Champions All: A History of AFL/VFL Football in the Players' Own Words by Matt Zurbo

Other relevant books by Matt Zurbo I Love Footy (Windy Hollow Books)

Echo Publishing A division of Bonnier Publishing Australia 534 Church Street, Richmond Victoria 3121 Australia www.echopublishing.com.au Copyright Š Matt Zurbo, 2016 All rights reserved. Echo Publishing thank you for buying an authorised edition of this book. In doing so, you are supporting writers and enabling Echo Publishing to publish more books and foster new talent. Thank you for complying with copyright laws by not using any part of this book without our prior written permission, including reproducing, storing in a retrieval system, transmitting in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or distributing.

First published 2016 Edited by Rob Bath Page design and typesetting by Shaun Jury Cover design by Josh Durham, Design by Committee Front cover illustration by Jamie Cooper, JCAP Australia The cover image features a 20 Ă— 15 cm pencil and ink wash sketch of Gavin Wanganeen. The artist depicted him on the burst in the midst of a powerful electric storm on a cold winter night. It was created as part of a visual concept proposal put together for his retirement.

Typeset in Sabon and Kievit Printed in Australia at Griffin Press.

Only wood grown from sustainable regrowth forests is used in the manufacture of paper found in this book.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available on request. @echo_publishing @echo_publishing facebook.com/echopublishingAU

This book is dedicated to . . .

Pete Featherston Otway Districts FNC Lilydale FC The Bats Pub FC Robbie Flower, Tom Hafey, Billy Williams and anyone who ever pulled on a boot.

Publisher’s Note The vast majority of the content of this book comprises direct-speech quotations from taped conversations with 170 interviewees, recorded in hundreds of sessions at various locations over several years – and transcribed by 11 different people using various devices and programs. You will find visual variety in the printed record of speech as no attempt has been made to correct bad grammar or clean up salty language.

Contents The opening bounce . . . 1 1. After the bloodbath 3 Billy Williams 2. First kick 11 Toy soldiers – Wayne Harmes 18 3. Beginnings 19 4. Recruiting 26 Ten days in jail – Robbie McGhie 35 5. First game 37 6. Small towns 45 Russell ‘Hooker’ Renfrey 45 7. Training 55 8. The 1900s–40s x 1900–40s The clubs 59 40s Grand Finals 65 Players on players 40s 68 Jack Dyer 69 40s – The moments 70 9. The 1950s 74 50s The clubs 74 50s Grand Finals 94 Players on Players 50s 100 John Coleman 102 50s – The moments 104 10. Injuries 111 11. Violence 117 Neville Bruns on Leigh Matthews 127

12. Supporters 131 Keeping in touch – Kevin Murray 138 13. One game 140 Denis Hughson 140 14. Gentleman champion 143 Ken Fraser 144 15. Vietnam 152 Keith Gent 152 16. The fringe player 156 Owen Madigan 156 17. The 1960s 165 60s The clubs 165 60s Grand Finals 186 Players on players 60s 198 Norm Smith 200 60s – The moments 202 Len Smith’s Notes 207 Graham Corns on Vietnam 208 Rivalries 60s 209 Polly versus Big Nick 209 Norm versus Len Smith 211 18. The 1970s 212 70s The clubs 212 70s Grand Finals 238 Players on players 70s 255 Graeme Richmond 260 Brent Crosswell 262 Vinnie Catoggio on Brian Douge 263 Dennis Munari on Slug Jordon 263 Vinnie Catoggio on David Parkin 265 70s – The moments 265 Percy and Gags 271 The Windy Hill Brawl 273

Rivalries 70s Carlton versus Richmond Knights versus Vander Haar

274 274 275

19. Grounds 277 20. Indigenous affairs 282 21. Interstate footy 287 22. Religion 293 The Holy Grail – Dale Weightman 295 23. The Club Soldier 296 Ian Paton 296 24. The crowd favourite 309 Robbie Flower 309 25. The defender 319 Mark Yeates 319 26. The game changer 332 Silvio Foschini 332 27. The legend 339 Ron Barassi 339 28. The 1980 351 80s The clubs 351 80s Grand Finals 388 Players on players 80s 398 Doug Hawkins 402 Kevin Sheedy 403 Stewart Loewe on Warren Jones 405 Lazar Vidovic on Tony Libratore 406 80s – The moments 407 Pagan’s Under 19s 413 Ken Hunter on depression 414 The Battle of Britain – David Rhys-Jones 416 Rivalries 80s 417 Hawthorn versus Essendon 417

