5 things not about Geelong, or, 4 things not about Geelong

1. It seems like West Coast are the only team who can beat Adelaide at the moment; that’s 3 out of the last 4 for the Weagles. I wonder if the wide open expanses of Subiaco stretched the Crows flooding-midfield game plan. I wonder if the same thing will happen at the MCG come September. Of course, it helps to have a midfield of Judd, Cousins, Kerr, Stenglein and Braun (with Chad Fletcher and Dean Cox to come back). And a game plan that calls for playing on at all opportunities. It may be worth remembering that this Eagles team came within 4 points of being crowned premiers last season, and may have gotten over the line had it not been for an unfortunate foot injury to Daniel Kerr in the first term. Speaking of Kerr, he might just be the best of the excellent WC midfield bunch. And he’s got moxie too (yes, I used the word moxie). When Cousins collected his Brownlow medal last year, one vote clear of Kerr, he was sporting a black eye that was apparently a result of an argument about Cousins’ sister, who Kerr is dating. So not only was Kerr pegging the captain’s sister but he had the audacity to belt him when he said something about it! Daniel Kerr, I like the cut of your jib.

2. You know, Denis Pagan just might be massively over-rated. Carlton, despite having the probable All-Australian full forward and centre half-back, now share the same record as Essendon. Other than Fevola and Whitnall, they also have Kouta, Lappin, Houlihan, Jarred Waite, Brad Fisher, Kade Simpson and no 1 draft pick Marc Murphy, yet, have they improved at all since he’s been there? No. If anything they’ve gotten worse. They looked a complete disaster on the weekend and it was only Fremantle’s ineptitude that kept the scoreboard as close as it was. Pagan may have even underachieved in his time at North Melbourne; in a period before flooding and the powerful Brisbane teams, (and when a terrible, terrible St.Kilda team made a Grand Final) he should have made more of the team he had. All they needed to do was kick it in the Duck’s general direction and he’d take care of the rest. He also had McKernan when he was unstoppable, Archer when he didn’t have a fork sticking out of him, Longmire before his confidence was shot, Stevens before the King ploughed his wife, Schwass before he was insane and Mick Martyn while he was still the best full-back in the business. Not to mention Anthony Rock, Alistair Clarkson, Dean Laidley, Craig Scholl, Darren Crocker, John Blakey, Ian Fairley, Matt Capuano, David King, Peter Bell, Byron Pickett, Martin Pike… Shit, I could have coached that team. And my instructions would have been, kick it to Wayne, everybody else get out of the fucking way.

3. Good to see someone do to Richmond’s backline what they should have been doing all season; abusing them. Joel Bowden shits me, he really does. Yes, he does well floating across half-back without an opponent, hitting targets coming out of defence, but, a full back he ain’t. One on one, Fraser tore him a new hole for Channel Ten’s commentary team to blow smoke up, or, when the pressure is on, for Patrick to hide in.

4. Well, I’m convinced; congratulations Melbourne, you’ve won me over. A good mix of height & speed, youth & experience, strength & skill, the Dees are looking the… What? Four weeks for both Pickett and Davey? Ah well, back on the doubters list for me. Interesting to see Cam Bruce line up on Brad Johnson, and beat him; when you can sacrifice your most creative midfielder to a deep defensive role and still win comfortably, (they kept the Dogs to 3 goals in the last 3 quarters) that’s a good sign. It was also interesting to see that physical pressure can successfully combat a running, skilful game plan like the one the Bulldogs employ.

5. The Geelong VFL game was televised on ABC on Saturday, and given the current short injury list down at Kardinia Park, the game featured many AFL experienced players. In fact, the Geelong forward line was pretty much the senior team forward line from earlier in the year. The Kent of Kinglsey kicked 6, while Nablett and Hank Playfair both got 3. Seeing as though the short-lived Matthew McCarthy era is clearly over, I wonder who’ll get the nod. Kent kicked well but needs the ball delivered on a string, Nathan has all the intangibles, as well as being a great kick for goal, but coasts too often, while Hank has great mitts, can’t kick and lacks confidence. I say, when in doubt go for the Ablett.

Chris Heffernan was there as well. He must be really struggling if he’s playing for the Essendon 2’s. Another great Sheedy signing. Put him up there with Justin Murphy and Scott Camporeale.

James Byrne is the captain of the Geelong reserves. This must be a dubious title to hold: They would obviously want someone who is a good player, but also someone who is going to be there every week. So you have to be good, but not that good. For the record he was best on ground.

Interestingly enough, the umpiring seemed a lot better in the VFL than the AFL. Perhaps this was because they let more go; it is easier to live with the odd missed free kick than with a shocker that wasn’t there, especially those given to Brad Johnson in the goal square.

I don’t think Koulouriotis will get back in the senior team; he gets plenty of ball but too often his disposal, and work without the ball, lets him down. Varcoe looks a little way off but did some exciting things. I think Blake will be fine; people, myself included, tend to forget that big guys take more time to develop. And Tom Lonergan looked pretty good playing at full back.

Finally, during the last quarter, someone’s dog ran onto the field at the Hickey stand end, chasing after the ball. Nick Batchelor narrowly avoided it with a beautiful sidestep. As Geelong moved the ball into attack the dog sprinted the length of the field, as if in support. The senior team probably could have used that mutt in Canberra.

Anyone got a light?



Captain: Channel 7 reckons they’re gonna put mini cameras in the goal posts next year and are also talking about bringing a cameraman on the field with a steady cam during breaks in play; presumably to get close ups of things like Daniel Motlop kicking for the game with both hands wrapped tightly around his own neck. It would be good if we could get some microphones out there too, pick up a few ‘Warnie-esque’ sledges. Either way I’m just glad I won’t have to listen to Steve Silvagni anymore. Seriously, do you think someone could tell him it’s Russell ROBERTSON, not ROBINSON, I mean, is that too much to ask?

