bornadog
16-05-2013, 08:54 PM
Bob Murphy (http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-news/the-dream-that-never-dies-20130515-2jmx6.html)
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-bulldogs-620x349_zps68dd740a.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-bulldogs-620x349_zps68dd740a.jpg.html)
Bulldogs players come to terms with losing the 2010 preliminary final against St Kilda. Photo: Paul Rovere
The Boston Red Sox baseball franchise in the Major League of America is a famous source of both fascination and inspiration for sport lovers all over the world.
Thrust into prominence in the early 20th century through the heroics of a champion team and Babe Ruth's charismatic talent, the Red Sox were the hottest ticket around. Inexplicably, they then traded "the Babe" to the New York Yankees, where he won even more championships and established the Yankees as the powerhouse franchise in the world. They remain so to this day and the "curse of the great Bambino" was born.
Between 1918 and 2004 the Red Sox didn't win a single pennant, despite coming painfully close a few times. That all changed when, 0-3 down in the best-of-seven American League Championships Series (against the Yankees, of course), the Red Sox fought their way back to claim the title, rid themselves of the curse and etch their names into sporting folklore for ever.
ESPN made a documentary on this incredible story simply titled Four Days In October. About four weeks ago I sat down to watch it, and it nearly ripped me in half.
In the final stages of the game, with victory a mere formality, the documentary-makers were able to capture the emotions of the Red Sox players and fans. Generations upon generations of broken hearts came together to cry, to cheer, to hold one another close and live in the world of their dreams.
As I sat watching I couldn't help but draw the obvious comparisons to me and my Bulldogs.
Watching the jubilation in the Red Sox dressing room, I was struck dumb to consider the possibility that I could be watching the Bulldogs claim our "pennant" one day and, like the faces on the screen in front of me, I wouldn't recognise them, not in the way I recognise my teammates now. It was a twist of the blade in my stomach and I knew in an instant I had not completely mourned my faded chance.
That might sound like snivelling jealousy to some but jealousy lurks in all of us, whether we're proud of it or not. After the 2011 grand final, the TV cameras captured Joel Selwood and Tom Hawkins running to each other and embracing seconds after the final siren. You could see on their faces the joy of two mates bound together forever in glory.
I had to leave the room when I saw that. It's not a simple cry of: "Why not me?" It's: "Why couldn't that be me and Gia? Me and Boydy? Me and Huddo? Crossy and Boydy?"
The thing that has surprised me about this mourning is it has hit me in stages. I think I've dealt with it and then, boom! I can't speak for my older teammates or players from other teams but I suspect it would be true for them, too. In 2009, when we missed out on a grand final by a kick, we all slumped against the wall of the change rooms and could do little more than cry for one another. Maybe that was our chance.
In 2010 we made it to the preliminary final again but there were times that year when I thought to myself that we weren't travelling as well as we had been before and maybe our window was beginning to close. But you brush it off and push on. Then the dark clouds gathered for real in 2011 and no longer were we able to run teams off their legs – now it was us being put to the sword.
No finals, coach gone, window slams shut. So what do you do? There are choices.
Do you jump ship? If ever there was a time, it's probably now. Or do you stay? You can only stay if you have absolute clarity on exactly why that is – and it is this: to help. With whatever you've got left in your head, your legs or your heart, you have to give that to Luke Dahlhaus, Jordan Roughead, Ryan Griffen. To Mitch Wallis and Tom Liberatore. To Liam Jones and Ayce Cordy. To your teammates who might yet have their Red Sox moment. The torch of the dream still burns in them – even in our current plight, it burns. They have time left to do it. There will be the odd pinch of grief now and again for myself and the older ones. It will feel like a hole in our hearts but maybe that's just part of growing up.
Two weeks ago a friend gave me a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. I've chosen them as my new team – I wonder if other Bulldog supporters seek out success-starved clubs in other codes too?
My Cubs cap is my invite to their inevitable pennant party, just as a Bulldogs membership is a name on the door at Footscray Town Hall on that one day when the Dogs bring home the pennant. I may not know their faces, but all of us will be living out our dreams.