29. The 1990s 419 90s The clubs 419 90s Grand Finals 460 Players on players 90s 472 Mick Martyn on Tony Libratore 478 Wayne Schimmelbusch on Wayne Carey 478 Coach on coaches – Stan Alves 480 90s – The moments 480 Steroids – Justin Charles 486 Rivalries 90s 487 Carey versus Jakovich 487 Western Derbies 488 30. The Hard Man 490 Andy Goodwin 490 31. Broken Bones 501 Matt Febey 501 32. The rubber man 510 Gavin Wanganeen 510 33. Family 517 Mum – Michael O’Loughlin 522 34. Philosophies 523 35. Media 532 KROCK – Brian Brushfield 535 36. That Bit Extra 537 Not a coincidence – Damian Monkhorst 541 37. Pay 542 38. The 2000s 545 00s The clubs 545 00s Grand Finals 575 Players on players 00s 592 2000s – The moments 596 Bali – Mick Martyn 601

Rivalries 00s 603 The Selwoods 603 Showdowns 603

39. The 2010s 605 10s The clubs 605 10s Grand Finals 627 Players on players 10s 631 10s – The moments 633 Peptides 637 40. Premierships 639 41. Work and Family 642 Mark Ricciuto 642 42. The mature recruit 650 Dean Towers 650 43. Rivalries 657 Ablett – Senior versus Junior 657 44. Brownlows 659 Tommy Hafey on the medal 662 45. Umpires 663 46. International football 665 47. Retiring 669 Shot Bodies – Scott Cummings 669 48. The modern game 674 49. A nation’s game 677 Allen Aylett 677 50. What footy means . . . 687 They played footy 691 Contributors index 691 Acknowledgements 703

The opening bounce . . .

There I was, standing in Melbourne’s suburbs, on the porch of dual North premiership back pocket, Ross Henshaw, sixpack in hand. Next thing I knew, I was in Adelaide, having lunch with Mark bloody Ricciuto! Getting ripping drunk with Mark Yeates; visiting Francis Bourke and Ken Fraser; hanging out at a Perth café with Shaun McManus, standing in front of the great Noel McMahen, Ken Hands and John Kennedy Senior.

Eating lunch with Vinnie Catoggio, talking forever with Simon Black . . .

All up, about 171 players. My pitch was simple, because it was true, always: I’m a bush worker from north-east Tassie who writes at times and is currently playing his thirty-third season of senior footy. I’m sick to death of reading the history of the VFL and AFL according to historians, journalists, spin doctors, ghostwriters. I want to compile a book that’s entirely, onehundred per cent in the words of the players and coaches that were actually out there – one to four players from each generation of each club, from the 1940s to now – getting not only great personal stories but a sense of a club’s culture. And of the game: what’s changed, what’s stayed the same.

A history drenched in the mud and blood of footy. The glory and the heartache. Its honesty. The stories. No notes, no agendas; just two footballers talking, often for hours.

Then it was as simple as working my arse off in the bush, to pay for three years of trekking across the country to meet all these blokes; to convince the famous ones to tell me something real; to convince the not-so-famous they had every damn bloody right to be in a book alongside Roos and Sheedy and Skilton and Barassi.

I’ve spent most of my nearly 600 games so far as a backman with, I guess, a backman’s mentality. A book full of Brownlow winners and 300-gamers would be boring. They’re a huge 1

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part of footy’s story, but only a part. I wanted a book about football. All of it. Aussie Rules at its top level. The legends, but also the rugged back-pockets, the blokes cut down by injury, careers cut short by Vietnam, the silk, the grunt, the gentlemen, the thugs, the cult figures, the supporters, the families, the grounds, their smells, the anger. The top teams, the wooden spooners. Life stories. The book is about people.

Often two players would have totally different opinions of the same event, coach or fellow player. Neither would be wrong. The view of some players by their fellow players is not always what’s thrust on us by the media. The stuff many books miss, but makes history real – the unsung heroes and hilarious backroom tales – was everywhere. Listening to and trading stories as any bloke would tell them . . . to me that’s history. That’s footy.

The main thing I had to say to each of these strangers, a few I’m lucky enough to now call mates, was: ‘I’m doing this book out of love and respect for the game’.

Now it’s done I’m happy to go back to bush work, the odd farm job and to keep playing bush footy until the body finally packs up. Which hopefully will be never.

VFL/AFL footy is a thing of dreams, broken dreams, adventure, pain, incredible sacrifice. Anyone who’s played even one game at that level is a champion.