Mrs. Watson: I think he knows perfectly well how to pronounce it; it just comes out that way. Milburn’s farewell bump left him with slurred speech. You should hear him try and say PIRATE SHIP. As far as Channel 7 go, I don’t really care what they’re planning to do with the AFL coverage next year, I’m won’t be watching a minute of it. I’d risk a ride home from the pub with Michael Gardiner before sitting through an AFL match commentated by that twat, McAvaney. Anyway, what good are cameras on the goal posts? I’d rather see Cheer Squad Cam; capturing every minute of the game from the depraved angle of the near-homeless. It could be a good career move for Aker: Channel 7, comments man from the cheer-squad. If we were lucky, all those ferals who he’d shaken his finger at during his many exaggerated post-goal celebrations would take the opportunity to get their own back. "Jason Akermanis, coming to you bruised, bloody, and recently made fingerless from the Collingwood cheer-squad. Back to you, Bruce."

Captain: Maybe Gardiner and SOS can car pool to Centrelink next season; Aker will probably find a job though. I tell you who I’d prefer above all of them, however; Graham Polak. Apparently he wants to leave Freo and I reckon there could be a vacancy opening up in the Geelong backline soon considering Tom Harley has played the last month with a fork well and truly stuck in him. To quote Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels, he’s a fucking liability. No doubt Lips will play him on Corey Jones this week, who will dutifully kick 4 in the first quarter.

Mrs. Watson: Ah, yes, the great Corey Jones; bounds around the ground like a fucking super hero but is basically super fucking useless. I can’t see Geelong losing this weekend, seriously. Nathan Thompson was talking up the Kangaroos’ torched club rooms as some sort of mega-incentive to kick the Cats’ ass, but I don’t think any of his team mates, or anyone at the club for that matter, really gives a shit about the fire at all. I mean, did you see those rooms? The clubrooms at the Goddamn Winchelsea Tennis Club are more impressive than that squatters’ shooting gallery. And if you wanna know who lit the match, look no further than Dean Laidley. Seems to me, that a fire like that one could possibly buy that cranky bastard another year in the coaches box. Shit, that club has so much else to contend with at the moment, I dare say Laidley’s contract won’t be reviewed for at least a decade, or until he’s jailed for arson, whichever comes first.

Captain: I don’t know how guys like Adam Simpson, who played with Laidley, could take directions from him now as coach. Just looking at the guy I wouldn’t trust him to tell me where the nearest 7-eleven is.

Mrs. Watson: I don’t even remember the wanker ever playing? He’s certainly never done anything spectacular enough to warrant television replay. Was he any good?

Captain: The only way anyone besides Carey got any press on that team was if the King took a liking to your wife. And no offence to Mrs. Laidley, but I reckon she might be right at home in the cheer squad. Was he any good? Put it this way; his current Kangaroo equivalent is probably Brady Rawlings. Moving away from the Kangaroos, (moving away, get it? I know, very clever…) is it too early to start hoping for teams above Geelong on the ladder to lose? I mean, I usually like to see Richmond get belted, but at least now it’s for a reason.

Mrs. Watson: No, not too early. I’ve been running through every scenario in my mind for the past month. The conclusion I’ve come to is that we’ve probably got around a 20% chance of making it. Not good odds, but we’re in with a chance at least. Probably doesn’t matter though, everyone is calling this weekend’s Eagles v Crows match the grand final preview, but I don’t think that’s correct. I rang Subiaco this morning and they confirmed that no, there wouldn’t be a boring as bat shit ex-players parade, a lame ass rendition of "We Are Australian", or a completely unworthy winner of the Norm Smith medal awarded post-game. How dare they call it a preview!? I’ll book a keg any way. Crows by 30 pts. I get the feeling the Eagles are a bit of a fraud.

Captain: I’m a bit conflicted about the Eagles. When teams win ugly I usually take that as sign of a good team. But they ain’t winning anything with Quintan Lynch as their key forward. The guy looks like he was lucky to make it out of the house. Bring on the McDougall! Or, before his knee gave out, I might have suggested Hunter up forward a bit more regularly. Why can’t the coach think of these things? Oh well, at least they haven’t committed millions of dollars to him in a ridiculously lengthy contract that could potentially cripple any future hope for the club… Any thoughts on Melbourne v the Dogs, Mrs. Watson?



Mrs. Watson: Yep. I’ve thought a lot about it actually. In particular, I’ve thought about Nathan Carroll punching the shit out of Brad Johnson and wiping that bloody smirk off that little bastard’s face! A little harsh? Yes. But, if you’re going to grow a handle-bar moustache and gallivant about with a mullet cut, you better be able to back it up with a little unwarranted violence. Anyway, as far as I can tell, extreme violence might be the only answer to stopping Johnson. Either that, or somehow ruining his lovey dovey relationship with the entire AFL umpiring fraternity. Bulldogs, the jig is up.

Out.

Both Sides of the Dome, or, McLaren=Brad Johnson’s Bitch



In an effort to delve deeper into the sociological side of football fan-ism, this week the Captain and I embarked on a good ol’ fashioned journey of discovery. It was an experiment to contrast and compare Telstra Dome’s two vastly different worlds: the rather exclusive Medallion Club, and the stadium’s general admission section. After drawing the long straw, my good friend, The Captain, viewed Sunday’s Cats v Bulldogs game from the comfy surroundings of the Medallion Club – the small mid-section of the stadium where only the elite are permitted entry, and where dress codes apply. I, on the other hand, watched from TD’s General Admission section (Aisle 44, Row S) – the vast upper-third of the football stadium, where the person sitting next to you is either a God fearing family man, or a drunken ex-con who had only minutes before the game exchanged a blood stained machete for his ticket. It was an experiment we’d hoped would open the lines of understanding between the two worlds, and in some way merge the boundaries between football’s high-class fanatics and foul mouthed plebs. What we actually achieved however is anyone’s guess, you can draw your own conclusions from the following results, but two things were crystal clear regardless of where you were sitting. Number one, it was a great game. Number two (in general admission rhetoric), umpire McLaren, you’re an absolute prick!

