bornadog
15-08-2013, 09:58 AM
by Bob Murphy (http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-news/dogged-debut-launches-career-as-gangly-teen-makes-it-to-the-big-league-20130814-2rwvi.html)
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-353-wbAFL-murphy2000b-300x0_zps6c06897e.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-353-wbAFL-murphy2000b-300x0_zps6c06897e.jpg.html)
Everyone remembers their first game of league footy. Mine was in 2000, against a Carlton side that had won 14 games in a row. I was part of a Bulldogs team that was hit hard by injuries, hence my inclusion. I was a boy. Still at high school and with a hulking 68-kilogram frame, I had only recently produced armpit hair.
Terry Wallace had announced to the playing group at training that I would be making my debut and from that moment I think I knew life would never be the same.
As I sat in my year 12 classes at Footscray City College, I was somewhere else. My dedication to my studies had always been a little ''mixed'', but once I got word that I was going to be getting a game for the Bulldogs I was away. Looking out to the horizon from the classroom window, I felt like no one could touch me. I was bouncing on a wave.
Robert Murphy, 2000.
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-353-bob-murphy-300x0_zpsa59093fd.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-353-bob-murphy-300x0_zpsa59093fd.jpg.html)
Robert Murphy, 2000. Photo: Getty Images
The surge carried me all the way to Optus Oval on Saturday, July 15, 2000. I remember being so nervous when I got to the ground, and really worried in the on-field warm-up that I wouldn't be able to kick the ball to my teammate in the most basic of lane work drills. The Carlton cheer squad had gathered behind the goals where we were warming up and they seemed so loud. Everything felt new.
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As we gathered in the doorway that led out onto the field, the intensity among our group took me aback. These mild-mannered blokes who had welcomed me into their team seven months earlier were now geeing each other up to the point where a few of them were pushing and shoving. I actually thought for a second that Jose Romero and Simon Garlick were having a fight. This never happened in junior football.
After seeing my teammates nearly kill each other, I was half-expecting to see chariots and lions waiting for us on the field. Instead we were greeted by a glorious Melbourne afternoon bathed in sunshine, and the loudest, most hostile crowd noise I'd ever known. My feet never touched the ground.
Fourteen seasons on from that day, the words our captain Scott Wynd spoke as we huddled close one last time before the first bounce are still gin clear in my mind. ''These are the kinds of wins that we'll talk about one day if we bump into each other on the street.'' He was only my skipper for one year, just three games, but he left a big impression.
Evidence of how much the game has changed since that day came in the first 50 minutes - throughout which I sat on the bench and did not move. When finally the call came, Matthew Croft soon took a strong mark and went out of his way to give me a handball, and I kicked the ball as far as I could. I was away and bouncing on that wave again.
Whatever Jose and Garlo were up to before the game must have worked, because they were both killing it. Garlo would end up kicking six goals in a career-best performance.
I was playing on the wing and my opponent was Matthew Lappin. I think he enjoyed having a rare weight advantage because it seemed like every time there was a ball-up around the ground he would punch me in the guts. I kept thinking to myself, ''Lappin is going to get six weeks when they review this game.'' I never punched him back. No charges were laid. It's fair to say, I was a little naive back then.
Despite our undermanned team being rank underdogs, we were neck and neck with the Kouta-led Blues deep into the last quarter and our skipper's prophecy was beginning to become a real possibility. With a few minutes left, I escaped the clutches of my sparring partner and drifted forward where the ball spilt in my direction.
Suddenly I found myself in a lot of space. I looked up and had a single thought: kick a goal. With each step closer, I could feel the Bulldog faithful lift behind me and I just knew I was going to put us in front.
As the ball left my boot I looked up and I remember thinking, ''That has to be the ugliest kick to go through for a goal in the history of the game''. I didn't care, nor did the faithful - we were all on that wave again.
Occasionally, Bulldogs supporters will remind me that I kicked the winning goal that day. I never feel the need to tell them that in fact Carlton kicked a goal straight after mine and then Trent Bartlett got a dodgy free kick and slotted the winner for the Dogs. I don't want to stop the flow of good conversation with frivolous details.
I have a photo at home from that day. I'm sitting on the change room floor with teammates Rohan Smith, Brad Johnson and the hero of the day, Simon Garlick. The photo is taken at the exact moment I'm retelling the story of my first goal, complete with hand gestures to describe the rank, floating spin of the ball.
So much about this game has changed since that glorious afternoon. Thankfully, some things will always stay the same. Beating Carlton is still one of the better ways to spend a Saturday.
With all of this season's froth and bubble, it's important to remember that our game can still be about riding the wave of your team, sharing a yarn with your teammates, and dreaming that the next win might one day be worth stopping an old teammate in the street to reminisce over.
