By Richard Murray
"If I ever say a bad word about Clarkson again, you can hit me over the head with a baseball bat," my Hawthorn-nuts grandpa told the family over loudspeaker after the Hawks' crushing of the Swans in the 2014 Grand Final.
My grandpa was a man from different times; times when people got their umbrellas fixed, and you knew the coach as "Mr Jeans", "Coach" or "Sir", not suspicious casual nicknames like "Clarko".
He told us that, when he was a kid, he picked the Hawks because they were the worst team in the comp. They finished last or second last every year between 1944 and 1953. He would ask the club: "What time does the game start?" And they would tell him: "What time can you get here?"
From back to back spoons in '49 and '50 to back to back flags in '13 and '14, my grandpa saw a lot of change, and not just in Hawthorn's fortunes.
These days, the warehouses of Fitzroy and Brunswick are known for their trendy apartments, brunch and beards; but back then, they housed factories like the one in which my grandpa, barely a man at the time, attached bakelite fittings to make ends meet. A boy from the country, he worked by night and slept in a dorm so that he could study chemistry at Melbourne University by day.
He went on to be a laboratory chemist and moved to Cambridge, England, where my Mum was born. Mum tells me that when the Hawks made their first grand final in 1961, Papa caught the train to London to visit the Australian High Commission so that he could check the score. Premiership number one. Footy madness passed to my Mum and then my Dad, a country boy from New South Wales, as the Hawks became a powerhouse in the `70s and `80s, with heroes such as Dunstall, Platton and of course Matthews.
My siblings and I are from a very different generation to Papa's. I don't know how many umbrellas I have bought and thrown out or lost. I have friends overseas but don't know the names of people I see on the train every day. But get Papa on the phone after a game on Friday night and the difference of two generations would melt away - we'd talk from footy to school to chemistry to politics and back to footy.
My siblings and I stood no chance - we were always going to love footy. Papa signed us up to the MCC at birth, took my brother and me down to Melbourne from Mittagong to watch the Hawks get done by the Saints at the MCG, and, knowing that that was not quite enough, sealed our fate by buying us some pretty enormous pizza as consolation.
Much later on, we returned the favour and took Papa to a cracking game in 2012 between the Hawks and Swans at the SCG, with the Hawks narrowly getting up after a few thrilling goals late.
Someone could pretty fairly think that passing on a love of footy was an affliction - the irrational difference between a weekend full of laughter or arguments at home. Still, they couldn't be further from the truth.
Footy is a cold beer and a pie at the end of a long week of work. Footy is the icebreaker with a stranger who could become your best friend. Or footy's an excuse to pick up the phone to your loved ones, just because you want to hear their voice.
We never got to remind my grandpa of his self-imposed baseball bat threat. He passed away before the start of season 2015. He missed out on the three-peat, though we miss him much more keenly than that. But footy was one of his biggest passions, and in some ways it's nice that when he died, the Hawks were back to back premiers, undoubtedly at the peak of their powers, and hadn't gone past his Hawks of '88 and '89.
When sad things happen, people say that it puts footy into perspective, and they're right. Footy's not everything. But it's pretty close.
In loving memory of Lionel Raymond Murray:
Born on 20 December 1929 at Leongatha, Ray attended Mirboo North primary and secondary before winning a scholarship to Melbourne High for his final two years of school. The first of his family to attend university, he obtained a Bachelor of Science with Honours from Melbourne University, majoring in Chemistry. He was a scientist, working in Alice Springs, Cambridge and Canberra. A highlight of his work in Alice Springs was his research into the gidgee plant’s metabolism of fluoride into 1080 poison, which had been killing cattle in the region. In Canberra he worked chiefly in antibiotic research. Later in life he developed a great interest in nutrition and published Raw Logic, a book on raw food. He was a lover of all sports but especially Aussie rules. Right to the end of his life he remained an original thinker. He died on 2 January 2015, aged 85. He is greatly missed.
"If I ever say a bad word about Clarkson again, you can hit me over the head with a baseball bat," my Hawthorn-nuts grandpa told the family over loudspeaker after the Hawks' crushing of the Swans in the 2014 Grand Final.