Pre-Game

Captain: Ah, what a wonderful afternoon for a match! A quick brunch with the family and then father steers the latest model Honda Accord (Euro) under the great Telstra Dome to our reserved parking. The friendly staff directs us to the elevator, which, unfortunately, must be shared with the common, ‘general admission’, folk. I can smell their lower-middle class breakfasts on their collective breath. Not to worry, another 10 metres and an electronic handshake between scanner and barcode will separate the wheat from the chaff. Finally, here we are, the Medallion Club!

Mrs. Watson: After forking out over five bucks for a semi-cold beer, I locate my brother and his friends all the way up in row S of Level 3. I do my best to squeeze past an old woman with an oversized Bulldogs doona spread over her legs on the way to my seat, but this inevitably results in me spilling half a cup of draught over the feet of the next three people in the row. Here’s a word of advice, football going Grandmothers; if the blood flow to your legs is so bad that you need a doona to keep them warm for the two hour duration of an indoor game of football, then you’re probably better off tucked up next to the heater at home. You’re making my beer runs much more difficult than they need to be! After making the arduous journey from the aisle to my seat (using the crotch to face method), I wonder what the temperature’s like in the Medallion Club. I peer down to try and spot my good friend, The Capatin.

One of the first things you notice about a packed stadium, I reckon, is that there’s always a section of seating which appears to be dead empty in comparison to your own section. This is usually the members’ area, or some other elitist/facist quarter where regular working Australians, or anyone who’s not white, are kept out thanks to barbed wire or some elaborate ticketing system. It’s no different at Telstra Dome either. But here’s a suggestion for whoever’s in charge down there at TD; if only a quarter of the snobby bastards with “exclusive” access to your premium Medallion Club section are going to turn up, then why not give those of us up in level 3, squeezed in like bloody pilchards, a break, and reduce the amount of exclusive seats by three quarters? It’s just that it’s a little fuckin’ insulting when us ticket holding football goers with no leg room have to stare in envy at those Medallion Club bastards with seemingly 103 seats each to choose from. It’s also probably safe to assume that most of these jerks probably didn’t fork out a damn cent for the corporate membership they’re sponging off, so why not look out for those of us who actually paid to get in? Sure, there’d be no profit made from such an overhaul, but like I say, it’s just a suggestion.

1st Quarter

Captain: I find my way to Aisle 22, Row A; right in the front. This will be fine, not as good as the seats I had when José Carreras was in town, but they’ll do. I can’t help but feel that the air is somehow cleaner, fresher in here. We are in the forward pocket at the Lockett end; the end to which Geelong will kick first. Chris Grant’s chin looks even bigger in person. Here comes our waiter; oh, didn’t I tell you about the in (padded) seat service? Three ales, my good man, and make them something local. Carlton Draught? How quaint. Yes, that will be fine. Glad I didn’t have to que the bar, I may have missed McCarthy marking and kicking an early goal. Let’s hope Geelong’s height can stretch the under-manned Bulldogs defence, like a team of QC’s up against a court appointed public lawyer. Was that Steve Johnson who just goaled from a tight angle? I must say I’ve always had a soft spot for that sort of player; troubled yet full of potential. I wonder if he mightn’t benefit from a mentor of some sort. I must remember to mention this to Frank at the next President’s lunch. I hope they serve the veal.

Mrs. Watson: Early in the first quarter a family of Canadian tourists, seated directly in front of us, comments on the colourful language coming from my friends and I. “We’re certainly getting an education,” she declares. For me, Telstra Dome always takes a little getting used to, especially coming from the outer at KP. It’s not TD’s closed roof, or its organised beer queue, but it’s just that it’s a little hard to adjust to the family atmosphere of this stadium. You have to watch your language a little bit more, keep yourself under control, because here at TD they don’t separate the drunks from the families, just the rich, or pseudo rich, from the not rich.

Right now, I feel as though they should separate Canadians from Australians at AFL matches. After enduring ten minutes of stupid questions like, “why do they keep blowing the whistle?”, “what’s the difference between the referees in yellow, and the referees in white?,” and “what’s a runner?”, a friend of mine lets rip with a little more cultural education. “You fuckin’ white maggot, McLaren!” He’s taking full advantage of the white uniforms the umpires are wearing for Heritage Round. McLaren is making some ridiculous calls, but some terrible skills (James Kelly, I’m looking in your direction), and bad decisions have resulted in costly turnovers and goals, so it feels as though the Cats have really kept the Bulldogs in it. As the siren sounds I do a beer burp with my mouth closed and taste calamari. “Why wasn’t the Australian national anthem sung before the game,” one of the Canadians asks, “it’s not very patriotic.” This is going to be a long day.

2nd Quarter

Captain: You know, it’s nice to have a bit of elbow room; with all these empty seats it’s not shoulder-to-shoulder like it can be in the public areas. No doubt Mrs. Watson is getting a snoot full of some schleps overdose of Brut’ 33 as we speak. The Medallion Club think of everything. I do say, this umpiring has left a lot to be desired so far; excuse me Mr. McLaren, is that not the exact same infringement you whistled a minute ago, only this time perpetrated against the Geelong player? No? My apologies. Some consistency would vastly improve this facet of the game, however. I wonder if umpire McLaren and Brad Johnson have some sort of personal relationship outside the game.