Bob's first game:
sZG79xCRQrE
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-353-wbAFL-murphy2000b-300x0_zps6c06897e.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-353-wbAFL-murphy2000b-300x0_zps6c06897e.jpg.html)
Everyone remembers their first game of league footy. Mine was in 2000, against a Carlton side that had won 14 games in a row. I was part of a Bulldogs team that was hit hard by injuries, hence my inclusion. I was a boy. Still at high school and with a hulking 68-kilogram frame, I had only recently produced armpit hair.
Terry Wallace had announced to the playing group at training that I would be making my debut and from that moment I think I knew life would never be the same.
As I sat in my year 12 classes at Footscray City College, I was somewhere else. My dedication to my studies had always been a little ''mixed'', but once I got word that I was going to be getting a game for the Bulldogs I was away. Looking out to the horizon from the classroom window, I felt like no one could touch me. I was bouncing on a wave.
Robert Murphy, 2000.
http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa198/mmsalih/art-353-bob-murphy-300x0_zpsa59093fd.jpg (http://s202.photobucket.com/user/mmsalih/media/art-353-bob-murphy-300x0_zpsa59093fd.jpg.html)
Robert Murphy, 2000. Photo: Getty Images
The surge carried me all the way to Optus Oval on Saturday, July 15, 2000. I remember being so nervous when I got to the ground, and really worried in the on-field warm-up that I wouldn't be able to kick the ball to my teammate in the most basic of lane work drills. The Carlton cheer squad had gathered behind the goals where we were warming up and they seemed so loud. Everything felt new.
Advertisement
As we gathered in the doorway that led out onto the field, the intensity among our group took me aback. These mild-mannered blokes who had welcomed me into their team seven months earlier were now geeing each other up to the point where a few of them were pushing and shoving. I actually thought for a second that Jose Romero and Simon Garlick were having a fight. This never happened in junior football.
After seeing my teammates nearly kill each other, I was half-expecting to see chariots and lions waiting for us on the field. Instead we were greeted by a glorious Melbourne afternoon bathed in sunshine, and the loudest, most hostile crowd noise I'd ever known. My feet never touched the ground.
Fourteen seasons on from that day, the words our captain Scott Wynd spoke as we huddled close one last time before the first bounce are still gin clear in my mind. ''These are the kinds of wins that we'll talk about one day if we bump into each other on the street.'' He was only my skipper for one year, just three games, but he left a big impression.
Evidence of how much the game has changed since that day came in the first 50 minutes - throughout which I sat on the bench and did not move. When finally the call came, Matthew Croft soon took a strong mark and went out of his way to give me a handball, and I kicked the ball as far as I could. I was away and bouncing on that wave again.
Whatever Jose and Garlo were up to before the game must have worked, because they were both killing it. Garlo would end up kicking six goals in a career-best performance.
I was playing on the wing and my opponent was Matthew Lappin. I think he enjoyed having a rare weight advantage because it seemed like every time there was a ball-up around the ground he would punch me in the guts. I kept thinking to myself, ''Lappin is going to get six weeks when they review this game.'' I never punched him back. No charges were laid. It's fair to say, I was a little naive back then.
Despite our undermanned team being rank underdogs, we were neck and neck with the Kouta-led Blues deep into the last quarter and our skipper's prophecy was beginning to become a real possibility. With a few minutes left, I escaped the clutches of my sparring partner and drifted forward where the ball spilt in my direction.
Suddenly I found myself in a lot of space. I looked up and had a single thought: kick a goal. With each step closer, I could feel the Bulldog faithful lift behind me and I just knew I was going to put us in front.
As the ball left my boot I looked up and I remember thinking, ''That has to be the ugliest kick to go through for a goal in the history of the game''. I didn't care, nor did the faithful - we were all on that wave again.
Occasionally, Bulldogs supporters will remind me that I kicked the winning goal that day. I never feel the need to tell them that in fact Carlton kicked a goal straight after mine and then Trent Bartlett got a dodgy free kick and slotted the winner for the Dogs. I don't want to stop the flow of good conversation with frivolous details.
I have a photo at home from that day. I'm sitting on the change room floor with teammates Rohan Smith, Brad Johnson and the hero of the day, Simon Garlick. The photo is taken at the exact moment I'm retelling the story of my first goal, complete with hand gestures to describe the rank, floating spin of the ball.
So much about this game has changed since that glorious afternoon. Thankfully, some things will always stay the same. Beating Carlton is still one of the better ways to spend a Saturday.
With all of this season's froth and bubble, it's important to remember that our game can still be about riding the wave of your team, sharing a yarn with your teammates, and dreaming that the next win might one day be worth stopping an old teammate in the street to reminisce over.
Bob's first game:
sZG79xCRQrE