Today’s column is dedicated to the one that got away.
He’s my nephew, let’s call him Angus. He’s 11. And he barracks for (deep breath) Geelong. I know. It hurts me too.
Angus didn’t always barrack for Geelong. He was born a Blue. His mum is a Blue. His Dad is a Blue. His Grandpa? Blue. And yes, his Uncle Ben is Blue as well. As a little tacker, he loved the Blues. It was all he knew. I had dreams of sitting in the stands with him as Carlton won its next flag, possibly under captain Lance Whitnall.
But it wasn’t to be. See, Angus lives on the coast. In Geelong territory. So when it came to school time, peer pressure started mounting to get him in the blue and white hoops. The players visited his school. He’d bump into Lingy and Gaz at the supermarket. And there was also the fact that, well, Carlton weren’t very good for a long time. We were consistently flogged. And consistently flogged by Geelong. Somebody Angus’ age had never known the Carlton swagger. He’d never known Carlton Brownlows and flags and seemingly unbeatable teams. He’d never dressed his dog up in a Carlton jumper and paraded her up and down the street after the ’82 premiership. And describing it to him didn’t work.
So one day, Angus turned up in a Geelong jumper and nothing could sway him.
This weekend, it felt like something had turned. We flogged Richmond by 103 points. Geelong were handed a narrow defeat by Essendon. But more than the events of that weekend, there is the genuine feeling at Carlton that something is building. Like we might just be ascending to heights that 11 year olds don’t know about. So I tried my hand. I asked, “So…Gus. Any chance you’d turn back to a real footy team?” Angus smirked and said, “Maybe. But only if I get a signed letter from Juddy.”
The ball’s in your court, Juddy.
Do you have someone you want to bring back to the Blues?