Matt Zurbo

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After the bloodbath Billy Williams I grew up in Newport, which was a wharfie suburb back then, during the War, and before that the Depression. There was no West Gate Bridge. My father steered the punt across the Yarra, floating cars to and from work, mostly in industrial Port Melbourne. He did that for forty years. We called it a ferry, even though it was pretty much a float on a cable, he had to have a sea captain’s license. The middle of the river, where all the tanker ships came in, was considered international waters.

My father never liked football. He banned me from playing.

But I loved it, almost from when I was in nappies. Football, football, football. I used to sneak over the back fence and train and play for Spotswood without him knowing. Then sneak back over again. He never watched a game throughout my career, which was a pity.

Growing up, I was very good mates with Billy Hutchison, the Essendon rover. He was a great player. Brownlows, premierships, the works. We went to school together in Williamstown, and hung out and got into trouble and had fun. Then, when I went to Spotswood to play junior footy, there was Charlie Sutton! The western suburbs were just great like that. Full of talent.

Charlie Sutton should have played for South, but the year he was ready for league football his family ‘conveniently’ moved to Yarraville! Footscray’s area.

I had a run around with Carlton when I was a kid, but didn’t like it. They were cliquey. They all seemed to go against the new boys. I was still zoned to South. After that I had no problems with South when they said they wouldn’t let me go.

I went down to the Lakeside Oval. And that’s where it started.

The first time I ran out on the training track with all those legends, Laurie Nash, Jim Cleary, Herbie Matthews, Jack 3

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Graham – he was known as Gentleman Jim – Oh, it was marvellous! There were lots of good kids. I felt pretty lucky to get my shot. A lot of the players were fit due to most of them working hard, physical labour for 45 hours a week. It helped their football.

When you stripped down to train and ran out onto that ground, the South men were that good with one another. They were terrific people. I’d go to put on my training socks and they’d replaced them with socks with holes in them! (laughs) They’d all laugh, and I would too. As a kid, that stuff meant they were acknowledging me.

They couldn’t do that with my jockstraps. They already had holes in them!

There were twelve suburban grounds back then, but I loved playing at Lakeside Oval. It was a beautiful ground. The lake, the grandstand.

Big Jack Graham was playing his last year when I arrived.

He was a good knock ruckman and great mark. Strong. He wouldn’t clear a path for me, he’d get it himself! Bull Adams was the coach. He had played for Melbourne. He was a hard man, oh, shit yeah! He only told a boy once. If the boy didn’t do it, he was out.

One day, in the rooms at training, I asked Laurie Nash who he thought the greatest footballer was. He said, ‘I see him every day when I’m having a shave.’ (laughs) I had barracked for Carlton as a kid. I’d go to watch them.

All the players worked Saturday mornings. They’d catch the tram to the football with their kit bag. All us boys would rush up and say, ‘Mr Deacon! Can I take your kit bag?’, ‘Mr Savage!’ ‘Mr Mooring!’ We’d compete to be the one who carried it in for them.

We’d take it as far as the rooms, and the players, they got to know our names after a while. They’d scruff our hair and say, ‘Thank you Harry’, or ‘Thanks Leon’. My favourite player was Bob Chitty. Every week I’d run up and grab his kit bag and proudly walk beside Bob, get to the rooms and hand it to him. ‘Thanks little Billy.’

Off he’d go and play the game, and flatten someone. My 4

After the bloodbath

first year in league football I was 19, we made the Grand Final and Bob knocked me out in the first quarter.

It was a very wet and muddy day. Bob Chitty came in with the elbow and that was it. That was the start of the violence.

The Bloodbath, they called it. It was very sad.

Each team only had 19 back then, and we were already down a player. I had to stay in the forward pocket. I had no idea where I was. Then, soon, the same thing happened to poor Ron Clegg, Bob again, and he was put in the other forward pocket.

We were actually favourites. Big favourites. But we were bigger and slower than them. Clegg and I were the youngest.

Our pace was important. We were both out of the game by half time and the scores will show, Carlton ran over us.

We had our own tough man. Jack ‘Basher’ Williams. He flattened Chitty. He evened up. But it was too late. The damage was done.

The reason, I think, the fights broke out in the crowd was it was just after World War II. The MCG still had American soldiers camping there so the game was played at Princes Park.

All the South supporters, including a lot of ex-servicemen, had put a lot of money on us, and all the bookies were from Carlton. When Ron and I went down our supporters thought there might have been something between Carlton and the bookies. Whether there was or not, who knows? As the game slipped away, the fights around the ground were as bad as they were on the oval.

