… beautiful one day, perfect footy weather the next. Playing various codes in high school and at uni, there was something different, possibly more enjoyable, about footy in the mud. The way the ball quickly became a waterlogged rock. The different smell of the grass. The feeling of the caked mud on the skin after the game. But mostly, how it slowed the speedy little buggers down to my plodders pace.
So I’m a little concerned when the Seven cameras pan across the ‘Gabba before the opening bounce, and Ricky O, the best boundary rider in the business (at stating the bleedin’ obvious), tells us the centre square is a bit muddy, which is “unusual in this modern era”. Will the rain help negate the key to Brisbane’s success, Jonathan Brown? Or will it slow down the Pie midfield and balance out the effectiveness of Mad Mick’s rotation system? And when did the “modern era” of footy start, exactly? According to Prof. Olarenshaw, just before the last El Nino/La Nina cycle.
Casting these meterological concerns aside, and appreciating the fact that I’ve only had to travel from the kitchen (with pie in hand) to the telly this week, I get comfy on the lounge, mention something about the food to Mrs. Pica and we’re a goal down already off the first Brisbane kick of the game. Don’t like the look of this. In the olden days, before the apparent modern era, these conditions would mean goals were at a premium. Never mind, Neon levels the game with a neat mark and goal from a tough angle. A couple of hurried kicks, behinds, and then, an omen. Burns is penalised in what could only be described as an atrocious call, given the ground conditions a tough holding the ball decision.
Collingwood struggle to move the ball against some very good Brisbane forward pressure. Leuenberger and Proud gather a few possessions for the Lions and also, The Pican fantasy football team. That part of me cheers, and the Magpie in me sighs . A true quandary of the modern football fan. The good Cloke marks and goals from distance with a laser guided kick more akin to Bernie Quinlan than the Cloke of seasons past.
Down at the other end, Nathan *J* Brown is getting an A+ on his “Keep your Namesake Quiet” assignment, but I’m keeping a lid on it. An appropriate response, as soon enough Jonathan Brown takes a tough mark off a smart lead and goals from outside the 50. He’s unstoppable with good delivery. Brisbane push out to a 17 point margin toward the end of the 2nd, and then with less than a minute left, Didak goals with an incredibly quick snap, so quick that young Alan couldn’t have possibly known where he was. The goal inspires a bizarre conversation in the commentary box about the cleverest feet in footy, and Cometti runs with it as only he can. Siren goes. Brisbane lead 58-47.
Tyson “Nuggets” Goldsack, who incidentally has replaced Mal Michael (The Leyland Brother) as the best moniker in the modern era of footy, lasts a full 40 seconds into the 3rd quarter, when he’s collected simulaneously in the knee and nose, breaking the latter and apparently doing nothing whatsoever to the former. David “Ox” Schwarz, revealing previously hidden psychic medical skills, diagnoses a medial ligament tear from the commentary box. Nuggets, groggy and the claret pouring from the schnoz, is assisted from the field. Ox – “Goldsack probably doesn’t know that he’s badly injured his knee”. He hadn’t. As is the way of the night, Brisbane goal from the ensuing play.
As the quarter continues, the guernseys collect more mud, and I’m reminded of the early 90’s when, at least to this telly viewer based in Sydney, it seemed like nearly every ground in Melbourne had some kind of slosh pit installed in the centre, just ready to open up and snare an unexpecting ruckman. And so as faces gradually obscure and numbers are blurred, Cameron Wood (wearing #19) becomes Graeme Wright, Alan Didak (#4) is Gary Pert, and somehow, Leon Davis is now Damian Monkhorst. I mention this to the wife, and she just rolls her eyes, not necessarily at this physical dissonance, but more likely at yet another mention of the golden years of the early to mid 90’s where wet weather meant a little more leniency from the men with the happy whistles.
Back in the current millenium, where the Chaos Theory rules committee reigns supreme, the Lion’s Corrie slides headfirst in the wet conditions into Tarkyn’s leg, Umpire Vozzo has his own daydreaming moment, thinks he’s Billy Bowden, and Tarks is out, lbw … penalised for initiating high contact, somehow.
Burns, after being pinged for what was a fair body to body contest, punches the ground in frustration, and it becomes apparent that the AFL CEO, “Fonzi” Demetriou has Landcare in his many pockets, as the ump pays 50 metres for “environmental degradation”.
On the flipside, Shane O’Bree gets away with a “handball” so blatantly thrown that it’d make an old 1990’s Adelaide Crow squawk with envy.
About 4 minutes to the final siren, Jed Adcock snaps a good goal from distance and the Lions have somehow grafted their way into a 4 point lead. The Maggies have their chances in the last few minutes, but fail to take advantage. In the dying seconds of the game, Brisbane rushes a behind and I could swear a Lions fan near a ground mic audibly celebrates a try. The final siren sounds, and because Queensland refuses to keep in line with the rest of the country, it’s already 11-ish here. We stretch static limbs, bemoan missed opportunities and poor disposal, clean up the dishes, and I can’t help but think that, working* back late on the Friday night up in AFL House, there are a few “ridiculous people” having a sly chuckle.
* logging onto the English Premier League website to research rules for inclusion in the 2009 season.
