Guys,

Not sure where this would fit.
It is the most boring time of the year. This article is old news but with a good ending hence I thought I'd post it up for everyone enjoyment.

The Spirit of the Dog – as observed by Jim Ingram, October 12, 2016



I saw a man die on the weekend, but don’t worry, this story ends well.



One of the things I love about going to the football is that you never quite know who you’ll end up sitting next to. And on Grand Final day the lottery is even greater as people hustle for tickets and take whatever they can get. And so it was, that I found myself sitting next to a bloke called Rob at Saturday’s blockbuster between the Swans and the Dogs. As I took my seat on this particular day, I was pleased that the footy-seat gods had smiled on me and I was greeted by a mild mannered fella in his sixties and his sister in-law, Sue.



Rob and I sparked up a conversation consisting of the usual football banter and I immediately understood two things; Rob was a man who liked a chat, and a man who loved the Doggies. Before long he was proudly showing me his old Footscray VFL scarf, signed by Doug Hawkins and Ted Whitten no less. But as the game wore on he also told me of his late wife, who passed suddenly some years back and was a mad Swans supporter. He slapped his left shoulder and told me that he’s not one for tatts but he has her name tattooed there and if the Doggies ever won a flag, he’ll add another one under her name – his two great loves.



History will tell you that this particular game of football was one for the ages, and at half time it was a 2-point ball game. Now at this point I must confess that as a life-long Bomber, I was seriously starting to consider a switch to the Bulldogs and I was cheering them as if they were my own. But I wasn’t alone – the 100,000 strong crowd was deafening at times as the Bulldogs muscled closer to the impossible. It was outstanding to watch and by three quarter time the Dogs had mauled their way to an 8-point lead. It was at this point that Rob looked at me and pumping his chest with his fist he joked “they’d wanna have an ambo parked out the front if we get up”. I laughed, pointed at him and openly joked, “don’t you go dying on me mate”?



With 10 minutes to go in the game, Rob suffered a massive heart attack. He didn’t make a sound; he simply stiffened in his seat, and then sat lifeless. I was stunned and started calling to MCG staff for assistance. By sheer luck, an off-duty paramedic was nearby and pushed his way to the front. Within seconds he’d checked Rob for a pulse and had him on the ground between the seats administering CPR. I was shocked by the ferocity of the paramedic’s actions as he methodically pounded on Rob’s chest – it was nothing like we see in the movies. And as the minutes ticked by, and as the game continued, and as goals were kicked, and as the fans continued to roar, this stranger from the crowd didn’t leave his post and continued CPR until he was utterly exhausted. By now another off duty medic was with us and he took over the role as the first guy staggered to his feet then slumped on his haunches, entirely spent. In situations like this minutes take hours, and as my emotions were getting the better of me I was jolted back to reality as the final siren sounded.



The crowd went into a frenzy and ‘Sons of the West’ began to boom from the speakers surrounding the MCG. I was standing there dumbstruck as Rob still lay on the beer-soaked concrete receiving treatment when I became aware of a staggeringly beautiful observation. If I hadn’t watched it with my own eyes, I’d call it too perfect to be true, but I noticed the rhythm of the man administering CPR was in perfect timing to the beat of the Bulldog’s song. It was then that I thought to myself “if he’s gone, then that’s the way to go”.



Soon after, the official paramedics arrived with their high-vis vests. They swarmed around Rob like yellow ants and immediately took control. We stood in silence as the crowd continued to cheer, none of us game enough to ask for an update. We simply stood and watched and hoped.



Now, I’d lost my voice by half time, but let me tell you, when Rob finally sat up from the concrete, blinked and looked around, the almighty roar that erupted from within our small group was something to behold. If the G had a roof, it would’ve been blown clean off. And when he gave us a thumbs up, we were a frenzied mess – jumping and cheering and hugging and crying. To onlookers and passers by, they’d have thought we were mad.



There are countless wonderful stories around football, but this is by far my new favourite. As the song goes “you can’t beat the boys of the Bulldogs breed” and Rob is living proof. Go Doggies.