That was Chitty’s last season. He would have died not knowing the bloke he flattened was the same kid that would always carry his kit bag for him. I would have liked to have mentioned it.

Halfway through that year Carlton were seventh or eighth.

Then they started winning a whole lot of games towards the end of the year. It came down to the last round. Carlton were just out of the four. South were trailing Footscray all day. Then I got a kick in the forward pocket and slotted the goal. We got up! Thanks to that, Carlton scraped into the four ahead of Footscray and got home-ground advantage and beat us in 5

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the Grand Final. It was my fault! (laughs) The Bloodbath was my fault!

When I was doing my apprenticeship nobody had cars.

I used to ride on my pushbike from Newport to Sunshine and back every day. The roads were rough then, it was some distance.

I was a fitter and turner. I played for my Works. All the factories used to have teams. You couldn’t get a job unless you fronted for them. We’d play each other on Wednesdays, at Richmond, Spotty, Yarraville . . . And VLF on Saturdays. Those games were lots tougher than for South Melbourne. Some of them blokes didn’t care if they killed you! The umpires didn’t help much, either. They had themselves to look after. For three years I played two games a week. For my Works and South Melbourne.

It took until I was 26 to get a car. Going to the games on the trains or trams, if you were surrounded by your mob it was okay, a bit of fun. But if you were surrounded by the other lot it was endless banter.

I didn’t drink so we never really went to the functions. It was hard for Maurine, raising two young kids, there was a long time she couldn’t come to the football.

I wasn’t a fighter, but I chatted a bit. I was cheeky. If the umpires were wrong, I’d tell ’em! Didn’t get as many votes as I should. (laughs) I got to met Bob Pratt. He had a falling-out with the club, but came back in ’46 for one more year. We played a few games together. He was everything any other forward was. He was past his best, but in his day, oh, he could leap! He’d kick 100 to 120 goals and 90 points. If he was straighter he would have got 200. Imagine if he’d never spent those years away from South Melbourne!

While playing for South I got a fish and chip shop in Port Melbourne. The two were sort of affiliated. Both dockside suburbs. We put a photo of me playing in the window. It did a roaring business. On Friday’s there’d be a queue to get into the place. Billy Williams Fish & Chip Shop! There were no drink-driving laws then. The truck drivers would stop in with 6

After the bloodbath

their longnecks. Port was always tough. It all depended on how you got along. I never judged anybody, and had no problems.

There was a great rivalry between the Port Melbourne Football Club and Williamstown in those days. As big as anything in the VFL. We had all the painters and dockers, they had all the seaside workers. Their clashes were rugged!

Punt Road Oval was a nice oval to play on, but Richmond’s supporters were all mad. The supporters from every club were mad. It was marvellous! They’ll do anything for ya.

I was walking to Punt Road to have a game against Richmond, when a car pulls up. It’s Jack Dyer. He says, ‘Get in Bill, or you’ll be late for the footy!’ He won me on that. I never forgot it. I made sure I kept out of his way on the oval though. The big policeman, he’d knock anyone! (laughs) I guess I was known for my stab kicks. I’d try and drill it into them. One day Freddy Goldsmith kept dropping them. I said, ‘That’s it for you Freddy!’ (laughs) Not long after that he went to full-back and won a Brownlow!

He was a Spotty Boy, like me, too. So was John Heriot.

When you think of it, one little industrial suburb – yet it had three players in the Swans Team of the Century. That’s not including Billy Hutchison and Charlie Sutton. It was such a strong club.

There was a divide between Catholics and Protestants at South. Not as bad as it was before the war. Maurine was Catholic and I wasn’t. That’s why we didn’t baptise our children, so they could grow up to be whatever they wanted in life. The religious thing happened in most footy clubs as far as I know, but it wasn’t an issue for me, I barely noticed because I steered well clear of it.

My teammate, Basher Williams, was the same. We used to say we were brothers because we had the same surname. ‘Big brother, little brother.’ He was twice my size. A huge man.

Basher did boxing, he was a nasty bugger . . . Even at training, he said, ‘Billy, you get in my way out there and I’ll kill you!’

If the ball came between us, I’d step back and let him have it! (laughs) During games he was the one who always looked after me.

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Off the field, he was a thorough gentleman. We all swore like sailors, but if you did in front of a woman, he’d challenge you! I stayed friends with him right up until he died. Every team had a really tough player like Basher. Some had three or four.