Mrs. Watson: “What are you doing in Geelong’s forward line McLaren,” someone in Row V yells, “Brad Johnson wants a blow job!?” Everyone finds it funny but only my friends and I laugh. I wonder if the jokes in the Medallion Club are as creative as that, and then I wonder whether any of them are actually watching the game. The Bulldogs pull away by 23 points after Brad Johnson kicks another goal on Harley. He’s giving the Geelong defender an absolute bath, and there’s already been three or four towel jokes directed at Harley. The signs are bad. One of the Canadians in front of me has taken 5 photos of a goal umpire on her digital camera; for the folks back home, I presume. For some reason I’m singing ‘More Than a Feeling’, by the band Boston, in my head, just as Henry Playfair drops his fifth easy mark, and all looks hopeless. That guy couldn’t catch HIV in a gay three-way with Magic Johnson and Peter Allen, and he’s really starting to give me the shits. By the time the first half ends though, the Cats’ve pegged the lead back to just 5 points, kicking 4 of the last five goals. I wait a few minutes for those in need of a halftime piss to clear out, before I make a quick dash to the Cougar Bar to meet The Captain.

Halftime

Captain: The good news is we have played poorly and are only down by 5 points; some skills sessions are hopefully scheduled this week. The bad news is I have to head to the ‘Cougar Bar’ to meet Mrs. Watson, a most vulgar of establishments that, despite it’s name, is not home to any large predatory felines. Shame really, looking around I see plenty of potential feed for them. You alright, Mrs. Watson? Safe. See you after the game. (I must make mention of Daniel Motlop here, as he was lining up for the potential game winning goal at the exact moment we happened to be in there. Great mark, but when the siren went he looked like someone had just told him he’d been scheduled for a 4 hour prostate exam. I made note of this to Mrs. Watson as Motlop dutifully missed what might be termed, ‘a soda’. Perhaps Mark Williams will schedule that exam after all.)

3rd Quarter

Captain: More in-seat beer delivery as the Cats start fast. That’s 6 of the last 7 goals of the match for Geelong, who have taken a small lead. I missed who kicked these goals as I was perusing my complimentary copy of the Sunday Age; ‘The Outsider’, a classic work of 20th-century fiction by Albert Camus has been translated for the stage and is on in Melbourne this week. Fantastic. Scarlett appears to be without an opponent while Tom Harley has had his colours significantly lowered by Bradley Johnson; Father, have you Bomber’s blackberry number? Something needs to be done about this. And while you’re at it, let him know that it’s good to see David Wojinscki back, Andrew Mackie is playing probably the best game of his under-achieving career and that Joel Corey is holding this team together.

Mrs. Watson: The 3rd quarter’s well and truly underway by the time I get back to Aisle 44. Grandma grunts at me as I trod on her doona while squeezing past (ass to face, this time). Somewhere between the half time siren and me returning from the Cougar bar, a young Bulldogs fan has made himself comfortable in the seat directly behind mine. I ask him nicely to remove his feet from the back of my chair, which he does, but only after his father nudges him. The old man reeks of Brut 33. Only seconds after sitting down the kid starts a running commentary of the game which will continue for the rest of the match. He’s even taken on the role of his own special comments man: “West should’ve done this,” or, “Johnson’s taken this many marks since half time,” or, “I’m currently giving this many people the fucking shits!” To cope with this constant nattering I wave down that beer waiter the Captain was telling me about at half time, but he’s not really there. I've forgotten where I am. I consider running Granny’s doona gauntlet but I don’t feel confident she’ll let me pass a third time. This is going to be a long half. Another McLaren call results in a Bulldog goal. It’s starting to feel as though these Western pricks haven’t really earned one of their own today. Someone drops a C-Bomb.

4th Quarter

Captain: Bradley Ottens gets on the end of a long kick to the goal square and kicks his second major for the day. This crude from of attack seems most effective; what a stroke of luck that I was able to contact Bomber. I’m not sure we even ordered these beers but we somehow have another round. This waiter must be psychic, or, if Lips read the rest of my message, Tom Harley. I wonder if either Lindsay Gilbee or Jordan McMahon has a direct opponent. It doesn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps these Bulldogs are as hard to tell apart for the Geelong players as they are for their fans. I couldn’t tell Daniel Cross from Dale Morris if my Range Rover depended on it. This is exciting! Josh Hunt takes a crucial mark right on the goal-line, preserving the current dead-locked score. He has certainly impressed today, perhaps he has been receiving our advice. I still think he would be better utilized delivering the ball into the forward line, however. Question: Is it wrong for one to be reasonably satisfied with a draw, if only to avoid defeat? Never mind, that question can remain rhetorical for now, as Ottens has kicked a most crucial behind. It was a good mark too, and not his only one; he certainly has sticky fingers today. Look out, Joshua! Behind you lurks a bald midget who has pulled on a Western Bulldogs jumper! Nathan Eagleton? Oh, how’d he get on the field? That devilish, cunningly sly Rodney Eade; he’d do well in real estate. A few more anxious moments and then, siren! Whew! What a contest, what a stadium, what a FUCKED UP UMPIRING PERFORMANCE! SCOTT MCLAREN MAY YOU BURN IN HELL!!!!!! You know what they say; you can take the boy out the KP outer...

Mrs. Watson: I spend the majority of the final quarter with my Cats scarf wrapped tightly around my head. Not only does it muffle out the sound of mini Wallsy’s irritating monologue still echoing throughout Level 3, but it also covers my eyes; this game, afterall, is too close to watch. I sneak an extended peak during extra time and see that the Canadians look bored. They seem confused, tired, and kinda embarrassed by the amount of yelling and screaming going on. They wanted an education, I think to myself. When Scumbag marks within scoring range, the kid behind me shuts up for the first time in almost an hour, and I pray for a score of any kind. It looks like a goal, and the Canadians spring to life; the Cats must have won them over. “Did it count,” one of them asks. If only she could see the scoreboard from Row R, she wouldn’t have to ask. “It’s a one pointer,” her friend replies.

Out.