For now, all we can do is help get there one piece at a time. Gold Coast this Saturday is the next little piece.
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-bulldogs-620x349_zps68dd740a.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-bulldogs-620x349_zps68dd740a.jpg.html)
Bulldogs players come to terms with losing the 2010 preliminary final against St Kilda. Photo: Paul Rovere
The Boston Red Sox baseball franchise in the Major League of America is a famous source of both fascination and inspiration for sport lovers all over the world.
Thrust into prominence in the early 20th century through the heroics of a champion team and Babe Ruth's charismatic talent, the Red Sox were the hottest ticket around. Inexplicably, they then traded "the Babe" to the New York Yankees, where he won even more championships and established the Yankees as the powerhouse franchise in the world. They remain so to this day and the "curse of the great Bambino" was born.
Between 1918 and 2004 the Red Sox didn't win a single pennant, despite coming painfully close a few times. That all changed when, 0-3 down in the best-of-seven American League Championships Series (against the Yankees, of course), the Red Sox fought their way back to claim the title, rid themselves of the curse and etch their names into sporting folklore for ever.
ESPN made a documentary on this incredible story simply titled Four Days In October. About four weeks ago I sat down to watch it, and it nearly ripped me in half.
In the final stages of the game, with victory a mere formality, the documentary-makers were able to capture the emotions of the Red Sox players and fans. Generations upon generations of broken hearts came together to cry, to cheer, to hold one another close and live in the world of their dreams.
As I sat watching I couldn't help but draw the obvious comparisons to me and my Bulldogs.
Watching the jubilation in the Red Sox dressing room, I was struck dumb to consider the possibility that I could be watching the Bulldogs claim our "pennant" one day and, like the faces on the screen in front of me, I wouldn't recognise them, not in the way I recognise my teammates now. It was a twist of the blade in my stomach and I knew in an instant I had not completely mourned my faded chance.
That might sound like snivelling jealousy to some but jealousy lurks in all of us, whether we're proud of it or not. After the 2011 grand final, the TV cameras captured Joel Selwood and Tom Hawkins running to each other and embracing seconds after the final siren. You could see on their faces the joy of two mates bound together forever in glory.
I had to leave the room when I saw that. It's not a simple cry of: "Why not me?" It's: "Why couldn't that be me and Gia? Me and Boydy? Me and Huddo? Crossy and Boydy?"
The thing that has surprised me about this mourning is it has hit me in stages. I think I've dealt with it and then, boom! I can't speak for my older teammates or players from other teams but I suspect it would be true for them, too. In 2009, when we missed out on a grand final by a kick, we all slumped against the wall of the change rooms and could do little more than cry for one another. Maybe that was our chance.
In 2010 we made it to the preliminary final again but there were times that year when I thought to myself that we weren't travelling as well as we had been before and maybe our window was beginning to close. But you brush it off and push on. Then the dark clouds gathered for real in 2011 and no longer were we able to run teams off their legs – now it was us being put to the sword.
No finals, coach gone, window slams shut. So what do you do? There are choices.
Do you jump ship? If ever there was a time, it's probably now. Or do you stay? You can only stay if you have absolute clarity on exactly why that is – and it is this: to help. With whatever you've got left in your head, your legs or your heart, you have to give that to Luke Dahlhaus, Jordan Roughead, Ryan Griffen. To Mitch Wallis and Tom Liberatore. To Liam Jones and Ayce Cordy. To your teammates who might yet have their Red Sox moment. The torch of the dream still burns in them – even in our current plight, it burns. They have time left to do it. There will be the odd pinch of grief now and again for myself and the older ones. It will feel like a hole in our hearts but maybe that's just part of growing up.
Two weeks ago a friend gave me a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. I've chosen them as my new team – I wonder if other Bulldog supporters seek out success-starved clubs in other codes too?
My Cubs cap is my invite to their inevitable pennant party, just as a Bulldogs membership is a name on the door at Footscray Town Hall on that one day when the Dogs bring home the pennant. I may not know their faces, but all of us will be living out our dreams.
For now, all we can do is help get there one piece at a time. Gold Coast this Saturday is the next little piece.