So there was that pain when we all thought it was going through and then it didn’t. A hard pain, like a kick in the guts. But with that pain was the joy, damn we fought, and we almost made it, didn’t we ma? This was against the reining premiers who have used us as percentage boosters and pincushions the last few years and we gave them the scare of their lives. In fact when Fev took that mark Hawks fans around me fled to the train station – there is that pain too, the pain of not wanting to see the unthinkable happen (and then the pain of having left only to have him miss).
This is different to the Collingwood pain of playing numerous GF’s and losing all but 1 in recent memory or the Essendon pain of being the team that Collingwood won against (and being that ‘super team’ that lost to us in ’99 – now that was ecstasy – take seven Fev shots, add an Eddie Betts boundary snap and two Judd runs, mix well and served deliciously hot and you have the joy of that Fraser Brown tackle on Brain-fade Wallis – not the greatest joy of all though - that must go to the 1970 GF.
Of all the finals we’ve won, of all the flags and subsequent Arabian nights that followed, that one is the pinnacle, the Sistine Chapel of ecstasy (picture Kirk Douglas, painted splattered, holding the cup aloft). At half time the pain was like a dog gnawing away at my stomach. Paul Scanlon and I sat in the back yard, him spinning a football around and around in his sad, dejected hands, both of us silent. What can you say when Heroes fall? This was the silence of Hector’s death beneath the walls of Troy.
But then, but then the rise; the phoenix cry of joy as the flames become feathers and the heroes strut once more. It is hard to describe that day, the madness of it, and the unbelievable joy of winning the game everyone thought was lost. We danced in the streets that afternoon and when dad and my brothers came home we danced again, the Bluebaggers claimed Olympus that day, one small step for a team, one giant step for the club.
The club has delivered many moments of joy. The 30:30 against Hawthorn when you’d barely finished screaming for joy at a goal and another was already sailing though. The Premiership quarters and the signage reverberating like Greek shields as the Bluebaggers marched home again. Jezza’s marks, The Buzz’s buzz, Big Nick striding the turf like a titan of old, Southby’s torps, Sticks/Diesel and the victories of 95, Kouta’s one hand grab.
There have been the moments of pain also, the day the earth stood still when Big Nick was felled, the ball taken off Fitzy for time wasting, Blight’s torp in the mud, Dixon’s goal, loses snatched out of the jaws of victory.
The worst pain recently has been the beltings. Year after year the 100-point thrashings, a thing never experienced before, piled the pain, one on top of the other. This was the worst pain, the pain of despair. Pain without hope, without a glimmer of light. And the worst of all was that infamous game against the Roos, last game of the year, and the Roos players were laughing as they piled on the goals, as they played ring-a-ring-a-rosie and got the ball to Spider so he could goal. Leaving the ground that day was like leaving a morgue. That day I buried my beloved Blues knowing it would be many years before they did a Lazarus and returned.
There was the pain of the first wooden spoon, but that pain was not so bad, and growing more sort of ‘Doris Day photo touched up’ every game that Murphy plays, same too with Gibbs and The Kruise. These three players were worth the pain, they bring joy each time I watch them play for the Bluebaggers.
Saturday’s pain was the best sort of pain - the pain of the seed splitting, of the birth. Yes it hurt to lose but I am also smiling still. Finally we mixed it with the big boys and we held our own. The Bluebaggers are back in town. There are still steps to take, players to groom, strategies to develop – like how to man up on the mark – Hawthorn and St Kilda do this brilliantly - no strolling up to the mark, reminiscent of a back yard game, they run hard, pressure the player with the ball, make them hold up, wait, and of course then their defence is in place and the moment is lost. It’s a pressure we need to develop, one of the next steps for this young side to take.
On Saturday there was the ecstasy and the agony – and that’s the way I remember it as a kid. I remember our teams being a chance, and when the chance wasn’t taken you’d feel the hurt of a loss but also you knew there was next week. Lately there has been too few ‘next weeks’. Not any more. Not after Saturday. Sure we are still developing but at our best we are back to being a force, a pleasure, a stream of the Bluebaggers pouring out of the centre, rushing towards the goals.
That’s the joy I remember, and with that joy any pain is short lived because these teams redeem themselves. So this week I expect a victory. That’s the other thing that comes with being a good side. Win the games you should win.
This week we’ll see the Bluebaggers win by 35. Six to Fev and Gibbs for BOG.
Go Blues!
Please Note: the views expressed in the above article are solely the opinion of the author and do not reflect the opinions of the Carlton Football Club or those employees of the Club. The Carlton Football Club would like to acknowledge the tireless work of those supporters who contribute to carltonfc.com.au.