I had concussion several times due to whacks behind the ball. Lou Richards wasn’t one of my favourites, and didn’t he know it! He got away with a lot. He was a dirty little footballer.

Tapping ankles and stuff. Whacks in packs when you weren’t looking. He was always sucking up to the umpire, talking to them so they wouldn’t report him. He was a clever little boy.

Playing at Victoria Park, no-one seemed to beat them. They had all these brothers! (laughs) The Twomeys and Richardses and Roses.

Bernie Smith from Geelong was always hard to play on.

He won a Brownlow, and deserved it. He ended up being my teammate in state footy.

When I played for Victoria we would take the train and play in South Australia, then keep going to West Australia. They were one-, two-week trips. Sometimes I’d be wing, sometimes rover. I kept getting in the team, played about ten games, so mustn’t have been too bad. Bobby Rose, Bobby Davis, Ron Clegg, Billy Hutchison, Charlie Sutton, John Coleman, Allan Ruthven, Bernie Smith, there were some great names in those games.

I played against and with some of the greatest rovers ever.

Ruthven was the best to me. From Fitzroy, the Gorillas. The Baron they called him. Baron Ruthven. South Australia beat us once. It wasn’t easy. The games were genuine.

You couldn’t afford to travel back then, not on a factory job and five pound a week match payment. Brisbane, West Australia, Tasmania, I was so lucky. Playing for Victoria let me see the country.

I stopped playing for South when I was 26 or 27. I wanted a bit of money out of football. I’d been there seven years, I had to think of my family. It’s just the way it was in those days.

I went to Williamstown as a playing coach in a swap with a policeman called Billy Young. We stayed close to home, in the wharf suburbs. Williamstown was good, but my wife, Maude, 8

After the bloodbath

got rheumatic fever. When she got out of hospital the doctors advised we move away from the sea.

Our family went to Pyramid Hill. Talk about the bush – the township would have only had 600 people. I was playing footy there, but there was no money, I was going to leave. The pub’s lease had come up, but nobody wanted it. So eight local farmers put in several hundred pounds each, a lot of money, and offered it as a loan, so I could buy the lease and stay. For the next thirty years I worked in hotels. That’s where I learned to drink! (laughs) It was a great start in life, through football.

I was lucky in my time at South. I was only there for seven years, yet managed to win three Best and Fairests and two goal kicking awards as a rover. Up there with Bobby Pratt! (laughs) When South went to Sydney we were all very much against it. Bill Collins led the Keep South at South movement. I pitched in however I could. Half the players wanted to go and half didn’t. Only social club members could vote. There would have only been three hundred. Two hundred or so would have been against it. When the vote came down, there were all these votes from people with Sydney addresses. The supporters had no say in it. Whether it was business interests, the league, or the club itself behind that, South moved to Sydney.

For the first four or five years they ignored their history.

They even talked about changing their jumper to NSW colours, two blues. They would have lost everybody in Melbourne.

Fortunately, they didn’t. And gradually started turning things around. Now, they’re just fantastic.

At the start of 2006 Sydney flew Freddy Goldsmith and I up to present the jumpers to the players at a big function. It was a great night.

Later that year the team made the Grand Final. Sydney were so good to us. They gave Maude and I complimentary seats and tickets to the after-game function. We got to meet the players. The Sydney Swans have been just terrific! Handwritten Christmas cards every year, even a Get Well letter for Maude when she was crook. They have fans for life with all my family.

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Once they started recognising their history they started winning.

What sums up the South Melbourne supporters was when I got a pub, the Morning Star, long after I’d finished playing there, they would all still come in at least once a week. Smokey Clegg in the back room, playing his ukulele, Bobby Skilton’s dad – Bobby Senior, Laurie Nash, a handful of South officials.

When they announced the Swans Team of the Century the club flew us up to Sydney. I went to the toilet when it was announced! Everybody’s standing and clapping and I’m in the dunny. I found out when someone congratulated me in the toilets! (laughs) They had a book with all our history, everybody was getting signatures. I looked around at Bobby’s table, and Bedford’s table. I had the biggest queue by a long way! Being the oldest, they all wanted to get my autograph before I carked it!

Me, little Billy Williams.

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First kick Between the ages of four and nine, I felt like a disappointment to my dad. Then I came home from Grade 3 one day, Dad’s making a cup of tea after work. He didn’t even look up, ‘How was school?’ Just going through the motions. I said, ‘Oh, normal stuff. Oh yeah, Glen Rigney brought his footy to school.’ And I felt his gaze. For the first time he interrupted what he was doing. He nearly over-poured his tea. ‘Really?! You played footy today? Tell me all about that!’ In that moment I was going to be the best footballer I could be.