Goldspink's ménage-a-trios



Captain: So, what’s less surprising; Gardiner, drunk at the wheel and crashing his car, Akermanis doing everything but sleep with Lethal’s wife to get kicked out of Brisbane, or the report that Koschitzke produced a score of 3 out of 10 for peripheral awareness at the 2000 AFL draft camp? Personally I was just surprised that Gardiner drives a Commodore; seriously, do any AFL players have taste?

Mrs. Watson: I think these players should be involved in a three way trade of some sort. Gardiner should go to the Saints where Walnut Thomas could threaten him with “The Hamill Treatment” should he get out of line. Akermanis should go to Perth where apparently you can do whatever the fuck you want as long as you don’t leave enough evidence to be convicted. Hell, Jason could deal drugs, smack his wife up, or even join the mob if he wanted, as long as he wasn’t stupid enough not to flee his crime scenes he’d be right at home. Take a leaf from Cousins’ book Aker, and run, run like the wind! Poor old Koschitzke should go north to Brisbane where he can go Mal Michael style and just “take a week off” should he be feeling a bit iffy. Forget breakfast? Feeling nauseas? Oh, that’s alright, Justin, have a break, we weren’t going to win anyway. Just practice kicking over-enthusiastic rushed behinds instead. Hey, Captain, remember that James Kelly guy?

Captain: Vaguely. Geelong needs him to start doing something again. He goes missing more often than Carmen San Diego. If he pulls another one of those 8-possession games expect his body to turn up behind a dumpster in North Geelong somewhere, with Paul Koulouriotis having a water tight alibi. Seriously, is the VFL that bad? If he gets another 45 touches in the 2’s this week, I might consider pulling the boots back on. And I don’t know if there’s room in the Geelong forward line for both Matthew McCarthy and Henry Playfair; their combined level of co-ordination makes Richo look a frickin’ ballerina. Plus, we’re already carrying the self-proclaimed title holder Andrew Mackie. Brett Spinks must be turning is his grave.

Mrs. Watson: Well, let’s face it, both their days are numbered. Next year, The Toma-Hawkins Show begins, and early reviews describe it as fuckin’ action packed. I suppose we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves though, Darren Goldspink hasn’t got to him yet.

Captain: Firstly, you've already given him a nickname? Secondly, apologies to the Spinks family; Brett is apparently still alive, although it was hard to tell when he was in the Geelong forward line. And thirdly, umpires cop plenty of shit so they should be able to give some back. And Gary Jnr. can get a bit of the Shannon Noll’s (what about me?) when it comes to free kicks. I would just like it to make sense; “You're fucked. Where are you going to be in six months?” What does that mean? Is he talking about Chapman personally or the club in general? And what does that have to do with a potential free kick? It seems like a larger issue you’re discussing there, Darren. On the other hand, the media always takes these things out of context. Maybe he’s working two jobs and was just trying to drum up business. Perhaps the complete sentence went something like this; “You're fucked. Where are you going to be in six months? Have you ever thought about investing in time share?”

Mrs. Watson: That’s bullshit, Captain. Umpires don’t cop any direct insults from players, and if they do, they dish out 50 meter penalties. Sure, it’s true that Goldspink’s comments made little sense, but they were directed at Chapman himself, and were not about the free kick. Players don’t need that shit! It’s bad enough they have every decision explained to them in detail, whether they like it or not, while they’re waiting on the mark. It seems to me that Goldspink was probably hassled in school and now takes it out on the same jocks that used to give him Red Bellies during recess. The only difference is now they can’t bust out Chinese Burns or head slaps should he give them shit back. Umpires have no business opening their cakeholes at all as far as I’m concerned, that’s what all those gay hand signals are for. Goldspink, you’re a tool! You tipping the Cats against the Bulldogs, Captain? Or will you be too busy sipping imported beer and making small talk with the suits in the Medallion Club to see any of the game?

Captain: Don’t worry about the Medallion Club, if the McCarthy/Playfair forward line eventuates, I might just head straight to the Cougar Bar. Seems appropriate. (And remind me; how did they get the Eureka to Telstra Dome, again?) You’d think all those injuries have to catch up with the Doggies eventually. Let’s hope it’s this week. On the other hand, if the Western Bulldogs discover another skinny, fast, uber-fit kid who never misses a target, I’m going to go on a cross-country killing spree; do you know where James Kelly lives?

Mrs. Watson: Not sure right now, but my scouts tell me next year Flemington. Out.

We here at Big League Little League have been proudly posting for almost 6 months now, so sit back and relax, as we present our version of the flashback episode with

A guide to Big League Little League, or, a chance to catch up

The following are a selection of articles from the past 6 months that we liked. If you're a new reader, you may have missed them the first time. I guess you could consider this a kind of best of, although, I don't really like best of's. I especially hate it when bands release 'best of' albums when they have only released like 2 albums; surely there needs to be a minimum album output before being allowed to compile a best of. Can we get a law against this? And they should be saved until the end of a bands career. Unless you're one of those, 40 year music career guys, like Neil Young, or Bruce Springsteen; let's face it, if you're the Boss, you can do whatever the hell you like.

But I digress, as always. For those who have already read them, re-read them. Then read the comments. Then leave us a new comment on this blog. Then take a break, you've been working hard. And away we go...

After the NAB Cup win, Mrs. Watson tried to warn us about getting carried away with things. Damn you, hindsight.

Not afraid to name names, in March, the Captain lifted the lid on the AFL drugs scandal. Plus, it's another chance to look at that Cousins photo. Gold.

With this looking like James Hird's last season, see how the Captain viewed his career when weighed against another modern great and why Mrs. Watson was singing showtunes.

