Well life on the farm is kinda laid back
Ain't much an old country boy like me can't hack
It's early to rise, early in the sack
Thank God I'm a country boy
John Denver
Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.
Old Lodge Skins, “Little Big Man”
For the last 15 seasons, getting to the ‘G to watch the Mighty Fighting Hawks has been easy. Seven minute walk to the station and jump on a train on the Hurstbridge line. Forty minutes or so to Jolimont, and then down the hill to Gate 2.
Simples.
But we decided to embark upon a Sea Change and in 2018 moved to the Bellarine Peninsula. No chance of switching to The Hoops, thank you very much J. T. Harms. One of the first things I did was check the MCC Rules as to how one qualifies to become a Country Member – it’s a nice reduction for a retiree. Out with the compass to measure the distance of the new place from the GPO ….more than 64km……YESSSSSSSSS!
The downside was getting to the MCG presented more challenges. Alexis and I had a test run last season when we took the ferry from Geelong to see the Hawks prevail over the Puddies on Easter Monday. Days two and three of the Boxing Day Test were also relatively easy and a cruise across the Bay was a pleasant way to get to and from the Ground. But an entire footy season is a different matter. Can’t leave it until the last minute to decide whether to go. Almost have to prepare a gannt chart to work out how to get there, with connections between road and rail - and don’t even start me on what time I am likely to get home after a Friday night game. So for Round 2, 2019, to Geelong and the V/Line train we must go.
One of the good things about life in the country is that you can park for free a short stroll from the train station. A down side is having to add extra time in case of delays due to potential sheep crossing, road resurfacing, or getting stuck behind folks from The Big Smoke who are out for a leisurely weekend drive. We make it to Geelong Station and board the V/Line “quiet” carriage. The paddocks go whizzing by – not quite at very fast train speed, as that may (or may not) come later. Everything is dry and brown, and it is easy to see how the Little River grassfire took hold and spread so quickly. We soon arrive at “the Artist Formerly Known as Spencer Street” and travel up the escalators from platform 8 and down to platform 9 to board a train to Jolimont. Hurstbridge line…oh the irony.
Off the train, down the hill and into the queue outside Gate 2. Up to Level 2 to get our seats below the coaches’ boxes, downstairs for some chips and something that in another life may have been chicken, warm greetings to Vic and Andrew and we settle in for the bounce.
The first 15 minutes of the first quarter are wonderful. Hawks are “on process”, ball moving well and the goals are accumulating. Then two things happen:
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The rain comes
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Luke Breust misses a relatively easy set shot close to goal.
“Brueeeeeeeest” used to be as reliable as a Swiss time piece. During the `three-peat' Years he had an incredible run of 20-plus goals without a behind. More recently he is noteworthy for missing goals he should have got, and ushering the opposition back into the contest.
The ball has become slippery, with both teams making handling errors. The Dogs are back and by quarter-time the difference is just four points.
In the second quarter the Bulldogs should have put us away. The rain played a role in our reversal of fortune, but it was more a case that the Bullies were far better at clearing the ball out of the stoppages and charging forward.
It is worth mentioning the sub-story of today’s game. On the field were two of the shortest men playing footy in 2019 – Caleb Daniel and Paul Puopolo. Twice in the first half it was Poppy, with those little piston legs pumping, who got in behind the opposition and ran in for easy goals. For the Dogs, the man in the helmet was in the thick of it, showing exceptional vision and an ability to clear congestion or link up with a clearing handball or kick that put a team mate to advantage. Daniel also provided one of the funniest moments of the game when in the third quarter he found himself opposed to Roughie in our goal square. Poppy (what chance that?) saw the mismatch and kicked the ball forward to this uneven contest. In the words of the Bard of Channel 7, Brian Taylor:
“Poppy liked the one on one as he had a man
who was very very tall
on a man
who was very very small.”
The vision of Daniel, arms around Roughead’s neck with feet dangling in the air as he was draped across his opponent’s back, caused Alexis to laugh so hard she almost brought up her chips.
The fact that these solid men of short stature can survive and thrive in a football world that is supposed to be all about vertical jumps, basketball background and athletic prowess shows that there is still room in our game for fight in the dog, and it is not just about the size of the dog in the fight.
In the third quarter it was time for Hawthorn supporters to do what we do so well – bask and be smug. Bang. bang. bang. bang. bang. bang. bang and we are five goals up at the final break. Stand up, look across to Vic and Andrew and all there is to do is smile and nod. Thanks Hawks, we have this one and we can relax in the final quarter.
But as Dustin Hoffman said in Little Big Man – sometimes grass don’t grow, wind don’t blow and the sky ain’t blue. This is not the Hawthorn of the recent glory years. Punt Road continues to be the scoring end, and the Bulldogs edge closer. Roughie misses, and Jeager misses. Dogs don’t. The Bulldogs are performing exceptionally well, getting the ball moving toward their goals however they could - particularly those in lemon.
In lemon? Ohhhhh you mean the umpires! All I will say is there seem to be some remarkable decisions and inconsistent adjudications that probably had an influence on the game.
Bulldogs kick nine in the last, and we lose. Haven’t had this much fun since the final quarter of the ’84 Grand Final.
And so we trudge out of the Members toward the train and the long trip home. Hawks are 1-1, but I remind Alexis it is early in the season and who knows what is to come. It is dark by the time we get home, but the air is sweet and clean and the stars are bright in the night sky. Such is the life of a Country Boy who loves his footy.
Squire R.G. Fraser, who has abandoned the city for a country life, is an avid Hawthorn supporter who cannot believe his good luck at having experienced two sets of Glory Years in the one lifetime. He still loves Dermott above all others, but gee Cyril got close.