Justin Charles, Footscray/Richmond ’89–98

30s Ray Stokes, Richmond, born 1924: It was the end of the Depression. The pulp mill was in full swing, the mines were going, there was work on the railways that fed them . . . Uncle Cole was a great player up north. When he’d come home he’d jump over the fence to kick in the paddock with me, so then Dad would jump over, then his other brother. Stokes on Stokes.

Footy was all we knew.

Noel Allanson, Essendon, born 1925: I grew up in Essendon.

Most of the players did. We’d just slip across to the reserve over the road with Basher Thor and Spud Tate, there were cracks in the surface, the grass grew long.

Noel McMahen, Melbourne, born 1926: One day my dad said, ‘Come in here’. We had a chip heater for the bath. He opened the back and said, ‘This is where your football boots are going if you ever pull out again!’ (laughs) From then on I was conscious of never being a squib.

Billy Young, St Kilda, born 1931: I used to kick goals between two trees on the farm, just clowning around. There were only four foot apart. The only way to get it through was to put a bend on it. That’s how I invented the banana kick.

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40s Tony Ongarello, Fitzroy, born 1932: There weren’t that many cars around in the mid 40s. Every night you’d all be out there, kicking a footy in the street. Footy, cricket, that’s what sport was – something played on the street.

Thorold Merrett, Collingwood, born 1933: I’d kick the footy at the cows, using it to round them up, like the dogs used to.

When I wasn’t taking care of the dairy I had no-one to kick with so Dad tied a tyre to the branch of a tree and that was my target.

Neil Roberts, St Kilda, born 1933: It’s about 1946, the soldiers had just come home from the war. This fellow had yellow skin (malaria), he looked a monster. He was wearing a blue and red jumper and was kicking a rather round ball. I said I just got kicked off the soccer pitch and he said ‘Well come play this game. This ball is nearly round.’ It was Stan Rule who was in the Melbourne ’46, ’48 premiership sides.

Brian Gleeson, St Kilda, born 1934: The war was on, petrol rations. My first school, it was really a little convent. 32 kids, all boys. A priest from the local parish would come out with a footy and kick with us.

Hugh Mitchell, Essendon, born 1934: The second the siren went about six of us would run off in six separate directions until one of us would yell, ‘I’ve found one!’ It was a footy record. We’d put an elastic band around it, and we’d kick the hell out of it on the ground because the Essendon players had just been on there.

Lindsay Fox, St Kilda, born 1937: My father was a truck driver, sold a bit of beer after hours. He’d get a loaf of bread, we kicked it in the house. (laughs) He’d show me, ‘That’s how you’ve got to hold it . . . That’s how you’ve got to kick it.’

Kevin Murray, Fitzroy, born 1938: I grew up in Fitzroy, it was working class, very rough. There were no junior teams, so our gang would rouse up a Collingwood gang that we had rivalries with. We’d meet on this patch of turf outside the baths called 12

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the Swamp. It was pretty rugged, not much grass on it, but you didn’t know any better, it was a way of life. We were all in the same situation, sons of boilermakers, factory workers. We’d kick the footy rather than fight.

Barry Cheatley, NM, born 1939: It was during the war years, so there was no electricity, or proper toiletry facilities, or anything like that. I only had one pair of boots, for school. So I belted in three stops around the side of each one and one in each heel, and played the other mob like that. I was so proud of them I wouldn’t take the stops out when I went to class.

50s Barry Richardson, Richmond, born 1946: Up until my teens I could do a dropkick much further with no shoes on. When my brother was away I’d always kick the ball up the hay shed, and take speckies as it rolled back down off the roof.

Doug Wade, Geelong/NM, born 1941: We had one football, which ended up twice the size of when we started. Dad used to kill animals on the farm to eat, we’d pick the fat from round the kidneys and rub it on the footy to waterproof it.

Dennis Munari, Carlton/NM, born 1948: We took it serious.

My neighbour and I set up a little box full of iodine, some bandages, a towel, our own little trainer’s kit, then go over to the high school to kick the footy.

Geoff Blethyn, Essendon, born 1950: There was this old bloke who used to drive around with a loose pile of yellow jumpers and organise junior games for all the kids of the area; Sydney McGain . . . Sydney had played for Essendon, then left over a pay dispute and gone to Fitzroy, then North. He’d fought in the war, was a pilot, had done all this other amazing stuff, yet all any of us knew of him was he was that old bloke who gave us our first taste of footy.