Surprised Freo beat Collingwood? You wouldn't have been, had you read Mrs. Watson's prediction of Collingwood's demise

Feeling a little existential? Delve deep into the dark recesses of the Captains mind with this thought provoking piece

Confused when the crowd was cheering for 'tickets' and 'sex-fingers' on the weekend? Find out why, in Mrs Watson's nickname extravaganza

Feel free to browse through the rest of the rubbish, by using the convenient archives section, located on the right. And if you find something you liked, as always, leave a comment and let us know. Even if it's about Springsteen.

Blindfucks 101, or, how many fingers am I holding up?



Look at this photo of Sainter, Justin Koschitzke. He looks relatively normal, right? I mean, he doesn’t look completely blind, or mentally handicapped in any way does he? I mean, sure, in typical St Kilda style, his hair has had far too much attention paid to it, but other than that, by looking at this shot you wouldn’t suspect that there is anything really ‘wrong’ with him, would you? To answer this last rhetoroical question for you: No.

Believe it or not however, Justin actually suffers from a condition known as Blindfuck Syndrome, a very rare condition which severely effects the vision of it sufferers, rendering them virtually blind to very large, obvious objects in their direct field of vision. Seemingly harmless, inactive objects such as cars, doors, even stationary persons dressed in bright fuckin’ colours, are life threatening hazards to Blindfucks. While this diagnosis might be news to Koschitzke himself, for those who know what to look for, signs of his condition have been evident for quite some time.

As far as I can tell, Blindfucks looked to be taking hold of Justin as long as 12 months ago. Way back in Round 19, 2005, in a game against the Cats, Koschitzke was sited twice for making negligent contact with umpires. One of these incidents involved an umpire who’d just bounced the ball for a ruck contest. Sound familiar?

Let’s skip forward to 2006, when in Round 6, during a game against the Western Bulldogs, Giansiracusa ran sixty metres to knock Koschitzke flat. Forget the fact that more than twenty-five thousand people were screaming at Koschitzke, warning him as Giansiracusa approached, what’s more interesting here is that not once, did he look in front of him to see if anything was there. Hell, if you ask me, Justin’s lucky he only ran into one person, and not an entire pack of players, or fence, or a point post.



Such behaviour is common in Blindfucks. It is so difficult to focus on just one target, that often sufferers simply forget where they're going, resulting in dangerous collisions. Imagine if Nintendo’s Mario, at the same time as dodging Cooper Troopers and collecting coins, was asked to read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason; a difficult read on the couch, let alone in the company of angry horned turtles, and fire breathing plants. And you can forget about navigating your way through those pipe tunnels with a book in your hand. Sounds difficult, and down right fuckin’ dangerous doesn’t it? For Justin, everyday life is just like this.

Another common symptom of BS is the No-Breakfast Seizure, or NBS. For most us, skipping breakfast only results in mild cases of mid-morning hunger, but for Blindfuck sufferers, such as Justin Koschitzke, skipping the regular morning bowl of Coco-Pops can result in slurred speech and even seizure. This was demonstrated on Channel 7 a few weeks ago when Justin, while being interviewed by David Schwarz, collapsed in a blubbering mess. While early scans suspected that the conversation with Schwarz had led Koschitzke to simply doze off, the St-Kilda football club later stated that the player had suffered an NBS. National panic was eased however, when after a few slices of raisin toast and a mug of warm Milo, Justin was released from hospital, seemingly fit as a fiddle.

Finally, Koschitzke’s run-in with the umpire this weekend only leads this expert to believe that he’s reached the final, most devastating stage of Blindfuck Syndrome: complete loss of vision, and mental retardation.



Ok, ok, ok. Jokes aside though, how did he not see the ump? Someone, please explain to me how a footballer doesn’t see an umpire who is standing right in front of him, bouncing the ball for the very ruck contest he is involved in. They don't deck umpires out in those fluorescent uniforms just to make them feel awkward, Justin. Surely the guy has brain damage? Maybe he can use Blindfuck Syndrome as an excuse when he fronts the VFL tribunal this week. Can someone help him get there in one piece though? Geez.

Before I go…a couple of comments on yesterday’s Cats game. First of all, judging by the amount of times Mooney fell over in the first half, I think it’s safe to assume that he was trying his luck with an old pair of Dunlop Vollies. He looked absolutely lost for a lot of the day, except for that bit where he smacked Mahoney in the kidnies, in plain view of the umpires and everyone else at KP. Thanks Cameron, for a while there we’d thought you’d gone soft. Take a week off, enjoy the rest, you’re having a great year! Secondly, Cameron Ling – you’re a joke. Thirdly, Andrew Mackie – you’re a joke too.

Fourthly (is that really a word?), while everyone in G-Town is tickling Stokes’ balls over his performance yesterday, I’d like to congratulate Scumbag Ottens on a great game. Sure, Stokes’ 10 minute purple patch came at a convenient point of the match, but I reckon Ottens’ game in the ruck, as well as his two tough goals from both pockets kept us in it. Without those two kicks, Port’s defensive tomfoolery probably would have won out. Thanks Scumbag. You're alright, kid. You're alright.

Out.

Why I’m talking about the Bulldogs, or, Abletts, cars, captains and testicles

Believe it or not, but it’s been kind of tough for me to come up with something interesting to write this week. Sure, Geelong won and all, but something just seems right about keeping it low key; about things standing as they are; about incidents passing without comment; about, and I don’t want to sound like a bad horoscope here, maintaining the status quo.

I was originally considering writing one of those, there’s this many games to go, Geelong needs this many wins, and they could get them against these teams type of articles, but really, it’s a little early for that (translation: gimme about 4 or 5 weeks).

I thought it might be interesting to have a look at the tribunal, especially since Lovett-Murray was responsible for the first thrown punch in about last 15 years of AFL, only to be outdone by Daniel Kerr giving Sam Mitchell the Johnny Cage treatment. But then, that gets enough media attention as it is. And besides, no matter how they arrange the tribunal process, there is always going to be inconsistencies. Life’s like that.

