turns out he’d broken his foot and his upper arm. His back hurt and they were worried about the potential for him having cracked vertebrae, though it turned out to but three broken ribs instead.  He could still move everything, which was the best part.

They don’t call motorcyclists ‘temporary citizens’ for nothing. He’s so bloody lucky.

I walked back to my seat in shock and I’m not really sure I processed it very well. I started watching the game again. I stopped drinking. We were all fairly silent. To be honest it didn’t seem quite real.

Port got ahead in the final quarter and Bomber-turned-Power player Paddy Ryder kicked a couple of match winning goals for us while the crowd booed him like he was Adam Goodes at a Hawthorn match. I remember reading something years ago that Aaron Hamill said after he left St Kilda to play at Carlton. “Why wouldn’t you want to be booed?” he said. “Why would you want to leave a place with everyone’s best wishes?” I think in context that’s so right – you want people to be disappointed that you’re not part of their club any more. Travis Boak had the ultimate captain’s game, leading by example and finishing with a couple of his own. We weren’t pretty, not by any stretch of the imagination, but we got there by 13 points. Essendon coach James Hird later said that Ryder had had a “lucky night” and had really no impact on the game until the end. Maybe, but he had an impact when it counted. You’re officially one of us now, Paddy.

After the final siren sounded and me and the two (by now) very cold boys stood up, we listened to the Port Adelaide song boom around the ground. Both of them agreed it was a terrible song but I don’t care, I’ve never tired of hearing it. We left, slowly and quietly descending the stairs with the other fans and then getting lost in the spill of people across the bridge to Southern Cross Railway Station. “What are you guys doing now?” my new mate asked and I told him I just wanted to go home and call my parents. Understood. We said good bye and he left to catch a train back to his hipster suburb and probably a few extra pieces of warm clothing or a heater. My old mate tried to convince me to have one more beer while the human traffic wanting to ride the trams dispersed but I just wasn’t up for it.

I sat on the 109 tram home, my head propped against the glass as I watched the suburbs of my adopted city flash by. Football and family and friends and just… life. It never turns out quite how you think, never goes how you expect. I still end up being surprised after 36 years.

And a “lucky night” in more ways than one, for more than a few people.


Adelaide Oval Walsh tribute

What a tough week it’s been in football.

At some point I had to make the decision to begin to disengage from all the Walsh tributes or else face the prospect of remaining in a downward spiral of sadness. Nothing I read or watched was going to change the situation and so many wonderful things had already been said about the man who was such a huge part of the Port Adelaide Football Club for so many years. It was time to take a step back. Otherwise I feel like it just becomes ‘tragedy porn’ and the meaningfulness starts to wane.

Of course, there’s been a separate sort of heartache when it comes to Port Adelaide this year and that’s been their repeated on field poor performance. Week after week after week I’ve gotten my hopes up only to have them dashed, usually in the worst possible way. A Thursday night game against Collingwood at home at Adelaide Oval – with the teams sitting 12th and 5th respectively – didn’t fill me with any great sense of anticipation. Even though this was going to be the club’s first match since Walsh’s death, I honestly just couldn’t bring myself to watch it. This game was going to mean a lot to us and it would just hurt too much to lose.

So I didn’t. I accepted an invitation from a friend to have dinner at one of our favourite places in the western suburbs and caught up on all the things happening in each other’s lives. Football barely rated a mention until around 8pm when I asked if she minded if I checked my phone to see what the score was. She said that was fine so I pulled it out and noted we were 26 points up in the first quarter. Not that that filled me with any great sense of hope or satisfaction, not this year. Though a small part of me wondered if the ‘good’ Port Adelaide had shown up to play.

We finished dinner, said our goodbyes and I got in the car to drive home along the Tullamarine Freeway. I listened to music the whole way, resisting the urge to turn the radio on and listen to the game. I stopped at the supermarket and checked my phone again; surprisingly we were still up. I put the phone away and did my shopping. Drove home and pulled into my drive way. Checked again. By that stage there were encouraging messages from my family and friends about how well Port were doing.

I walked upstairs and my phone pinged with a message from my brother that there was just two minutes to go. Port were four points up. I paced the room and made the executive decision that no matter how much this might end up hurting me, I was going to watch until the end. Collingwood scored a point to bring it back to within three. Kicks went repeatedly into their 50 and Broadbent stood up with some calming marks. The clock continued to count down and time never felt so slow… Three points.

I stood there, just a metre in front of the television, willing the unthinkable to happen. Bracing myself for the worst.

Then the final siren went, the rain came down again and I burst into tears.

That one’s for you Walshy.

Watching Ollie Wines sob on the field only to be comforted by captain Travis Boak nearly broke my heart. You forget he’s just a kid. Even Kenny struggled through his post match interview and I could hear the emotion in his voice. Life just doesn’t seem fair at times; it isn’t fair. Not by a long shot.

As good as that win was, we saved the best until last. The lights of Adelaide Oval went down and the most beautiful tribute went up. And as it played on the screen people shone their own lights in a mark of respect and remembrance for someone who still had so much to offer our game.

We never carried days on our own…” Last night we all carried our grief together. And at that moment I knew that it wasn’t alright, but we were going to be OK.

wines and boak