Malcolm Blight, NM, born 1950: My first footy was a rolled up sock with my brother, we couldn’t afford anything else.

I pinched my first real one at Woodville Oval. Sometimes, having a shot, the players would kick it over the fence. There’s 13

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a whole lot of kids there . . . I just bolted! Ran through the streets. (laughs) Footy was pretty important. I buried it in a wheat tin at home for six weeks, ’cause I thought the coppers were coming to get me!

Robbie McGhie, Footscray/Richmond/SM, born 1951: We had a gravel court and all the boys from the neighbourhood would kick a paper footy with a string around it, come home missing bark from landing on the rocks. Paper ball would kill your foot in the wet. Whenever there was a spare moment it was footy. In the dark, by street lights, nothing stopped us.

60s Merv Keane, Richmond, born 1953: I used to play a game every night after school, by myself. Being on the farm, there were a lot of gumtrees. So when the wind used to blow through them, that was the crowd noise. As they reached their crescendo, that’s when I’d swoop in . . . and the crowd responded!

Vinnie Catoggio, Carlton, born 1954: There was a grass area, we’d use the toilet block at one end as our goals, at the other end, for posts, we’d turn our bikes upside-down. We’d play for about three hours on a Sunday. Our quarters would be about 45 minutes, the scores would be 60 goals to 45 goals.

Robbie Flower, Melbourne, born 1955: Our house was on a fairly large block with a driveway around one side, so I used to set up a bucket in the backyard, then go around to the front yard, and kick a ball high over the house to try and get it in the bucket. As soon as I kicked it I would run down the driveway to see where they were landing.

Brian Brown, Fitzroy/Essendon, born 1957: My cousins and I would play lots of two-on-two in the paddocks. Tackling into cow pats and stuff like that. There were some cousins from the other end of the ridge a little older, they’d join in and we’d have some cracking games! Cows in the forward pocket.

Neville Bruns, Geelong, born 1958: We had this little fox terrier. I’d kick for goal, as far as I could, and it would chase after the ball, latching onto a small piece of its lacing and run 14

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it back to me . . . It was probably about all he could do that was useful, but for me it was magic!

Dale Weightman, Richmond, born 1959: I had three younger brothers, and one older, we had a small backyard. We used to play footy there until it was pitch black, couldn’t see. We’d be running into trees, fences, chairs. And because I was older, it was always me onto two – that’s where you learn.

Dennis Carroll, SM/Sydney: Ganmain and the surrounding area was full of Carrolls. I was one of eight. Six of those were brothers . . . The first game of Australian Rules I had . . . I was nine, the Carrolls played the rest. It was Under 15s, then there was another game for all those over that.

Doug Hawkins, Footscray/Fitzroy, born 1960: My upbringing was in the commission flats in Braybrook. We didn’t know what meal we’re going to have the next night but Mum always had something for us. We never went without. I always had my rubber red, white and blue footy or a plastic one. The rubber footy was better. It didn’t go down if you hit a piece of broken glass.

70s Brad Hardie, Footscray/BB, born 1962: John Todd came to our school when I was 10. He told us how he didn’t have anybody to kick with in his junior days. He use to go out and kick the ball at the lamp pole to try and improve his accuracy, so that’s exactly what I did.

Johnny Platten, Hawthorn, born 1963: Three bedrooms, six boys were in one room, three girls in the other and Mum and Dad in the other room. We did it tough . . . Being brought up like that was there were no frills about you. Fight for whatever is left over, and if you don’t eat it, someone else will. I was number 7. They used to kick the ball over the fence and I’d go running after it and I’d come back and they’d be eating my dinner!

Lazar Vidovic, St Kilda, born 1965: I grew up in the Carlton commission flats. You’d go out and play, have a kick, but the gangs would roll up when it was time to go in. You’d have to 15

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sit in the bushes for hours cos you’d get your head beaten up.

Eventually you’d see someone’s parents roll up, so you’d tack on, pretend you were one of their kids and sneak in with them.

Spiro Malakellis, Geelong, born 1968: My parents owned a fish and chip shop, me and my younger brother . . . we used to have Big M cartons and play on a very busy bitumen street, the goals would be two shop doors. People used to shake their heads in disbelief.