There was the return to form of Steven King, who at halftime was the leading possession winner on the ground. It was good to be reminded of how much influence he can have on games when he’s going alright, regardless of how much criticism I may or may not have thrown at him during the first quarter. I wonder if he’ll keep the captaincy next season and whether we’ll ever see Mrs Watson’s argument for Ling as captain. [Stay tuned! – Mrs. Watson]

There was, of course, the rebirth of the Matthew McCarthy Era; 5 goals straight, a big target for the midfield and that almost hanger. I considered telling you all about how I saw this coming, and asking what took Lips so long (Playfair, Nablett, Kingsley, Gardiner, Lonergan et al), but the test will be next week for him. And just quietly, I don’t like his chances as much as I did against Carlton.

Then there was Ablett Jnr. running out of petrol before kicking 3 on Andrew Walker before we were halfway through our over priced, mid-strength Carlton Draughts, Ablett Snr.’s car-yard attacker committing suicide, the continued impressive form of Matthew Stokes, James Kelly getting dropped, Mrs. Watson predicting Cameron Ling would seemingly be doing nothing but end up with 25+ possessions again, Matty Scarlett kicking a rare goal and Cam Mooney impressing us all at CHF again. But, as I said in the beginning, it might be best to just keep my mouth shut this week… Ah, what the Hell.

Geelong has left themselves plenty to do to make the finals this season. And even if they do make it, we can not expect a higher finishing position than 8th, or, counting on the usual Richmond and/or Collingwood collapse, possibly 7th. And you’d think, (according to our target market research) being a reasonably intelligent, AFL and history aware, partially environmentally conscious, male aged 22-35, that not much damage can be done in the finals from there. No second chance you’d say. And you’d be right, and I’d agree with you, being a reasonably intelligent, AFL and history aware, partially environmentally conscious, male aged 22-35.

The thing is, however, the team finishing in 8th position plays 5th in the first week of the finals. And the winner of that game plays the loser of 1st vs. 4th. Confused? Of course not! But for those imbeciles who have just clicked over from JB’s blog, (kidding, kidding) let me attempt to clarify.

In the first week of the finals1st plays 4th, 2nd plays 3rd, 5th plays 8th and 6th plays 7th. The winners from the two top 4 games both get a week off and the losers from the bottom 4 games go home. So, the bottom 4 winners play the top 4 losers to see who gets into the preliminary finals against the two winning top 4 teams who have had a week off. More confused? Shit…

Lets put it this way; with the top 8 as it currently stands (except Geelong in 8th spot in place of Richmond, which is inevitable, really), the Cats would play the Western Bulldogs in week 1 of the finals, with the winner of that to meet the loser of Adelaide vs. Collingwood.

And I know I said I shouldn’t and wouldn’t, that it’s too early and all that, but I’ve looked ahead at the draw, as most of you would have, and it’s doable. They could finish in 8th; their first final could be against the Western Bulldogs and, assuming they win that, then Collingwood. Not too shabby, eh? Better than finishing 4th and going back to Adelaide. Ugh.

Of course, I may have just jinxed the entire rest of the season right there by mentioning all this but I figure it’s gonna be a bare coupla weeks here at Big League Little League if they do get eliminated from finals contention, so what the hell, right? Plus, it was either that or Mrs. Watson telling us all about how Cameron Ling should be captain. [Bastard! – Mrs. Watson] Yep, thought so.

The Captain’s Musings

Random thoughts while wondering if Koschitzke is Dutch for ‘injury-prone’

Is it just me, or does John Worsfold look a little bit like a ventriloquist dummy? Not that I’d ever say that to his face; nor to the guy with his hand up his ass…

Alright, alright, I’ll admit it; and I’ll do it Big Brother style; it’s time to go…Kent Kingsley. (Speaking of Big Brother, at least Geelong weren’t the only ones getting turkey-slapped on television over the weekend…)

Paul Licuria has come out (pardon the pun) and said a gay footballer would be welcome in today’s enlightened AFL, “Sure, people will talk about it, and it would definitely make huge headlines, but in the end it's all about acceptance,” Licuria said. Good to hear. We wouldn’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable about putting their arms around each other, singing a song and then showering together…

No shirt, no shoes, no service. When did we have to start telling people that? Just once I’d like to see someone in collar and tie, brand new loafers but completely pant-less, saunter up to the bar and order a couple of pots…

While browsing AFL.com recently I came across this about injured Saint, Justin Koschitzke; “Speaking at a promotional launch of a new action man figurine in his likeness on Wednesday, team mate Nick Riewoldt hinted that Koschitzke would take the field for the Saints' VFL affiliate, Springvale against competition leaders, the Northern Bullants this weekend.” Hang on; there's a Nick Riewoldt doll? Does Paul Licuria know about this? I wonder if you can you get Mal Michael and Chris Scott figurines, who team up to dislocate action man Nick’s shoulder, making him cry…

You know your Dream Team is struggling when your third best performer is David Hille. If he had a figurine it would come with the tag, “Warning: Heart not included.”…

Has anyone else noticed that Landrover are making shoes now? Apparently they’ll be hiking boots that are worn exclusively by rich housewives in the city… Thank you, I’ll be here all week…

And while we’re on the topic of over-priced 4WDs, have you seen the ad for the Ford Territory, with the “reverse camera”? According to the Ford website it’s a ‘wide-angle camera to provide a clear view of the area immediately behind the vehicle’. Really? You mean, like a rearview mirror? You’re telling me I’m paying an extra 6 Grand for a FUCKING REARVIEW MIRROR?