My grandpa was a man from different times; times when people got their umbrellas fixed, and you knew the coach as "Mr Jeans", "Coach" or "Sir", not suspicious casual nicknames like "Clarko".
He told us that, when he was a kid, he picked the Hawks because they were the worst team in the comp. They finished last or second last every year between 1944 and 1953. He would ask the club: "What time does the game start?" And they would tell him: "What time can you get here?"
From back to back spoons in '49 and '50 to back to back flags in '13 and '14, my grandpa saw a lot of change, and not just in Hawthorn's fortunes.
These days, the warehouses of Fitzroy and Brunswick are known for their trendy apartments, brunch and beards; but back then, they housed factories like the one in which my grandpa, barely a man at the time, attached bakelite fittings to make ends meet. A boy from the country, he worked by night and slept in a dorm so that he could study chemistry at Melbourne University by day.
He went on to be a laboratory chemist and moved to Cambridge, England, where my Mum was born. Mum tells me that when the Hawks made their first grand final in 1961, Papa caught the train to London to visit the Australian High Commission so that he could check the score. Premiership number one. Footy madness passed to my Mum and then my Dad, a country boy from New South Wales, as the Hawks became a powerhouse in the `70s and `80s, with heroes such as Dunstall, Platton and of course Matthews.
My siblings and I are from a very different generation to Papa's. I don't know how many umbrellas I have bought and thrown out or lost. I have friends overseas but don't know the names of people I see on the train every day. But get Papa on the phone after a game on Friday night and the difference of two generations would melt away - we'd talk from footy to school to chemistry to politics and back to footy.
My siblings and I stood no chance - we were always going to love footy. Papa signed us up to the MCC at birth, took my brother and me down to Melbourne from Mittagong to watch the Hawks get done by the Saints at the MCG, and, knowing that that was not quite enough, sealed our fate by buying us some pretty enormous pizza as consolation.
Much later on, we returned the favour and took Papa to a cracking game in 2012 between the Hawks and Swans at the SCG, with the Hawks narrowly getting up after a few thrilling goals late.
Someone could pretty fairly think that passing on a love of footy was an affliction - the irrational difference between a weekend full of laughter or arguments at home. Still, they couldn't be further from the truth.
Footy is a cold beer and a pie at the end of a long week of work. Footy is the icebreaker with a stranger who could become your best friend. Or footy's an excuse to pick up the phone to your loved ones, just because you want to hear their voice.
We never got to remind my grandpa of his self-imposed baseball bat threat. He passed away before the start of season 2015. He missed out on the three-peat, though we miss him much more keenly than that. But footy was one of his biggest passions, and in some ways it's nice that when he died, the Hawks were back to back premiers, undoubtedly at the peak of their powers, and hadn't gone past his Hawks of '88 and '89.
When sad things happen, people say that it puts footy into perspective, and they're right. Footy's not everything. But it's pretty close.
In loving memory of Lionel Raymond Murray:
Born on 20 December 1929 at Leongatha, Ray attended Mirboo North primary and secondary before winning a scholarship to Melbourne High for his final two years of school. The first of his family to attend university, he obtained a Bachelor of Science with Honours from Melbourne University, majoring in Chemistry. He was a scientist, working in Alice Springs, Cambridge and Canberra. A highlight of his work in Alice Springs was his research into the gidgee plant’s metabolism of fluoride into 1080 poison, which had been killing cattle in the region. In Canberra he worked chiefly in antibiotic research. Later in life he developed a great interest in nutrition and published Raw Logic, a book on raw food. He was a lover of all sports but especially Aussie rules. Right to the end of his life he remained an original thinker. He died on 2 January 2015, aged 85. He is greatly missed.
Richard Murray is a 27 year old Hawks fan. He works as a lawyer and spends his spare time playing the guitar, playing board games, watching and playing sport, and going out with friends. Originally from Mittagong in the Southern Highlands of NSW, he moved to Canberra to study law and science, before heading to Melbourne for the football and Melbourne’s famous lifestyle.
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He is pictured: (Above) in the MCC with a great mate at the 2019 preliminary final between Collingwood and GWS; (Below) with his family in front of the MCG before the 2014 preliminary final between Hawthorn and Port Adelaide.
