bornadog
30-08-2012, 10:44 AM
Bob Murphy (http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-news/chasing-one-final-glory-as-spring-draws-near-20120829-2511m.html)
''This the end, beautiful friend … the end.''
THE footy season is long, in a steeplechase kind of way. Head down, working away, and every so often you've got to drag yourself up and over another opponent, in the way the horses are asked to clear a fence.
In fact, it's been a couple of months since we cleared one cleanly. I'm sure the AFL ladder will tell you the full story, but the last time I looked at a ladder I was in my 20s.
A footballer's season is built on routine. A glass of wine on the couch after the game on Sunday night, toss and turn all night, lower yourself into the lukewarm water on a Monday morning. Review performance of the team, your line (back line for me), yourself, your peers.
Massage at home Monday night, wake up, strong coffee, get on the bike, get moving with a slow lap wearing every bit of WBFC clothing you can scrounge. Day off, defend two kids with your one-man zone, watch the game from the week before in its entirety, and around and around you go.
You come to rely on it, and I've found that with age that reliance gets stronger and stronger. You begin to lean on it. As wretched as this season has been, I'm not quite ready to change the routine.
When a game of footy is going the way you want it to, it's a glorious feeling, like bouncing on a wave. When it's going badly it can feel like you're drowning in an ocean.
When I started my career I don't think I was prepared for the feeling of loneliness that comes with playing elite sport. A lot of time is spent navigating your way through the criticism that comes with the job. We can be pretty hard on ourselves too, rarely satisfied.
Sometimes the loneliness comes out on the ground, even though you're surrounded by players, spectators, noise. But that's probably the heaviest kind of lonely there is - amongst a crowd. These feelings are usually washed away pretty quickly though, when you've got your teammates, club, family and confidants to lean on, but it's always kind of there, lurking in the shadows.
When Jarrad Grant kicked his third goal last Sunday down at Kardinia Park, it brought us to within a couple of kicks of the Cats. I turned to my teammate Shaun Higgins and we almost smiled at each other. We were deep into the contest and still in the game.
I wouldn't go as far as saying we were riding a wave, let alone bouncing on top of one. But, for as far as the eye could see, the seas were relatively calm. The game, like a pretty girl, can sweep you off your feet with a casual flick of the hips.
It was a nice moment that perhaps caught us slightly off guard. We are certainly not getting carried away - we are acutely aware of where we're at, of the moment we're in.
With that first sniff of spring surely coming any day now, the Dogs have one more steeple to hurl ourselves over before we're put out for a spell. It would be oh-so sweet to feel the waters lift all around us and surge us towards the shore.
It's not going to make a ripple in the grander scheme of things - the footy world has turned its attention away, with bigger fish to fry 'n' all that. I could care less. There is still a steeple to jump.
''This the end, beautiful friend … the end.''
THE footy season is long, in a steeplechase kind of way. Head down, working away, and every so often you've got to drag yourself up and over another opponent, in the way the horses are asked to clear a fence.
In fact, it's been a couple of months since we cleared one cleanly. I'm sure the AFL ladder will tell you the full story, but the last time I looked at a ladder I was in my 20s.
A footballer's season is built on routine. A glass of wine on the couch after the game on Sunday night, toss and turn all night, lower yourself into the lukewarm water on a Monday morning. Review performance of the team, your line (back line for me), yourself, your peers.
Massage at home Monday night, wake up, strong coffee, get on the bike, get moving with a slow lap wearing every bit of WBFC clothing you can scrounge. Day off, defend two kids with your one-man zone, watch the game from the week before in its entirety, and around and around you go.
You come to rely on it, and I've found that with age that reliance gets stronger and stronger. You begin to lean on it. As wretched as this season has been, I'm not quite ready to change the routine.
When a game of footy is going the way you want it to, it's a glorious feeling, like bouncing on a wave. When it's going badly it can feel like you're drowning in an ocean.
When I started my career I don't think I was prepared for the feeling of loneliness that comes with playing elite sport. A lot of time is spent navigating your way through the criticism that comes with the job. We can be pretty hard on ourselves too, rarely satisfied.
Sometimes the loneliness comes out on the ground, even though you're surrounded by players, spectators, noise. But that's probably the heaviest kind of lonely there is - amongst a crowd. These feelings are usually washed away pretty quickly though, when you've got your teammates, club, family and confidants to lean on, but it's always kind of there, lurking in the shadows.
When Jarrad Grant kicked his third goal last Sunday down at Kardinia Park, it brought us to within a couple of kicks of the Cats. I turned to my teammate Shaun Higgins and we almost smiled at each other. We were deep into the contest and still in the game.
I wouldn't go as far as saying we were riding a wave, let alone bouncing on top of one. But, for as far as the eye could see, the seas were relatively calm. The game, like a pretty girl, can sweep you off your feet with a casual flick of the hips.
It was a nice moment that perhaps caught us slightly off guard. We are certainly not getting carried away - we are acutely aware of where we're at, of the moment we're in.
With that first sniff of spring surely coming any day now, the Dogs have one more steeple to hurl ourselves over before we're put out for a spell. It would be oh-so sweet to feel the waters lift all around us and surge us towards the shore.
It's not going to make a ripple in the grander scheme of things - the footy world has turned its attention away, with bigger fish to fry 'n' all that. I could care less. There is still a steeple to jump.