St.Kilda has issued high-tech, iPod like video player devices to each of its players for the purpose of studying game film; what are the odds a player sex tape starts doing the rounds courtesy of these things? (And if a St.Kilda player sex tape did emerge, who do you reckon it would be? My money’s on Cain Ackland. And, no, there’s no real reason for this)…

Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy… Matthew McCarthy…

The Evolution of the flood, or, Neil’s Ark

The Adelaide Crows took Geelong apart on the weekend and look so much better than everyone else at the moment it’s almost as if they’re playing a different game; and in a way, they are. And in another way, they’re playing the most traditional type of football in the league. Strap in folks, as I present a brief evolution of the flood.

When AFL football was conceived, it would be safe to assume it was meant to be a positional sport, that is, one with assigned spots for each player to operate in. That is, after all, how we define players, by position. These positions refer to a geographical territory on the football field, and are not just a nominal name; Full-forward for example, is for the player operating at his attacking goal face. Now, the positional nature of the game is not enforced, such as in Netball where certain players are not allowed into certain parts of the court. For one, it would be near to impossible to enforce, and two, up until recently, it was thought advantageous for teams to maintain these positions. But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.

The traditional positional structure of an 18 man AFL team consists of 6 defenders, 6 midfielders, including ruck and wings, and 6 forwards; and this is still how teams are named and presented on paper. The beginning of what we now term ‘flooding’, began with the ‘loose man in defence’. This works by moving one of you forwards into defence, creating 7 defenders vs. 6 forwards and leaving 6 defenders against 5 forwards at the other end. This practise began before my time, and continued unabated throughout the 80’s and most of the 90’s. I say most of the 90’s because it became a problem when Paul Roos was getting 35 possessions each week for Sydney as a centre-half back without an opponent. All of sudden opposition coaches decided they wouldn’t let him get away with it and manned him up. This was often with a defensive player, or a forward whose sole purpose was to take Roos out of the play, often by standing right alongside the point post in the forward pocket. This left Sydney with 5 vs. 5 in its forward line and 7 vs.7 its opposition’s forward line. But it’s what happens next that’s interesting: Is Sydney happy with the extra space in their forward line this arrangement affords, or do they still want an extra defender? If they push another ‘loose man’ into defence, will their opposition continue to match them up, and if not, at what point do they stop?

People often credit Terry Wallace with the concept of flooding (who admits getting the idea from American football coaches) but really it is an extension and reaction to the loose man in defence; if teams and coaches are willing to give up on, or allow, the opposition a loose man in defence (as opposed to men, plural), then that’s probably as far as the flood will go. If they insist on manning them up, then they are at the mercy of the opposition coach. Take the Geelong vs. Bulldogs game in Round 4; Geelong was hell bent on not allowing any loose WB players and thus stuck to a strict man-on-man plan all over the ground. It was adhered to so rigidly that a couple of times the man who kicked in from full-back, Lindsay Gilbee from memory, played on and ran the length of the ground, unchallenged by any Geelong player because they refused to leave their man, and either had a shot for goal or set someone up for one. That is not ‘strong, man-on-man, contested football’, that, is insanity.

So, the answer lies somewhere between blind, one-on-one chasing and a full blown flood; wow, who’d have the thought the middle ground is once again correct? (Tao people, Tao). But how does this translate in practical terms, and what does all this have to do with the Crows?

All teams are cognizant of the need to ‘open up’ their forward line and also get numbers back in defence; all teams flood to some extent, including Adelaide. The game becomes interesting, and sometimes ugly, based on the counter measures of the coaches. Looking back to Round 8 when the Tigers upset the Crows, Richmond played an immense flood when the Crows had the ball and when Richmond got it they chipped the ball around, methodically moving it forward and maintaining possession to such an extent that they set a new AFL record. Now, when this is happening it is simple to say, ‘Man them up!’, but as I hopefully explained earlier, you are then becoming reactive and are at the mercy of none other than Terry Wallace, somewhere you don’t want to be. No, instead the Crows chose to retain some semblance of structure and attack them on their own terms. The Crows ended up with more scoring shots, but lost by 3 points. I’d like to think they looked at it as a moral victory, however.

I also think the Crows learnt a lot from that game, and to some extent evolved. They would not be bullied into playing down to Richmond’s or anyone else level. As I said, they needed to find the middle ground; retaining some positional structure yet being flexible enough to negate an opposition flood and, if required, flood themselves.

The midfield has long been recognized as the most important part of the ground; at the beginning of each quarter and every time a goal is kicked the ball is brought back there to restart play. Likewise, if a team is bringing the ball out of their defence, they must inevitably pass through the midfield to reach their forward line. Neil Craig, being aware of this, has thus given birth to the mid-field flood!

The Crows let their key defensive players go head-to-head with opposition forwards while their flankers and wingers push up, back and across, filling the middle third of the field between the two 50m arcs. Teams coming out of defence, Geelong on the weekend for example, are forced to kick to an out-numbered team-mate in the middle or to one who has pushed wide, the only space available. If the outside option is taken this limits the attacking team to one side of the ground, giving the Crows time to get back and also knowledge of where they will be vulnerable. This also means Crows players only need to cover between the defensive 50’s, resulting in less, or, smarter running. This makes sense; there can not be a huge fitness gap between any of the 16 teams, it must come down to how they use it.

If the ball is moved quickly however, from a centre break or otherwise, and the kick is direct and over the congestion of centre-half forward, then there is space available to operate in. During the first quarter Geelong took advantage of this, particularly in the resulting goals of Kingsley and Chapman. Quick and direct play, however, is often the remedy no matter who the opponent or what the tactic.

Neil Craig should be applauded for evolving a style of play that maintains the traditional positional structure of our forefather’s game, while also allowing for fast, modern and free flowing football. (It also helps that his players are quick, strong, agile, adaptable, have exceptional disposal skills and excellent tackling technique). Hats off, Neil!

Oh, one last thing, if anyone would like to contribute to ‘Get Neil Craig Fund’, please email us. The money will go towards either getting him to coach Geelong or an assassin. I could go either way.