80s Glen Jakovich, WC, born 1973: My family’s Croatian. My father, Darko, was about 27 when he came over here . . . We begged him to play once the kids at school started throwing rocks at us for playing soccer. (laughs) Darryl Wakelin, St Kilda/PA, born 1974: I had a twin brother and an older brother on the farm. We had neighbours who were rivals. We’d play into the night on the gravel under the big thousand-watt light up on top of the windmill, because a day wasn’t long enough. The neighbours and us had some fair blues.

Scott Burns, Collingwood, born 1975: I started playing footy at six, in the Under 8s. Friday nights I would sleep in my kit.

So I’d have my socks, my shorts, my jumper on and my boots ready when I got up in the morning.

Peter Bell, Fremantle/NM, born 1976: Often, I would go out into the paddock by myself and play football; eighteen against eighteen. I memorised the players of all the teams, mainly the WAFL sides, and I’d umpire and commentate those games while I was playing, every player, every opponent, the man on the mark, all of them. I would spend every bit of daylight out there and just picturing the whole scene.

Michael O’Loughlin Sydney, born 1977: What I remember as a kid is barbecues with everyone kicking a footy . . . Backyards not being as big as they should be, yet everyone joining in – uncles, aunties, cousins whatever. As a little five, six, seven year old kid, you were out the back, behind 20 other kids. You 16

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mightn’t get it for an hour and a half, so when you did you had to make it count.

Simon Black, Brisbane, born 1979: We’d play a little game in the house, kicking the ball, breaking windows . . . Mum would always go bonkers!

Brad Ottens, Richmond/Geelong, born 1980: When I was about eight the old man brought a cattle station 300ks south of Katherine. It took a day to drive out to. Living out there I couldn’t play footy. I’d kick with him in the cattle yards.

Antoni Grover, Fremantle, born 1980: My first ever game I played for Balga Junior Footy Club and against North Innaloo . . . I kicked the only goal in a big loss. The boys were running around me and saying, ‘Man you kicked it over the post!’

Heath Scotland, Collingwood/Carlton, born 1980: I went to Trentham Primary School. It snowed up there . . . We’d have mini matches. The principal used to umpire us at lunchtime . . .

We’d come in soaked and have to stand in front of those wall heaters to dry off before we went into class.

Andrew Embley, WC, born 1981: Mum used to say that from a young age I had sports balls in my cot – footballs, tennis balls, anything. Other kids had teddy bears.

90s Campbell Brown, Hawthorn/Gold Coast, born 1983: The old man would be laying in bed, and I’d be handballing the ball over the top, we’d do 50 before you’d go to sleep for the night.

Kane Cornes, PA, born 1983: Chad and I would always play footy down the back lane . . . make all sorts of noise from early on in the morning, It used to really irritate the other residents and cause quite a few arguments, but Dad was always sticking up for us, backing us in. If we wanted to be outdoors playing sport, it was all right by him.

Matt Spangher, WC/Sydney/Hawthorn, born 1987: The garage door was the goals . . . The study was right next to the garage, once I progressed to Under 12s and leather footies I broke 17

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my fair share of windows. Rather than try and stop me, Dad taught me how to replace windows.

Toy soldiers Wayne Harmes, Carlton, born 1960 I grew up in Oak Park, a suburb of Melbourne . . . The famous coach Len Smith was my grandfather. Dad used to take me down to his place a lot. Len had a Hills Hoist and under it was two inches of the best cooch grass that you’d ever seen. They’d wind the hoist up as high as they could, spin it with me hanging on, and when he said, ‘Let go!’ he’d throw the footy and I’d have to let go and catch it, six or seven times in a row.

Every Thursday night I used to get Mum and Dad to take me to Poppa’s place in Essendon. It was a split level, down the bottom there was a 12×6 billiard table and a chest with six drawers on one side and six on the other. If Richmond were playing Essendon that week Len would say, ‘Go to drawer 3 and pull out the soldiers.’ Each drawer represented a team. There may have been 20 Essendon soldiers, and he would tell me where to place them on the field. It was my introduction to learn back pocket, fullback, half-back etc . . . . the positions.

The Richmond players used to come around to his place after training, so once I’d done the billiard table, I would go back to the front, and stand at the door opening it for them. Roger Dean would walk in and I would nearly faint! All these players – Paddy Guinane, Fred Swift, Mike Green . . . I was a six-year-old kid going – What the hell is going on here!? I’m meeting all my idols! To this day Roger Dean is still my favourite.

Once there were only two of them in the room – Roger and his son. I’ve walked in, looked at him and got down on my hands and knees! (laughs) I can just remember . . . thinking, ‘Shit these guys are all league footballers and that’s what I want to do one day.’

I never ended up as big as them though.

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